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Warning Label

By Brad Rose

Summer approaches and the grass is terror stricken. I have no idea why there are 5,280 feet in a mile. How do your cells know what to do? Of course, it’s impossible to over dress for a job interview, especially with brio and verve, then it’s almost realistic. Yesterday, I thought I was taking it up a notch, but then the anesthesia failed to work, and the next thing I knew, my thoughts were so loud I had to rethink my thoughtlessness. No one enjoys getting rearrested. Einstein proved, God doesn’t play dice with the universe, although I don’t know if he’s entitled to his opinion when the average lifespan of a neutron is about 15 minutes. Those cheaters: Sometimes I find it hard to be sure who is shooting whom around here, but it’s difficult to know what healthy adulthood looks like, particularly when you’re stuck behind all this beautifully understated Scandinavian design, Mr. Ikea. Sure, I enjoy astronaut food as much as the next unscrupulous adventurer, especially when it’s designed for external use only. Read the warning label, Taskrabbit. Never forget what happened to the Yuppies.

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