I know what BDSM stands for but not YMCA and I went to that hell hole for years. What in the blue fuck… priorities.
And if I hated anything it’d be ketchup pre cum.
I made a pecan pie. My buddy ate a slice and said, “MMM! It’s good! It reminds me of the pie they had at this orchard that lets you pick your own fruit.”
I’d learn the words to the YMCA song in a chief get-up and scarf down ketchup spooge with all of my fries for the rest of my life if it meant I could cook that well all the time. I was also happy it reminded him of pleasant memories. That’s gotta count for something, yeah?
Here’s a memory for the bank: fucking early breakfast after a late night Walmart run.