I may have sold my sacred MODOATH for a dozen eggs and then failed to inform any of you when the PINs changed on the hangar doors and S-2 canceled your fake CACs. THAT'S LIFE. Life did that. Nuke did a pretty good job hosting and his bargain bin assassins aside, I enjoyed the roast and hold no grudge against him or anyone. Except John Kerry and Spez. To me, you are all the shopping cart I get every time I go to the Piggly Wiggly. Sure, one wheel is wonky, it's covered in sour milk and the folding seat doesn't hold my stuff, but it's familiar. You can rely on its broken funkiness to turn up in the queue. I will be commenting from the Joplin Continental until Nuke manages to get the message across to his minions that the order is cancelled. Thank you, magic trash can.
I just want access to fresh cannoli and gnocchi like I had in South Philly. No, I don't want to learn how to make them, my gnocchi were abominations the dog wouldn't eat. If it takes a global war to fix my culinary crisis, THENSOBEIT.
Please be my first Belgian friend, you don't have to give me lambics or anything.