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Me: *feels extremely stressed, anxious, and alone*

Intensely painful headache: Is this a good time?

Having one of the worst headaches of my life certainly sucked, but at least it facilitated getting more than three hours* of sleep.

*three hours and 20 minutes, during which time I woke up thrice

From exactly one year ago. Wherein Cord and Sock discuss the show "Dinosaurs" at the absolute height of its popularity - i.e., 27 years after its cancellation.

My desire to hop aboard the Grimace shake bandwagon is at odds with desire to never, ever, EVER try the Grimace shake.

CON: The Canadian wildfires have made my apartment smell like smoke.

PRO: If someone were to visit right now, they might think I'm cool enough to smoke.

The people perpetuating the joke about the Grimace shake have either never seen a horror movie about the power of urban legends or are simply fearless.

Sure, the current air quality situation in this part of the country is very dangerous, but on the plus side, I’m now hiding from the world due to something other than mental illness.

Definitely not something I mutter to myself three to five times per hour.

New comic! Since the show referenced herein was just canceled and is slated to be removed from its respective streaming service, I wanted to put this stupid joke out there before all relevance is lost.

As a hypersensitive weirdo, the joy of picking up new glasses is diminished by the knowledge that I'll be going back to have the frames adjusted at least three times in the next week.

I either need to become likable enough to build a support network or stop having problems that require the assistance of a support network, and right now, the latter seems more feasible.

If I’m not mature, why do I suffer from the exact same sleep issues as the oldest people I know?

I feel like I’ve driven a lot of people away with my negativity this year, which makes me nostalgic for the days of driving people away with my terrible sense of humor.

"The world just wasn't ready," I whisper as I delete several toots that failed to garner the desired praise.

Roughly 90% of the supervillain energy I get from a fresh head-shave dissipates the instant peach fuzz begins to form.

Either my various mental illnesses are too serious to joke about or my thousands (millions?) of jokes on the subject need to be funnier.

I don’t wanna say I’m a mixture of stupidity and gullibility, but I *did* just buy a lottery ticket on the advice of a horoscope.

New comic! Wherein Cord and Jenkins engage in a thoughtful dialogue on what constitutes attractiveness.

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