Biscuit dunkers.

I should have a warning icon for posts I write during migraines. A throbbing angry brain or something. This is one of them.

Do you ever wonder if people in the 1930s knew they were living in the 1930s? Not like peeps in the Matrix not knowing they were in the Matrix. More like us, refusing to accept that we’re the faded photographs or pixel-dead Instagrams of some future generations’ backward glance.

That assumes there’ll be a future generation, which is sardonically bold of …