“grass”

moved back to the mission 48 hours ago, have successfully:

flooded the half bath botching a bidet install

burdened neighbors to the north-east, north-west, and south

got our massive sleeper-sofa in a real dirk gently situation and had to get it ship-in-a-bottled into the unit

[megaphone trigger-pull] “uh, table ready for uh, Bernham Sickie? Bernham Sickie, your table is ready?”

quitting drinking liquids of any kind by committing to exclusively using paper straws, to which a slow and agonizing death is preferable

hi marshal law, I’m dad