Actually, I sat down at the counter at work today, wrote out a list of the most repulsive things one could possibly do on a night out, and just found the sheet, which I filled in with choice adjectives and things like a modest flower-arranging dance before sticking it here for your... I'm guessing it's horror? I'm hoping it's horror.
You mean my 106-year-old employer who spends the day dozing off in the store room when he's not at Fortescue's dozing with Florean himself among the toppings? No, he doesn't seem to mind.
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So, essentially, a chill-inducing mad-lib?
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I'm worry about myself sometimes.
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