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I love that as you get older, you go from embarrassingly buying pads and tampons and telling the cashier they’re for your mother, can I have them in an opaque paper sack, please, to buying the 50+ count box because it’s more economical, and no, I’ll just carry them out, I’m trashing the environment enough with all this winged leak-guarded plastic shit, thanks.
Zero fucks given.
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Today I was burned by the sun, burned by the wind, burned by some hot grease, and burned by this little old lady who didn’t like how I made her frybread.
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I think I just had a minor brain explosion, holy crap.