On "The Hill", Satire

A Millennial’s Guide to Meme Tagging

April 16, 2017

Have you ever been tagged in a meme? Or maybe you’ve wanted to tag your friend in a meme? I have decided to create “A Millennial’s Guide to Meme Tagging” to help all my fellow social media lovers who need some help with traversing the complicated world of meme tags.

First: Spot a dank meme.

Fresh content is always the best content, so do your best to find memes that are relatively new. Usually, it’s okay to have one or two other friends previously tagged in the meme, but don’t you dare be that person that tags people in stale memes like a middle-aged mom that discovers viral trends three weeks late through Ellen. It’s embarrassing for all of us. At its essence, dankness is an ineffable quality that you can truly understand by hanging out with dank people and browsing dank places on the internet. If you’re interested, the origins of the word can be found on urban dictionary. I recommend that you just spend some time observing which memes have a lot of tags and likes on Facebook. An appropriate amount of reconnaissance is integral to using memes like a millennial.

Second: Determine a suitable friend to tag.

While deciding who to tag in a meme is often an organic process (you’ll just see the meme and think unironically, “Wow! This is so us.”), sometimes you need to be careful with who you tag. It’s important to ensure that there is no way the meme could be misinterpreted as shade–petty meme tagging is its whole own art. Also, it’s good to align yourself with other meme lovers in these dank times, so that they have a solid understanding of the semiotics of memes. Hopefully, they study of the evolution of memes with the same intensity as you and your bond of friendship will happily deepen.

Third: Lie in wait for that delicious like and reply.

This step is self-explanatory. There is nothing like the thrill of waiting for your friend to open Facebook on their phone or computer to see that sweet notification that they’ve been tagged in a meme. So many possibilities lie ahead. They could reply with a witty retort that begins fruitful banter. Someone else could insert themselves into your conversation, which will further complicate the dynamics of your squad. They could slight you by ignoring the tag and start a meme war. It’s such an exciting time to be alive.


Image via.

On "The Hill", Satire, Uncategorized

Solo Spring Breaker

March 24, 2017

I’m about to experience my first spring break as a college student. I’ve seen all those quintessential movies about people going crazy during spring break. Unfortunately (or fortunately?), I will not be spending spring break getting lost in Cancún with five friends that look like supermodels and waking up with a bad tattoo. Instead, I’ll be going home for spring break. For some reason, I imagined it would be an idyllic week of bonding with all the friends that I miss from back home. But in reality, none of my friends have the same spring break as I do. In fact, most of my own family won’t even be home during the week. So, if your spring break is looking as lit as mine is at this point, please enjoy this list of solo spring break activities.


1) Be a Woooo Girl by yourself.

Scream “Wooooooooooooo!” in super loud voice, as if you’ve taken a love shot with all your girlfriends at a trendy bar. Make sure that you are completely sober. It’s a lot more fun that way. I’m sorry if you startle your dog.


2) Swim some laps at your local public pool.

It’s essentially the same thing as enjoying the sand and the surf at a hip beach resort. You might not be able to frolic in the waves, but you’ll have fun throwing on a sexy swim cap.


3) Pretend you’re on a road trip while you drive to Trader Joe’s.

You probably have to go grocery shopping at some point during the week so that you don’t starve. Take this opportunity to imagine that you’re going to a music festival or someplace equally chic. Sing along loudly to classics like “Tik Tok” and “Boom Boom Pow” that are nostalgic for the whole crew. Silently reminisce about your favorite memories and inside jokes.


4) Bother your friends that are still in high school

Everyone loves that alum that hangs out at their old high school all the time, right? Interrupt classes until your old teachers find a polite way to kick you out. Convince everyone that you’re a super cool college student and dole out sage advice like “Go to office hours” and “Try new things.” I’m sure people will appreciate your unwavering presence. Bonus points if you manage to make it to your elementary or middle school and hang out on the swing set alone.


5) Sleep

Sleep is here for you when people aren’t. You’ll have the rare opportunity to start school feeling refreshed while everyone else is still hungover. It’s important to be especially alert as you peruse all the new Facebook albums to intensify your jealousy.


Images via and via.

