Riced Out Yugo
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information is serious business
the store wasn't convenient for Tesco LaTone (the man named after the convenience store in which he was conceived), and the only other conceivable location was located across the bar from a rather foul-tempered robot, who, despite his disposition, would always overpour. a guy who was the guy for some other guy that does stuff, he needed this guy fixed down at the department of elbow grease.

i had just the thing: the department of elbow grease had a contract with pepsi, and employees were forbidden to drink coke, discuss coke, snort coke, tweet about coke, or snort tweets about coke. bottomless linda had herself a job down at the department of elbow grease, and knew that that guy (no the other one [no the other one {no the other one}]) left his password on a post it note on the monitor, and that the password was SEXPARAKEET420, and that he probably, like, uses the password for all that shit, and, like, THANK GAWD you're gonna fix him because he's always starin' at my behind and then pretending like he was thinking about a related rates problem from the night calculus class he's taking, as if adding "night" to calculus makes it cooler, well, actually i guess it does, but, like, ugh, get into number theory or something

that's why they called her bottomless linda. not only did i get the information i wanted, i got a lot more besides

i pulled an origami crane out of my pocket, and slid it over to Tesco LaTone.

he nodded. "if this werks," he drawled, "i gotcha 50,000 youtube followers." i nodded.

"would. you. like. some. more ?!" the robot bartender interjected.

"always," i replied.
Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2020-02-07 00:39:43
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