SO GUYS I WROTE SOMETHING FOR SOMEONE ELSE.
And I talked about poop a lot. For which I am only half sorry. The other half is v. amused.
2015 has come and is gone the way of anyone’s intestines after a two-hour long Indian food fest: down the drain, hopefully without the help of a plunger or a plumber.
Let me further this metaphor, and I apologize ahead of time if you are currently eating. Let’s imagine that each year represents a pair of underwear in America’s history. I don’t know why we would imagine that, but let’s do it anyway. If this year was a pair of underpants, it’s skid marks have, uh, stained the country and left it embarrassed in front of its friends.
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