Life & Other Drugs, On "The Hill"

Snow Days: Expectations vs. Reality

March 23, 2017

Snow days at Brown are some of the most hyped parts of the year. The mix of spontaneity and slight danger posed by snow days tend to excite campus like no other inclement weather-related phenomenon. As an unapologetic California Girl, I had the added anticipation of wanting to experience my first real snow day. The beloved campus icon and student-proclaimed “based god” Russell Carey, Executive Vice President for Planning and Policy at Brown University, blessed me with two snow days my first year at this wonderful institution. I am thankful for them and already yearn for more, but I learned a lot about the difference between the fantasy of a snow day and how snow days actually are.


Expectation: Since there’s no class, the logical thing to do is party, right? I mean who doesn’t want to get lit on a Tuesday? There’s no reason not to have a little fun and get crazy in the middle of the week.

Reality: Actually, there is totally an excuse to not get day drunk: midterms. I mean who can in good conscience waste an entire day, when they’re 5 weeks behind in reading for their poli sci midterm the next day. I can’t, and I don’t know what that says about me (don’t you dare call me a “responsible adult”), but I know that it means that I have to watch snap stories of people enjoying their snow day, while I pretend to have my academic life together.


Expectation: I’ll be so productive! Instead of getting up at 8 am for a boring lecture, I have the chance to wake up at 9:30 am and finish the work I need to get done in a timely manner. My day is perfectly planned out on my Google calendar and I’ll hopefully get to bed by 11 pm.

Reality: I wake up at 3 pm. I’m not here to argue about whether this a reasonable time or not, but it sure isn’t conducive to getting 5 weeks of reading done. Also, when I wake up this late in the day, I’m usually so ashamed to face the day that I lie in bed for a while, to wallow in my misery. I then end up spending so long fixing my calendar that I don’t actually start my work until 4:30. At 8 pm, I lose all focus and end up hanging out in a study room with friends for a few hours, before realizing it’s past midnight and I have to get my shit together. I review my flashcards and pass out at 2 am with the hope of not failing my midterm the next day.


Expectation: Snow day will involve cozy winter beverages and food. I’ll sip hot chocolate with mini marshmallows and eat warm soft sugar cookies.

Reality: On the first snow day, I had not mentally processed that none of my favorite eating establishments would be open. Thus, I did not only forego my daily chai latte, but also had to suffer without the fried rice that I was craving for dinner. I slept through 90% of the day, so even the dining halls weren’t serving anything by the time I got hungry. It was a culinary tragedy. The second snow day I stocked up on my favorites (Cheetos and peanut butter cups), which I ate in absurd amounts until I became nauseous. I got hungry later and made popcorn in the microwave. I hope Kellyanne was watching me struggle in my sweatpants to fully pop the kernels without burning them. (Spoiler alert: I burned them). I tried to save money by getting a normal bag of popcorn instead of the fancy pop-up bowl kind, which clearly didn’t work out for me. I got a paper cut on my thumb trying to lick the butter off the sides of the bag. It was a mess.

All in all, I’ve learned that snow days aren’t perfect magical days. Time doesn’t stop and you are not transported to a winter wonderland. They’re just like every other day, except you have a valid excuse for skipping class. I’ve got no problem with that.

Life & Other Drugs, Satire

No Fighting Allowed

February 20, 2017

I’ve learned a lot from my six month stint in the world of mixed martial arts (MMA). It’s been an experience unlike any other. My whole life, I’ve been the quirky nerd that can’t do a pull up or even unscrew a salsa jar by myself. However, MMA has always been a world of its own; and, unfortunately, Ronda Rousey is really ruining this good thing I’ve got going for myself. Now, one of my favorite parts of doing MMA is how people react to it.

(Dialogue may or may not be exaggerated.)


The “Be Like Ronda. Please.”

“I like to do MMA. It’s a fun way to work out, when I don’t feel like going to the gym.”

“Wait so you like get to punch people in the face!?! That’s super cool. You must be a badass. You’re essentially the next Ronda Rousey, right?”

“Yeah I guess so. There’s also kickboxing and jiu jitsu, but they’re all totally safe.”

“So you’re like saying that you could kick this muffin off my head without messing up my blowout,” says some random friend who’s like 6’11”.

“No, not really.”



If you say you do MMA, you’re suddenly expected to punch someone really hard or to irrationally kick some completely random item with precision. Unfortunately for you, I like my shin a lot, so I’m not going to roundhouse kick a steel beam for you. It’s like being asked to demonstrate your golf swing or your football throw in your closet-sized dorm room without warming up or equipment. When people find out that you do MMA regardless of size or experience level, you better be Chuck Norris or Jackie Chan, otherwise why even bother?


