Which, of he, or Adrian, for a good wager, / Firſt begins to crow ?

To this extenuated spectre, perhaps, a crumb is not thrown once a year, but when ahungered and athirst to famine—when all humanity has forgotten the dying tenant of a decaying house—Divine Mercy remembers the mourner […]

I finally said “eh, what the fuck” and quit my job.

[…] once the Oreos are gone I can't drink the milk with the floaties in it no matter how much milk is left.