You forgot about the whistle.
Curse you, foul donut temptress!
Agreed, despite the error of your apostrophe. But she’s still an asshole.
Can someone please come and overhaul my wardrobe? I need help. An intervention of sorts, if you will.
Yeah, telling me your shit is feminist is not a selling point. Really.
Wow. You didn’t feel like talking to people at those times??? WTF. That is literally your fucking job.
I guess this is kind of what I keep coming back to whenever I waffle on grad school.
It’s not thesis week if I don’t bungle one thing on the schedule.
I did some macrame when I was younggggggggggggggg. I can’t believe it’s making such a big come back. There was something deeply satisfying about tying all those knots though.
You forgot about the whale.
I think we should check.
I guess that’s why you just shouldn’t talk shit about people.
I am probably still dying.
Wow. I just can’t even find words.
Oh my GOD, what a profound and spectacular waste of time. Also? Discrimination policy is not equivalent to an anti-bullying policy. Nice try, though.
I don’t have portrait mode.
If you could only see my face right now.
OK, seriously, I’ve told you what I need from you four times now. Four. I’ve counted. This? This is useless to me.
That’s maybe just a little weird.
Nutty. Nutty week.
Man. The Winchesters’ hearing must be shot too.
Nope. Still don’t love Felicia Day. Nobody pronounces Topeka that way.
They’re both utterly wrong for the job.
I need to take a break from volunteering for all this test knitting and get these patterns written out. And also finish that sweater.
Huh. Total deja vu.
Oh come ON.
I keep reading that wrong.
I’m so tired.
You keep spelling his name wrong. You should probably stop doing that.
I feel like I wouldn’t really need to interview her …
We’re not going to be able to make this happen. We need to just admit it and move on to alternative programming already.
We don’t have that many ghost towns.
rush rush rush
Can I have a nap now?
I love you, ginger cookie.
Mlive. You’re a joke.
I don’t think I’d go so far as to say he was California’s worst serial killer. Certainly good at eluding authorities. But not even the most prolific is he? Guess I’d have to start looking up numbers.
Why is everyone saying he raped “people?” He raped women. Call them women.
I want to know why he just stopped. How.
Well, who’s going to email you with an emergency? No one.
I’m so uncomfortable right now.
Two. More. Days.
Did she just say intregal?
I suppose it depends on what exactly you mean by “worst.”
Bloodiest? Most brutal? Most indiscriminate? Most terrifying? Most deranged? I don’t know.
Honestly press conferences are never as exciting as I want them to be.
Let’s get this train back on the rails. This ain’t no true crime blog!
Maybe this should be a true crime blog.
No. It probably should not.
The phone rang and I have no idea what I was typing there.
I really have no emotional investment in this whatsoever.
Nobody wants arthritis.
I think we’d all prefer it that way.
I could really use a nap.
I could probably use a diet.
I could definitely use some coffee.
Can I lock these doors yet?
I should watch more hockey.
No one cares what kind of keyring I have, Facebook.
I was just forced to experience Title IX training. I’ll never get that period of my life back. I feel sort of violated.
I’ll spend the rest of my life searching for the perfect bag.