I'm writing this on my phone. I didn't have to say that, but it seems to have become a liability statement these days. "I wrote this on my phone so please excuse my grammar and spelling and lack of writing ability." Who has time to get a computer out these days when there's starving kids on TikTok.
I'm currently sitting on a bench in the cold while my daughter is in an art class. I'll spare you the details of why. However, I find myself in a weird combination of having free time while not free to move anywhere. The cold and the metal bench are in a race to see who.can make my ass go numb first. If you see any periods where there should be spaces as above with "who.can", it's because the space bar on the phone isn't wide enough, and I have the thumb control of a Mortal Combat button masher. And to hell with going back and fixing it.
I've now killed 1/9 of my wait time. Here's something fun: my next sentence will be created completely by the suggested words on my phone. Perhaps you have to go back and see if it was the first time you had a Merry Christmas or something like that. Profound.
Anyway here's a card:
2003 Rookie Review Magazine Bryan Randall
I didn't know this existed.until about two weeks ago. It isn't in any if the card databases out there. Hell, it's barely a card. It's one step above a magazine subscription tear-out-and-throw-in-the-bathroom-trash-then-realize-its-recyclable-so-you-dig-it-out-but-now-its-wet-for-some-reason thing. It has the charm of a cut out box bottom card without the effort.
I freaking love it.
What is card collecting if not an opportunity to fall in love immediately with something that was a stranger to you just a moment ago? It's like the first time you meet a girl at college.
I love the ragged edges. I love that it looks like it came from the pages of a magazine. I love that it talks too much about Marcus Vick. But enough about that girl from college.
I'm now 2/9 through my waiting. My tailbone is declaring war on my frigid buttcheeks. I dont think I have any other card.pictures on my phone. I packed myself 3 cookies, and I'm just 1/9 away from my first 1/3 celebration snack. 2/9 + 1/9 = 3/9 = 1/3. The math checks out.
Here is where I put that sentence that makes fun of you for still reading this you dork.
The cold has reached my.fingers. I think it's time to call it quites on thi daa postshd. Soo could. Camt feedl myt fingers. DJ I'm zhkdnbvz aodj jdkwi yeah 73hdjgw ue .
