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No, Atticus, I mean shepherd’s pie. I’m not going to confuse that with math. Shepherd’s pie is delicious and desirable, and math is not.
;-]
Depression is a prison to which you have the key except you never think to look for it.
He had a metric fuckton of bad karma due him, and I hoped I’d be the one to back up the truck and dump it
dinner had not gone as I’d planned. I’d rather hoped to do my best to be a communicative male and verbalize a feeling or three to Granuaile, demonstrating that I, at least, had evolved beyond grunting,
fear and rationality are hardly good drinking buddies—I’m
