I always found it funny that, at least around here, there’s normally a section in gas stations that sells limited tools. So you could pick up like a hammer or box cutter, some gloves, and a balaclava if you’re lucky, turn around and rob the place.
For real. Fucking NCIS moment.
Growing up, my aunt had a boxer. Beautiful, lovely dog. It died of the same type of cancer my dad did, bronchial. My dad smoked like a chimney and had since he was a literal child. The dog maybe encountered a little second hand outside, but no one smoked in the house. It lived on a nice little piece of land in the country.
I’m not saying my vape isn’t giving me cancer. I’m saying everything is giving me cancer.
They can have Epstein’s old joint.