The “Oh, You Wanna Fight?”

“Since you fight all the time, I bet you think that you could totally take me out.”

“Nah…I’m good,” I say as cautiously as any twiggy 5’7” girl who would break all the bones in her hand if she tried to punch someone without a boxing glove would.

“It’s okay. I can take it. You must think I’m weak sauce, but I’m super strong and tough and cool.”

I’ve never seen people more excited to get punched in the face or flipped on their backs than when I say I do MMA. It’s like, I’m not sure if people who want to experience bodily harm just gravitate to me for some reason, but it honestly kind of weirds me out. The alternative to people wanting to fight you is people being scared of you. They look me over as if I’m going to bust out a triangle choke in the middle of our conversation about which dining hall is better.


The “Wow, You’re Intense.”

“I do find that MMA is a productive way to let out stress.”

“So, you take out your life problems on other people? That sounds unhealthy.”

“No, it’s not like that. It’s just like a runner’s high.”

“What are you even talking about? You take drugs when you exercise? Someone seems to enjoy their ‘roid rage.”

“No, I mean endorphins. Who hasn’t heard of a runner’s high?”

“Endorphins? Is that the new thing for you people now? Keep your delinquent ways far away from me.”


I guess I just revel in the idea that anyone might think I’m something other than the bleeding-heart peace-loving pacifist that I am.

Anyway, I recommend that everyone give MMA try, if not for yourself, for the rare chance to make your social interactions more perplexing for everyone involved. At least you’ll be like Ronda.

Image via Annie Warner.

Life & Other Drugs, Satire

Why I Suck at Black Friday

December 8, 2016

When the last bite of mashed potatoes is gone and those joyful carols take over the radio, everyone filled with the holiday spirit starts to get ready for the most festive day of the year: Black Friday. Unlike a cheery white Christmas that “kids from 1 to 92” can delight in, Black Friday is a day for thrill-seeking Americans only. Fortunately, even though my family doesn’t seem particularly fond of skydiving or bungee jumping, we do bravely venture into the unknown every year on that hallowed day. Unfortunately, I totally suck at Black Friday.

While most Black Friday shoppers sacrifice sleep for those 5 am doorbuster sales, I thoroughly enjoy my 11 hour long tryptophan-induced coma. I don’t care if that 400 inch plasma TV is only $6 if bought before 5:01 am. I’ll be damned if I won’t let my pumpkin pie digest past sunrise. So, I choose to forego any form of sleep deprivation and wake up at 10:30 am to spend a leisurely morning eating leftover cookies for breakfast with a cup of hot tea.

Never call me the Coupon Queen, because I can’t live up to those high expectations. I definitely read the Sunday paper, but only for the comics. I also can never find the scissors in my house, so I’m certainly not going to waste time clipping coupons out of the paper. Furthermore, if my mom gives me coupons to save for later in the week, I will never be able to find them in my purse once I get into the retail establishment. This wonderful trait of mine has caused some glorious conflict within my family, but what is the holiday season without some fighting?

I also never like the things on sale. Every year these stores keep getting a little more crafty to try to trick my frugal sensibilities. Whether they list absurd retail prices to convince you that 30% off is a deal or have some crazy buy 7 get 4 free policy, stores on Black Friday really make me question the value of risking my life in a mob just to get the deal. Luckily, it doesn’t matter for me because I always seem to like the things that aren’t on sale. Usually, I fall in love with the one pair of leggings that costs $30 more than the rest or the last violet jacket on the rack that is for some reason excluded from the 40% off coupon that I have. Anyways, I tend to be the sucker that’s lured into the store with hopes of saving some serious cash, but ends up in the red on Black Friday.

Finally, I am a liberal elitist who prides myself on periodically ranting about consumerism (and the horrors of materialism), so Black Friday makes me feel like the most unethical human being on the planet. I enjoy then forcing the rest of my family to feel guilty for pleasantly purchasing a few items on sale. If I don’t induce a few eyerolls with my philosophical rants and then continue buying things like a maniac, I’m not really doing Black Friday right.

