There are now eight deadly sins, and it’s called tech obsession. Repent!
“I swear to Jesus God, it was absolutely disgusting, emphasis on absolutely. If I had any food in my stomach, I would have thrown it all up.” Janice Troutman was face-timing™ on a very large communication device with blue tooth ear bud implants, which by the by, were totally worth it. No more wiping of the ear goo and losing them all the time. She sat on a couch that should have been replaced eight months ago.
Applebee’s® is the Pauly Shore of restaurants.
“Not now. Oh dear God, not now!” Of course, he said it out loud. He was tense for many reasons, so many; as tense as a tightly wound high E-string on the verge of snapping on a teenager’s Sears® electric guitar. Maxwell Donner was experiencing his first Tinder® date at the Applebee’s® in Tinley Park™.
She slipped into slow motion, as she heard herself say, “Painting relaxes me.” It was as if she was a car going through the penultimate phase of an automated car wash, and the aggressive swirling wrap-around washers were the truth. Linda Salmon Chase was absolutely apoplectic and befuddled with this newfound truth.
Back in my day, instead of inane infomercials about removing age spots and excess stomach flab at 2 a.m., we had this.
Mr. Floyd Biggenwoch took a long puff from his pipe, which looked suspiciously like a bubble-blowing apparatus, and after exhaling bubbles through the pipe’s bowl, it was made conclusive.
The sound of a switchblade and a motorbike.
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