I invited Bitcoin over last night for a little Netflix and Chill (because I thought that it was a bit too presumptuous to invite him over for Hulu and Anal).
The problem started when I realized his breath smelled like old celery. And I don’t mean in the good “burp after beer that sometimes tastes the way potpourri smells” old celery.
I mean, like, brown ear-wax colored putrid uncooked fish in the corner of a brothel.
Although it wasn’t as much of a problem as I’ve made it out to be because Bitcoin and I still decided to get pregnant together.
We’re going to send the baby to Harvard Prep and name him “ForLaterinus” because we enjoy Latin and saving things until future dates.
I have, at least, four buckets fermenting sand-melons in my backyard.
So and like such.