In the end, Black Friday is like my 9th favorite day of the year. There is no other day when I can shamelessly shop with half of the country while the other half not-so-silently judges me. Black Friday, please never change.

Image via.

Life & Other Drugs, Listicles

Facebook Categories That Need to Exist

December 4, 2016

I recently learned that Facebook has groups that you can put your friends in without them knowing. I have the wonderfully thrilling options of sorting people into categories like “acquaintances” and “close friends.” This visual categorization of humans seemed scandalous at first, but I quickly became jaded with the available choices. Facebook wasn’t really giving me what I needed. So, I’ve decided to follow in Kanye’s footsteps and call out Facebook. Please institute the following categories:

1. Friends that have stupid political views or have stupid ways of expressing them

These people vary from random high school classmate to super BFF, but on Facebook they’re known to everyone as the person that elicits an: “Ugh…not again” every time they show up on your feed. For some reason, these people don’t understand that I look at Facebook to see the different events my friends are going to and to look at excessively long, heavily-filtered vacation albums. I even enjoy the occasional rant about the minutiae of people’s lives. But I don’t want to see a post every time a politician from a different party breathes. Don’t take it the wrong way if I unfollow you–I don’t hate you, I hate how you use Facebook.

2. People you met at an orientation event

There is nothing like realizing you’ve been sharing every article you like, every event you’re interested in, and every meme that’s ever existed with some random person you met at orientation. I’m sure there’s a reason why I haven’t talked to you since, but I honestly don’t even recognize your name enough to tell you. I will add a big thank you for friending me on Facebook and letting me seem more socially competent during that scary first week of college. However, I think it would be better for the both of us if I unfriended you now.

3. Close friends that don’t understand that the internet never dies

I love these people a lot. And that’s why I do crazy shit with them everyday. The one reason not to love them is their inability to realize that my Facebook is a work of art carefully crafted to make me look like I’m not as stupid as I am. I appreciate their desire to preserve all the good times so we can reminiscence five years from now when we’re experiencing our quarter-life crises, but unfortunately Facebook is filled with too many random people to make this okay. My middle school PE teacher doesn’t need to see me up at 3 am doing questionable things. Save that stuff for Snapchat.

4. Guys that look good in their profile pictures

I apologize for being superficial sometimes. It’s just that you make the world a better place when you post pictures. Thank you for being a part of my life. I will never take our online relationship for granted, especially when my friends ask me, “Who is that?” and I can’t help but talk about our deep and meaningful friendship.

Ultimately, Facebook is hauntingly beautiful in its ability to show me all the people I know and all the ways I know them. Defining friendships offline is almost impossible, so I don’t know why I assumed Facebook would make everything better, but I guess it tries its best. Until it fulfills my category-related dreams, I’ll be satisfied using Facebook to watch videos of puppies and to laugh at friends that are tagged in edgy memes.

Image via.

Life & Other Drugs, On "The Hill"

My Feet Can’t Touch The Ground

November 21, 2016

My journey to spending my days cleaning my half of a dorm room floor began unexpectedly. For some reason, one day the sarcastic banter that I engage in with my friends turned to the topic of small quirks we have. I said “I’m so weird about my feet being dirty. I don’t even know why.” It wasn’t really funny, but it went by unquestioned, so I took it as a win. Mentally, I noted that my dorm floor is kind of gross so maybe I should vacuum tomorrow. Who doesn’t like to do a little procrasti-cleaning?

But I didn’t just vacuum. The next morning, I used my dual-attachment mini vacuum with a fervor and accuracy that is unparalleled by the typical vacuum-er. My human self and my vacuum merged into one synergistic being that ruthlessly removed dust from the the nooks and crannies of my room. It was a glorious moment in my life that left me happy through the afternoon.

The magical satisfaction of cleaning my floor faded over the next few days, until late one fateful night, when I needed to quietly grab my pint of ice cream from the freezer, I walked barefoot and felt the grimy linoleum. I slightly chuckled to my myself and exasperatedly mumbled, “Wow! This floor already feels dirty again.” As I was falling asleep, I admitted that maybe I might be just a little weird about the floor.

That night I had no dreams – only nightmares of spilling liquids and tracking mud into my sacred living space. I woke up in a sweat. Making deep eye contact with my Clorox wipes on top of my dresser, I decided that maybe half-heartedly wiping the ground with one might ease my mind. Twenty minutes later, I was left with a pile of dirty wipes heaped into my trashcan. Finally, I felt better. Maybe the floor just needs a deep clean every once in awhile? I crawled back into my unmade bed with a satisfied smile on my face.

