The final straw is set, and broken. And even though it's still under warranty I can't help but spit "just great" at the top of my lungs. Shit, it's as if the lungs I've made into wings can no longer breath and I'm left to suffer... again. Lost and loathing with bad tv.

It's hard to focus on the bright side of things amid chemical smoke and deep screws. But it's there, even if I can't see it, and it doesn't make a sound. But the more mature we grow, the more we realize the only way to become something else is to destroy what you aim to be and disect it.
But I can't kill or disect. I'm a vegitarian.

Yes
No
Do nothing