Right now I am typing this in the font called “Roboto-Sans” because a whole lot of other people like it even though I am essentially the only one who ever really reads this dastardly piece of literary crap with the exception of five or six wonderful friends who seem to stick with me through shit and shingle.
That reminds me of something we used to eat when I was in the Army—chipped beef on toast with the associated gravy-like mixture that looked something like the ooze from a sewer pipe — but it was plentiful and it was nourishing.
Is it true that some fast food restaurants have a school where they teach their cooks to spit in customer food when they get mad at management or something?
It is past my nap time, folks.
Can’t you tell?
Lines By Liming 