MMMM. Frosted Mini Wheats. My favorite cereal. They're like Wheaties, but with joy attached to them, and less yelling at people to get off my fuckin' lawn.
Wheaties are for old people who are full of hatred.
I tried a box of Wheaties once and found that eating an entire, unsweetened wicker basket was twice as enjoyable.
Anyway...if you need me, I'll be eating a bowl of Frosted Mini Wheats. Like an old person who still feels joy sometimes.
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All I wanted for Christmas this year was Anna Karenina by Tolstoy and The Golden Bough by James George Frazer.
Guess what I bought for myself? Those two things. You know why? Because its not anyone else's responsibility to make sure that I have the things I want. That's my job. So I got them and said, "Merry Christmas" to myself and lived happily ever after, knowing full well that if anyone gets me something its going to be something they found that they thought I would like: Not specifically what I informed them I wanted.
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"Once the puppet is in place, the ants will start to march."
--That's literally what They are saying right now.
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Going to take a little walk around the block and think about...things...many, many things...
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