I got in to work Friday and was accosted by the back-up receptionist, who was, in a word, poinging. “Guesswhatguesswhatguesswhat?”
“What?”
Says the actual receptionist, from behind her desk: “I’m pregnant.”
Maybe this explains her diagnosis of me.
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A thirtyish California couple into sci-fi, the Internet, and the strangeness of the world.
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that was retarded
retarded isnt the word. that was spaz