in neoliberal hell you are doomed to push a trader joe’s shopping cart through the checkout line, but when you reach the cashier, you discover that all of your Guilt-Free Raisin Rosemary Crisps have been reshelved, and you must repeat this task for eternity
"i assume you brought your speedo, oscar"
“i don’t wear a speedo, Michael”
“well you can’t swim in leather pants”
the only way to describe my current state would be a cartoon of like a dude walking down the sidewalk dragging his head on the pavement
*listens to my music at a reasonable volume* good morning fellow citizen. i trust you are not under the influence of a bong