There's An Old Tradition

Trace amounts of Monica in my life

A statistically insignificant level of Monica in my life

My life manufactured in a facility that also processes Monica

(nods sagely) (nods basily) (nods rosemarily) (nods saltly) (nods star anisely)

the people yearn for nonplastic fabrics

[Video description: Gritty is turning the crank on a flagpole to raise the Progress Pride Flag. He gesticulates angrily that the flag is not blowing in the wind, then gestures offscreen. The flag begins blowing. As Gritty begins raising the flag more, the camera pans out to show a man in a suit and sunglasses, looking like a stern Secret Service agent, is holding a leafblower that points at the flag. End description.]

I once ate meat from a pig that was only fed wine corks during its life. I became nauseated and tired and fell asleep in my leather armchair. I dreamt of cool breezes over vineyards on the Mediterranean Sea, until I woke up in a cold sweat and a longing for Italy. It’s not right to feed a pig too much of something, it gives them a connection which is best left alone.