2. Gorillas. I heard they’re going extinct, so they’re probably a good investment.
It’s 10:30 AM and most of the patrons of Farmer’s Horse coffee shop have given up whatever they were doing to become engrossed in the quickly-accumulating details of a loud guy’s phone conversation.
Is the person you’re embalming definitely dead?
“I don’t want to sound overly sentimental and all,” he said, tearing up slightly, “but your neck-down, totally intact torso types — well, those are the ones that you just know will stick around."
“You could explain the danger his pit bulls posed until you were blue in the face, and all he would say is, ‘it’s the owner, not the breed.’ Well, come to think of it, maybe he had a good point.”
Sure, you’re losing several quarts of blood a minute, but this is not all about you. Perhaps if you bothered to learn that your crazed interlocutor was mercilessly teased by the other cubs because his fur was “different,” you’d have a more empathetic perspective on the whole situation.
You may be wondering if I’m about to confess to all the lying, cheating, philandering, stealing, and manipulation I’ve engaged in my whole life. However, a lifetime of incredibly poor choices is not the reason I’m wildly flailing my arms and making choking noises at the moment.
Witnesses to the joyful 3 AM reunion between man and slice say both wept copiously as they gazed longingly at each other in the flickering kitchen light.
It could be that my clothes were culturally appropriated by the arrogant elite of a fashion industry who frequently seek to profit from the wholesale thievery of sartorial milieus organically created by oppressed communities. But probably not — I’m pretty sure my underwear and stuff was snatched out of my gym locker by this douchey kid named Eric.
By Gwyneth Paltrow