It is like breathing soup here.
Gritty, stale soup that I found in the back of an unplugged refrigerator.
I cracked open the crusty seal of the jar and sloowwly raised it to my parched lips...
Gross! You guys, that is so gross.
On a different note, you like that little tiger in a box?
I made that box.
I found that Tiger.
I would like to make more of those boxes, but you know, unlike tigers, good old fashioned yard sticks made out of harder, nicer woods don't just magically appear.
What a sad joke about the state of Tigers in the world.
There must be something fishy in that soup I'm breathing.
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No dick heads please.