I DIDN'T FORGET ABOUT POSTING YOU JUDGMENTAL ROAD STRIPE. Note that I called you a road stripe which implies that you are yellow with no friends except the other, parallel road stripe right next to you. Even if you were a white road stripe, you would be without food. There's no food for road stripes here. Like, I can't even tell you how often you make me salad, because it's a secret. It's only known by me, and this creepy drawing of a giraffe eating a watermelon out of a can of granola.
On the other hand, I cannot begin to tell you the amount of times Blogspot wants me to type in Times New Roman. Like, everytime I hit backspace, it changes the font automatically. We should make a new, equally terrible font, and name it Clocks Old Spartan. I have no idea what is involved in making a font, but that would be a great name for one. I may look into making a font called Clocks Old Spartan, and I'll include you in the credits. And by you, I mean me. You did nothing, you helpless hotel credit.
Goodnight Pepsi. That is what I would say if my son was named Pepsi. And by named Pepsi I mean my son would have a superpower were he could mutate, over the course of three and a half hours, into a severely flat two liter bottle of Pepsi. It wouldn't be a willful mutation either. Just like, whenever Pepsi saw like a cloud, he would start his three and a half process of becoming a two liter of Pepsi. It would be a very obvious mutation too. Like, his skin would flash in various, monochromatic tones of blue. He'd also emit this ear piercing shriek that could be heard from sixteen hundred feet away. It would be incredible.
-Griffin
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