03-29-2016, 10:40 PM
Shit is fucked up. You’ve got global warming, and asteroids, the polar ice caps melting (polar ice caps melting = a Google search for "ice caps Tundra" = Wikipedia article referencing the Tundra, first link), the threat of nuclear war and subsequent apocalypse, and all I want to do is buy a fucking humidor (an available humidor for purchase is known as the Brynmor, found by searching "humidor Brynmor" - also, "Tundra humidor" pops up with "No humidor man. Where you get them Cubans? I always wanted to try one to see what all the hype is," in the first link which alludes to the next clue) so I can smoke one of these badass Cubans and save the others. I want to go to my death at the peak of happiness: with a smoke in my mouth, chilling on a tropical island (eh, who am I kidding? A beach at dawn will do) and hashtagging everything #blessed. If I could get that hot guy from the Boston Whitecaps between my legs too, that would be sweeeeeet. He’s good with his tongue, if you know what I mean. Exit life on the waves of an orgasm (orgasm/good with his tongue - presumably good in bed = Brynmor, according to Urban Dictionary). Preferably before my tits start to sag. Now that assisted death is legal in Cali (California = The Offspring, a band formed in Huntington Beach, California; they also have a song called Cruising California which mentions this = Offspring), it’s totally possible, you know? As the days go by (days go by = Days Go By, a song by The Offspring = Offspring), I’m starting to think that’s my only option.
Blocking Brynmor from Offspring in the Tundra.
Blocking Brynmor from Offspring in the Tundra.