The past 24 hours have been some of the lowest of my life. I’ve endured turmoil of the body and mind, and honestly, I’m struggling to see a future for myself in such a bleak world. And, no, even though I’ve been experiencing mood swings powerful enough to register on the Richter scale, I am NOT PMSing. I’m just fucking upset I’ll never get my freedom dividend.
Some friends have been kind enough to point out that I’m showing symptoms of what appears to be the fabled PMS. Well, I’m here to set the record straight. My body is being torn apart; not by hormones, but by the trauma of Andrew Yang leaving the presidential race.
The mountain range of acne on my forehead, you ask? Not from PMS. I’m just violently stressing about the income inequality that will continue plaguing our nation. I’m looking bloated, you say? Well, maybe that’s because I’m an emotional eater coming to terms with the fact that I will never receive the free $1,000 per month that I deserve as a hardworking American. I look tired? It’s probably because I’ve been up all night calculating how many years I will have to push back my planned retirement.
Also, I just really want some fucking Gucci slides. Andrew, look how you’ve destroyed me. Yang Gang, out.