It is Thanksgiving. The day where we feast upon the dead carcass of a once living turkey. Stuffing too!
Yummy. I love stuffing and mashed potatoes.
Technically, I've got Native American blood in me.
Not just because that guy from the "don't litter" commercial slit his throat and bled into my mouth, but also because of my ancestors fucking each other and such.
Now, I'll be honest, when talking about by Native American roots, I've had my reservations. I'm white passing because I'm a white person. But I got enough non-white DNA to get away with any joke I wanna tell. Haha. Loophole, bitch. I'm a depressed minority. You can't tell me shit.
I'll walk into AM/PM with my bow and arrow COCKED, bro. Don't FUCK with me.
...but speaking of AM/PM... have you seen the new mascot for this shit? Because holy hot fuck, he rules.
Dude. His name is Toomgis.
What the FUCK is a Toomgis?
Look at his design. He has red licorice hair, a cookie mustache, a burger for a nose, assorted snacks and drinks for a body, his hands are cinnamon rolls, his fingers are hot dogs, his beard is those fry things they have. The more I look at this bizarre motherfucker the more captivated I become by his aura.
There's nothing I can say that's more ridiculous than this motherfucker's entire existence. Are you shitting me? Look at this fucker.
Good God. What a hunk.
...hunk... junk... food? I don't know. I gotta get back to work, guys.