Connection is like a satellite network when the sky is cloudy. Sure, it can be spotty, but those one or two times it works make up for the ninety-eight other times the communication is completely cut off. We’re just, like, so lucky when we can network together for those several hours every year.
I’m unforgettable, like a passionate kiss followed by maniacal laughter or a picture made from the entrails of all those poor, unfortunate orphans who died in a tragic accident unrelated to the first thing. Maybe. Probably.
Current events are crazy. I got fired from my firing squad job for calling Charlie Kirk a twatwaffle on my Discord account. Now I'm being electrocuted to death, which brings us back to current events.
The past is dead, the future doesn't exist, and the present is a disappointing pair of socks on Christmas Day when you just wanted a Pepsi. Just one Pepsi.
First they came for Jimmy Kimmel, and I did not speak out because I'm not a fan.
Anyway, I forget how the rest of the poem goes but I'm sure things will be fine.
People are asking me a lot of questions about my every acquisition is a confession shirt that are already answered by my shirt. So I'm having them executed.