Wait… Meghan Markle is black?
Oh iiNet. Little things like this almost make your complete inability to rectify the simplest of problems without the need for a 3.5 hour phone call tolerable. Almost.
Like, the beef has bad tattoos and enjoys skateboarding and base jumping.
My brain hurts.
This afternoon, while frequenting one of the many bars I frequent, I overheard the following statement uttered by a super trendy young woman playing pool with her noticeably less trendy friend.
“There were some real assholes in Footscray last night.”
Yes. I imagine there was. It is Footscray after all. I mean, it’s not Dandenong, or Frankston, but still…
I once saw a man randomly dive onto the bonnet of a car stopped in traffic and vomit onto the windshield in Footscray. At 11:00am on a Tuesday no less.
Good phở though.
*Edit – Not in a creepy stalker/abduction way. More like “I’m super pumped to see this talented and beautiful, reckless ingenue that I’ve been listening to for years perform live.”
My brain woke me up at 3:40am this morning to suggest that I should try writing fiction.
Then it wouldn’t let me back to sleep because it wanted to explore EVERY SINGLE POSSIBILITY.
Brain, man. I don’t even.
I loathe cooking and having to cook. Yet I’m totally into meal prepping.