Awakening from my nap, I fully expected to enjoy lemon-scented floor bliss, but as soon as I felt my toes on the floor I knew something was wrong. It was terrifyingly sticky. Apparently, Clorox wipes leave a sappy residue when overused? I’m not sure, but walking on that floor scarred me. I knew that I had to do more.

Switching my browser to incognito mode, I turned to my trusty friend wikiHow. Losing all sense of obsessive cleaning shame, I succumbed to this wonder of a website. Steps 5-8 on my fourth article taught me to combine dish soap and hot water in my mug-bowl for the perfect cleaning solution. Delighted with my discovery, I employed one of my precious few washcloths to meticulously scrub the floor.

For a while my life seemed back to normal–but I soon realized it was a short-lived victory. Just four days later, I was back to square one. Post-shower, my newly cleansed feet made contact with the floor, and I immediately knew that my little quirk was no longer little.

I knew that I had to take more drastic steps. So, I ventured into the cleaning supply aisle at the beloved campus CVS. I perused the countless brands of multi-surface fluids and flexible-handle scrubbing instruments, until settling on the grand supreme Swiffer that could be used both wet and dry. I rushed back to my room to excitedly put this new purchase to use, and, luckily, for the last two weeks it has satiated my obsession. But we’ll see how long this lasts.

Image via Emma Butler.

Life & Other Drugs, On "The Hill"

Coffee Shop on the Corner

October 27, 2016

Dear Coffee Shop on the Corner,

It’s been an entire three hours since I’ve enjoyed your warmth, and I just can’t seem to get you off of my mind. Your soft lighting and chalkboard menu are so enticing that I often fantasize about entering through your doors and spending a studious afternoon within your walls. I can’t imagine any other place to stop during tired afternoons for a caffeine boost and cozy workspace. Your wonders are endless, and I can’t help but thank you for everything you do for me.

First, thank you for taking so long to perform any simple task. I enjoy standing in line, watching my laptop across the room and thinking for twenty minutes about the essay that’s due in an hour, while you chat with another barista about your friend’s new apartment. I find pleasure in quietly waiting for you as you play with your plethora of fair trade coffees, even though I ordered tea. I love the inevitable moral dilemma I face every time I feel obligated to tip you, despite the infuriating service I experience.

Second, thank you for essentially never having open tables. I love to stand awkwardly in the middle of the establishment, giving every person with an empty mug in front of them an empathetic glare. I know what it’s like to be them and totally don’t blame anybody for sitting for hours on end, but in the moment I always force my minor life struggles upon others so people understand my pain. It’s fun to be half on my phone and half on ‘threat level midnight’ high alert looking for an empty seat. It’s even better with friends because then you take up weird amounts of space where you’re not actually blocking anything, but people walking in can’t tell if you’re in line or waiting for a friend or just standing in the middle of everything for a group activity.

Third, thank you for placing all of your tables too close together. There’s nothing quite like having to listen to someone’s sexy Skype call or the feeling you get when some random person’s arm is mildly too close for comfort, but not close enough where you can say something. You have taught me how to squeeze through small spaces with a backpack, a hot beverage, and my headphones dangling from my phone. I can never thank you enough for actively teaching me this invaluable life skill, but I’m definitely still in the process of mastering it. An earbud may have ended up in someone’s coffee and a textbook may have lightly smashed into a head, but I’m sure it’s okay now.

Finally, I must say that I’m feeling compelled to actually defend you and all of your java glory. Maybe it’s because I need to justify spending $30 a week at your unimpressive establishment, or maybe it’s because I have some perverse love for you hidden deep inside that I can’t shake. Either way, thank you for making my chai latte to perfection every time. In a world where I don’t always get my 8.5 hours of sleep every night, and Donald Trump is a presidential nominee, you are a respite from reality. You don’t judge me for getting a cookie two days in a row. You froth my beverage to a pleasing amount of bubbles, which doesn’t happen anywhere else in my life. Most importantly, you are a two minute walk from my dorm room.


A Tired College Student

Image via.

