[Marty is busying himself by making a fan out of shitty old cardboard bits, completely exasperated. This whole its-getting-hotter-with-no-signs-of-
Now I know how my brownies felt like. Minus the feeling of being digested, but we can't all do that many new things at once.
[What, come on, haven't you ever considered your baked goods and their emotional statuses?]
And, like, dudes like me? No way we can strut around in trunks like most of you — which, by the way? The sexy people versus normal people ratio here is pretty fucking high, like, 100 to 1. And I'm the 1. I swear to christ, sometimes I wonder if half of you came from a planet where everyone is ridiculously charmingly good-looking.
It's not like I've got hairy nipples or an outtie -- y'know, a grotesque one, not one the cute ones, but I'm waaaay too skinny and pale for a swimsuit competition. People could probably just mistake me for printer paper up until they can't fit me in the tray.
I know, I know. "But Marty! Your personality outshines your sex appeal!" You're too kind.
[grin grin grin
we might all burn alive ok
but it's all good, fuck it]
If anyone turns into a microwave burrito, we should probably all just play Tetris in the freezers. Who's with me? We can experiment with ice cube trays, see what kind of abnormal ingredients make the best or worst ice-pops. Pickle juice is surprisingly delicious after your second or sixth joint.