Delicious but deadly. But at least I smell tasty, which is almost worth second-degree burns and doing everything one-handed with the wrong hand. Also, Percocet.
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Oh, good. I’m glad you have your own number in case you need to call yourself sometime. If you ever lose it or forget it, feel free to call your local pizza place.
No, I haven’t been looking. I’ve been sitting at home eating bonbons and hoping that a job offer might spontaneously appear through the wardrobe door via luckdragon riding on the Hogwarts Express.
If there’s one thing the Fire Department loves, it’s amateur bucket-brigaders putting out strange fires on their own and hanging around begging for props.
“Working at a dollar store will be easy,” I said. “Who could possibly find something to complain about where everything costs a dollar?” I said.