Life & Other Drugs

Gif vs Gif

October 24, 2016

As I’ve learned from the oft-uttered phrase “YOLO,” I need to spend my life pondering the quintessential philosophical debates essential to humanity. One of these important life questions surrounds the pronunciation of “GIF.” The profound effect this acronym has had on my life cannot be underestimated. Fundamentally, if you pronounce this word with a hard g, we can’t be friends. If a person can’t use a soft g, who knows what they might do next? They are unpredictable (not in the fun spontaneous “Let’s go to Burning Man!” way) and I can’t handle that level of inconsistency in my life. I bet they are the kind of people who can never admit they’re wrong. There’s only room for one of those people in a friendship and that person is me. So unfortunately the stars will never align, and we can’t be friends. I won’t mourn your heathen soul for too long.


Some people may pretend this isn’t a real issue. These people have clearly have no respect for the English language. They might as well say yolo as yooloo. They might as well pronounce Chipotle like Kipotel. You’re not worth my time if you fit into this blasphemous category of humanity. I’ll start saying google like googlay just to mess with you–you people have no right to listen to real words anymore.


Also, there are legitimate reasons why gif is pronounced with a soft g. The creator believes that it should be that way. Words that have an i following a g typically use a soft g (according to the all-knowing source wikipedia). If you are confused, just think about a happy GIF of GIraffes eating leaves and you’ll pretty much get the point. 


Last, my entire family agrees with me. My family never agrees on anything (don’t get me started on the presidential election) and at this point I’ll take what I can get.


Image via. Gifs via, viavia, and via.


How To Be A Sick Freshman

October 6, 2016

Every freshman gets a cold the first month of college. At least that’s what I tell myself, so that I don’t feel like a loser when I stay in bed and miss class three weeks into my college experience. I learned many important things from my authentic college cold, and I’m ready to share my juicy secrets and survival tips for getting through three days of sniffling and lethargy.

1. Visit CVS

This is the first step to pretending I’m a completely independent adult. Living next to a CVS is a godsend for late night snacking and the purchasing of random drugstore items. However, I also thoroughly enjoy spending an hour in the “Cough & Cold” aisle. Patiently reading every ingredient list and Googling supplements, I feel confident in my life choices as I decide to grab Tylenol, ibuprofen, and Vitamin C.

2. Contemplate Doing Homework

After getting my meds, I must give in to my desire to change into sweatpants and a t-shirt. I snuggle under the covers even though it’s 4 o’clock in the afternoon and think about doing homework. At this point, I know I’m not going to bother doing anything, but I might as well honor the unfinished assignments by letting them cross my mind. I cover my entire body in blankets and mindlessly scroll through Reddit and Buzzfeed until I succumb to sleep a few hours later.

3. Guiltily Turn Off My Alarm and Skip Class

I wake up to my morning alarm and quickly understand that I’m not going to class today. My nose is too runny and my body is too achy to think about anything intellectual. I am nervous about missing my massive lecture hall class, but not enough to lift my head from the pillow.

4. Lie in Bed and Watch Netflix

When I wake up in an afternoon haze, I courageously reach my hand over to my day-old muffin for a big crumbly bite and then lift my computer onto my lap. I know that Netflix is only a few clicks away, so I let muscle memory do its thing and start in on my newest favorite show. Halfway through my Netflix binge, I realize that I’ve run out of tissues. I consider crying about this fact, but that would require more tissues. I breathe slowly and moan quietly at the thought of having to put on shoes and walk 0.1 miles to get more tissues.

5. Visit CVS Again

I get to CVS and forget what I came to purchase. I end up buying cheese. Something that makes me forget that I’m sick. There’s nothing like enjoying a tiny salty wheel of dairy goodness to make the pain go away.

6. Call My Parents

I give in and call my parents. I need their reassurance that I have to rest and take care of myself as an excuse to watch more Netflix. I also use their guidance to resist going out at 1 am, so I guess this is ultimately a win. I sleep more and wake up feeling just a little less miserable the next day.

7. Attend Section

I always attend homework sections because I like not having to actually do homework by myself. Thus, I drag myself out of bed, bundle up in the warmest clothing anyone has dared to wear in sixty degree weather, and hide my illness by sitting quietly in section. I feel productive and simultaneously ignore the possibility that I just infected a dozen more people. It’s okay though, because I’m almost better, and those fuckers will show up next week to get me sick again anyways.

Image via.