For real, though. I hope I'm alive to see the archaeological science tech improve to the point we can finally uncover the story about that mystery baby-daddy: was he a local, and that's why they left town? Maybe he was a traveling sandal salesman (there's a lot of foot washing in that book, just sayin'), and Joseph got wind he was spotted in Bethlehem? Somebody's got that ancient tea, and I wanna sip!
Agreed. If enough of us look the fuck up instead of taking what we’re fed… maybe it doesn’t have to be “another day at the office”? I was in middle school when we had the ill-fated assembly in the cafeteria to watch the first teacher astronaut go up, but that didn’t kill my dreams of exploring the stars (the realization in my teens of its extreme unlikelihood did).
If the “best advice” is just to keep your head down and focus on your work, then that’s more about accepting your fate as an infinitesimally tiny cog in someone else’s cash engine. Fuck that.
Having come up in the 90s-00s, the few times I’ve been called “daddy” were a little surprising at the time (“it’s just something I say, don’t overthink it”, etc), but thankfully said moments were in the rear-view quickly enough.
In later years, my kids didn’t add the “y” and one even asked why other kids say it that way. Hell, I’m ok with “dude” from my kids or their friends, in certain contexts, but “bruh”? Might as well try calling me “son” or “boy”, and see how that flies, child. 🤪
May or may not be from the area (ahem), but I’ll say this: if you’re not getting it straight from the oven, then what’s the point? Delivered Chicago-style is only slightly more appetizing than delivered lasagna, NGL.
OP’s pie, however, looks damn tasty. The pepperoni on top are just as garnish anyhow. 🤗