Self serve frozen yogurt. Around here Fro-Yo shops have pretty much driven all the ice cream parlors out of business. I mean, Fro-Yo is tasty and everything but every time I go to one of those venues I can’t help but feel like I’ve done something wrong. Like some small kernel of darkness deep inside has gained an infinitesimally small, yet palpable, amount of strength. The Sunless Heart of Depravity of which I speak is the Inner Hipster. It resides within us all. No one can ever be safe. I’m pretty sure it’s what Yoda was talking about when he was training Luke. Yeah, it’s just that bad.

It seems that I don’t really have more to say on the matter, so… moving on I guess.

It’s a rather universally accepted truth that your voice does not even remotely sound like what you think it sounds like. If it does, if you can listen to a recording of your own voice and think to yourself, “Yeah, that sounds about right,” then let it be known that I hate you. Just a little bit. Because you are apparently some kind of mutant freak with the lamest power ever. Also it sucks to have a job that requires you to listen to recordings of yourself. It should be considered a form of torture. Not like hard-core torture or anything, but who says, “Oh, just a little torture? I guess that’s fine then.” I mean really, who?

Kinda getting off the rails here. The less said about certain “insurance scams” regarding certain “boneheads” the better off I think we’ll all be. Especially regarding how exactly that would even work. A wittier person than I might be able to make a funny and topical joke about Obamacare at this point, but unfortunately that’s not the world we live in. I know, it makes me sad too.