Me: How’s the spinach and Parmesan omelet?
Her: It’s good, it just smells like a fart.
Me: Thank you for your contribution to this morning’s conversation.
Last week was a major week for me for good and bad reasons. Suppose I’ll get into that at some point in the future.
The heat’s getting to me. Find this odd cause my family’s from a subtropical country. Am pretty sure that, had I been born and raised there I would have gone full-on starkers with the heat. As it stands now, I’m the guy that shows up for work looking as if I just took a shower.
It is not a good look.
What I don’t understand – and I’d really like to know the answer – is how people can run around wearing sweaters in the middle of August? Who are these people? Are they related to the people that finish exams with 90 minutes left on the clock?
While fighting the heat, caught the film The Grey, mainly cause it takes place in the winter. If you’ve seen the film, highlight the below empty white space, which I’ve hidden for those that have (luckily) not seen the film.
This movie is yet another example of Hollywood writers making crap up that make zero sense. Essentially, everyone that listened/followed Lian Neeson’s character, including Lian Neeson character, dies. This should be required viewing for anyone in the wilderness of what not to do as it violates every rule of survival, onea the main ones being stay with your vehicle cause:
- it’s huge
- is visible from a distance
- provides shelter
- potentially has food and water
This was so egregious to me that I couldn’t enjoy the rest of the film – which compounded the number of mistakes – such as route selection and leadership selection the latter which begs the question, why pick as leader the suicidal guy with zero survival skills?
Perhaps some questions were meant never to be answered. However, if you’ve ever wondered who’s the guy that wears shorts in the winter? That question I can answer: it’s people like me and my buddy Steel. Cause we’re melting even in the winter.
Cannot wait for Fall. After all, my year starts in September.
Location: my roasting room
Music: White knuckles and sweaty palms from hanging on too tight