and so many of my friends and occasionally myself are taking on the morose and heavy texture of the clouds that have trappe dus in a coastal but coastless miasma of cold and dank that has stretched too far already.
Dear Father Nature:
Smarten the fuck up. Release Mr. Sunshine from your house of gloom and banish MR. Cloudy Pants off to someplce that needs him like - I don't know - a desert.
Really.
Agreed!
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