Welcome to Jeff Probst's Great Island Baking Show. You'll live on a deserted island and be challenged to bake the finest patisserie, all judged by Jeff Probst.
"This bake is crap!" This time, Jeff Probst has spoken.
30 days. 20 bakers. 1 Island Baking Champion!
Out, sifting through life's many amenities, when unexpectedly you were ripped into a horrifying history of fashion malediction. Your eyes, nowhere to run, the pagan sashay of these emblazoned britches gloating at your gaze. It was the pants! Pants with Juicy stamped on the ass!
It's okay, It's just AI. It's helping you make dinner. It's AI. It's helping you drive your car. It's just AI. It's helping you with work. It's AI. It's delivering your packages. It's just AI. It's putting your children to bed. It's AI. It's watching you sleep. It's just AI.
Pregnancy tracker apps be like:
“Your baby is the size of a crouton.”
“Now your baby is the size of a brick of Parmesan.”
“Now your baby is the size of a head of romaine lettuce.”
“Now your baby is a Caesar salad.”
Here he comes in your rearview, an astonishing sight.
Squeezing through the traffic, with his hands clenched tight.
Sails past you with a butt crack of blinding white.
It’s a big fat guy on a bullet bike.
Yeah, it’s a big fat guy on a bullet bike.
While my first few laps on the baggage claim carousel did feel somewhat liberating, I found it less and less likely, with each revolution, that this would be the most practical way to find a good psychiatrist.
The problem with the toupee isn't the toupee itself. The problem with the toupee is the time frame from no toupee to full toupee... What they need is the halfway toupee.
Imagine a limbo filled with chain shops. A consumerist dream spilling over with the fluoresce rapturous branding of retail, fast food, convenience and everything in-between. It's real. It exists outside of your imagination and its name is Riverdale. Riverdale, Utah.
Me wrapping all of my Christmas gifts early so proud of myself for being diligent vs. Me cursing myself into the deepest pits of hell on Christmas day because I can't remember what's inside any of the gifts I wrapped.
He sends you an email. He doesn't keep a thread. He sends a new email. Individual attachments. He sends a new email. He mocks efficiency. He sends a new email. He disrespects your inbox. He sends a new email. He has many enemies. He sends a new email. He's going to be murdered.