Low EMT pay boils my blood. I have a friend who is a career EMT and the fact that he doesn’t get paid enough for what is a back-breaking and emotionally-tolling job is enraging. He works harder than any CEO, that’s for sure.

They are. For example, the UK offers a High Potential Individual visa for recent graduates of prestigious universities. I’m sure they’ll get more applications this year.

Eating garbage food will also make you feel bad, no matter your age.

I used to eat junk food a lot in undergrad, and since I developed a tolerance/got used to feeling shitty I didn’t realize how much it impacted me day-to-day. Once I started grad school I shifted to healthier eating (real, unprocessed food), and quickly noticed how much better I felt, how much more energy I had. Now if I eat fast food (rarely) I always feel like crap right after the meal.

They can’t get too close, or the masses of their egos will rip spacetime a new blackasshole.

Billionaires are a cancer. If we don’t remove them soon they’ll kill us all.

Ditto. One bout of shitting the toilet while puking into the bathtub ensured all bathroom trash bins are now 1) solid, and 2) comfortable to bear-hug.

My husband and in-laws were taken down by oysters too. Last New Year’s they shucked and ate two trays full between the three of them, and the following day were hugging toilets. We were visiting them in London and had to reschedule our flight home.

He had concepts of a repeal.

Since he loves his hamburders so much let’s hope he gets all the onions.

Leeloo Dallas multipass

We need to deport him and seize his assets.

I have nothing to say other than Elon is a dipshit. Pass it on.

First they blow up the place, flatten it, and then build their vacation homes on top of the people they killed.

And if that doesn’t work, burn down the toilet.

Every blyat and zasranets will.

Another psycho in a metal box. Road rage is such a problem. I hope the driver goes to jail, and never holds a license again. If you can’t control your emotions, you shouldn’t operate heavy machinery. Also, fuck car-brains.

I’ll participate.

The ball is silver colored/metallic, grapefruit size. A man resembling my partner pushed the ball. The table is a plain square wooden shaker-style.

I began imagining as soon as I started reading, with each additional word adding detail in my mind. By the time I got to the questions it was easy to answer them.

I’m wondering if I should make a few separate posts about these, but for now let me tell you about the stripper/prostitute; we’ll call her Ana.

I’ll begin by describing this apartment. When you opened the front door you saw a long wood floor hallway. Every door was on the right. First there was a bedroom, then the bathroom, another bedroom, then the kitchen, another bedroom, and my room was at the end. No living room whatsoever.

When Ana was moving in she only had a few pieces of luggage. I invited her to my room to get to know her, offering to make her some tea. She accepted and while she’s telling me how she works at a strip club near midtown she’s eyeing up my room. Pretty quickly she notices one of my windows has a fire escape; the window facing the front of the building. It’s spring so the window is open. To her that was an invitation. She climbed out and started yelling down at the passersby while twerking. At this point I got a good look at her body; I mean it’s not like I didn’t notice she was curvy before, but now I could clearly see the butt implants. I started to put two and two together. After wrangling her back inside, I diplomatically moved us to the kitchen.

Later that week, early one morning, I heard screaming down the hall, but an unfamiliar man’s voice. Apparently she brought a “client from the strip club” home. Guess he wanted a little extra that morning without having paid. Ana pepper sprayed him as he retreated into the hall, and the first person to run out to the commotion was the French girl. She got pepper sprayed inadvertently. The guy quickly left, the girls got into an argument, and me and the rest of the residents stayed in our rooms until it became dead quiet. Ana was gone next month.

I’m at work now, but I’m happy to share later. There was a Kazakh family (new immigrants), a Syrian guy (there for medical school), a “stripper” with a large butt implant (on paper, but really she was a prostitute; not judging), an Italian guy (graphic design exchange student), and more. Usually every few months there would be a new flatmate.

All to say the apartment was definitely illegal, but I was young and couldn’t afford much.