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I never really liked processed food when I’m baked. Give me a pear, or a bowl of grapes, or a mothafuckin’ peach
Me after a bowl: “I need an entire can of SPAM.”
SPAM and grapes are good.
Back in the day, late at night the gas station guy would call a guy for you to get you what you wanted.
About 20 years later I worked with the guy that drove the car that delivered my weed.
What a small world we live in.
No stress, citizen. It’s a short loop.
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And by “gas station employee”, you mean the fire hydrant you’ve been clutching since the sun came up and started lighting all the colors on fire?
