Vaccinated People Are Nothing But Braggarts

April 12, 2021 By

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Vaccinated people post online when they get vaccinated despite not being online people generally, because they are People Who Are Not Online Except to Brag About Being Vaccinated.

Vaccinated people constantly text their friends asking them when their vaccine appointment is. Not in one simple text, but in multiple bubbles like crazy people.  Got it yet? Second shot? Important!

If you don’t respond, Vaccinated people continue to bug you about volunteering in order to get the vaccine and how you will die without it and sometimes, they even send chicken recipes along with articles on herd immunity. 

Vaccinated people are over there with their sleeves rolled up high displaying bright orange arm bandages to show off the fact that are fully vaccinated, despite the fact that blood isn’t actually seeping from their arms and there really is no need for a bandage, especially not after three whole days.  

Vaccinated people have printed bumper stickers about vaccinations (GO VAX!), they talk about it to anyone who will listen like an old war story, and they have frames made for their CMS vaccination card. That’s odd.  It really is.  

Vaccinated people really want to communicate how deeply terrible each and every one of them felt after taking the second shot.  So many aches and chills! It felt like their bones were breaking! But it was worth it to protect our collective civilization! 

The side effects of Vaccinated people from their second dose are likely much worse than anyone else, most likely, and they will tell you so repeatedly. WAY WORSE. 

Don’t try to explain to Vaccinated people that you, too, are vaccinated and yet only had a sore arm or a mild headache.  That will infuriate the Vaccinated people and they won’t believe you, or will think your immune system is not very strong and you are a person who doesn’t have any emotions or cries at movies.  

Vaccinated people will judge you if you say you’re healthy and you don’t want to get a new and untested vaccine.  Clearly you talk to your cats and only watch online conspiracy theory videos.

To all the Vaccinated people: go on a trip.  Enjoy your life.  Stop bragging about this one thing like you stopped the European invasion.  We get it, you can wear a mask under your nose, eat at an Applebee’s again, and see your grandchildren. FOCUS ON THAT.

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The Unveiling of the Official White House Charcuterie Board

February 15, 2021 By

Hello Americans,

I’m Chef Cristeta Pasia Comerfort, the current White House Executive Chef, and the first woman and Filipino-American to hold this position. I’ve worked in the White House kitchens since 1995 and I’ve seen a lot of Presidents. I do not hold an opinion on who I like as far as administrations go.  I am neutral as far as party affiliation and only cook at the pleasure of the current office holder. 

I am sorry that I cannot comment on my four years serving white bread and mayonnaise sandwiches to the former President and glasses of bitter herb cocktails to his wife. It’s simply not my place to have an opinion, despite being told that “if I could cook like Chef Boyardee” or if I could “make my sandwiches taste like Arby’s,” we’d really be cooking with gas. However, I have created this charcuterie board for an upcoming happy hour in honor of the new incoming Presidential team and staff.

As I would for anyone.   

The 2021 Official White House Charcuterie Board

Glory Halleluiah Ham, that used to be tightly rolled but now is loosening up

Dry-Cured Prosciutto, because after so many months of non-stop drinking everyone needs to take a moment to be dry again

A wonderfully rich English Cheddar, which is a cow milk cheese traditionally cast in a mold of civility with which we are familiar

Brie, a very soft nice cheese that doesn’t yell or scream at you about how “your people are taking jobs away from American steel workers”

A dish of olives from groves that actually dated back thousands of years in the Mediterranean region, despite the former administration saying that they originated from California in 1965

Hazelnut raspberry honey crisps, because we are no longer forced to serve tostados made from fried Goya beans

A nice fig jam, dating back to when the Greeks needed to preserve the quince with honey.  Let us preserve this moment in history where my staff isn’t ordered to make Fritoe Pie at 2 am during a twitter rant

Bite-sized sea salt dark chocolate, for me to simply eat, because I think I’ve earned it.

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We are looking forward to a great four years ahead.

Xoxo

Chef Comerfort

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New Year’s Resolutions for the Year After COVID

December 30, 2020 By

1.  Be flexible.  Do not wince when you see someone’s actual lips and teeth and resist saying “DO YOU NOT CARE ABOUT THE SAFETY OF THE COMMUNITY, LINDA?”

2.  Stop making bread. 

3.  Stop cross stitching.

4.  Stop drinking so heavily.

5.  Stop it with all the hobbies that are sending you into a dangerous spiral of being a one-lady knitting club with rogue facial hair.  

6.  Search for your waist again.  It will take a year to find.  Good luck.      

7.  Smash your television.  You’ve had your run.

8. Damn it no. That was just the crowded bars talking; a moment of sheer temporary insanity. Soon you will tire of being close to people and will need to hide on your couch. Keep the television.

9. Just say no to lipstick.  We’ve gone a year without wearing it due to the masks.  Your lips don’t need to be stained to look like you consumed a vat of wild cherries.  This is the time for a revolution.  

10.     Be kind to people.  But not the people who felt the election was stolen, Linda, the jerks who never drag in their trash cans, or the folks who think climate change is a hoax. 

11.  Never forget the time you got an adult pimple on your chin due to the moist air from wearing a mask, and YET YOU DIDN’T LOSE YOUR ELDERLY MOTHER TO A LIFE-THREATENING VIRUS. It wasn’t that bad, is what I’m saying.

12.  Wear pants with a zipper. 

13.  Don’t look surprised when people say “you seem so different!” but don’t explain exactly why.  It could be the sourdough bread bloat and lack of human interaction.  Just smile and say you did something to your hair.    

14.  Cut your hair.  Blow-dry your hair.  Do something –anything – with your God-forsaken hair.

15.  Start writing that book you put off. But then again, if you were locked at home for twelve months and didn’t do it, it’s highly doubtful you’ll start now.

16.  Floss.

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Things you Tell Your Personal Trainer that Do Not Further Your Goals

January 21, 2020 By
See? This woman is working out in a hat. Don’t judge me.
  • Instead of using 25-pound weights, how about I use five pound weights and just take into consideration air resistance.
  • Air resistance is really a thing.  
  • Can I just lean my body forward as if I’m climbing a hill instead of actually pushing the incline button on the treadmill? I’ll explain what I’m seeing on the journey, like tall trees, arctic tundra, and people down in the valley participating in a folk music festival.
  • I’m allergic to latex, so I’m afraid I can’t use those leg bands, sorry.
  • I’m allergic to metal, so I can’t even pick up those hand weights, sorry.
  • I think I may be allergic to exercise altogether.
  • What do you mean “go all out?”  My heart rate is 160 BPM. This is as far out as I go.
  • Instead of squats how about we just do little dips and I’ll sway my hips to the music.
  • What do you mean, lifting five pounds is not enough?  I’ll bet Gwyneth Paltrow only uses five pounds at a time. Just look at her.
  • Good point, Gwyneth only weighs 87 pounds.  
  • So when you say “do 15 reps” I think that roughly translates to eight, maybe nine I think.   
  • An hour workout seems extreme.  We need to reserve time for water and stretching and chatting about Real Housewives so let’s just make the actual physical activity part 27 min.
  • If I grunt super loud and grit my teeth, can we use less weight?   
  • I’m not going to balance my body on that spinning wheel and bring it to my chest to “work on my oblique muscles.”  Those muscles are just going to have to remain bleak.
  • I don’t think I’m a difficult person to work with. I’m just trying to be efficient.
  • I didn’t hear you about adding six extra reps.  That music is so loud!
  • I’m not losing weight.  What gives?

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A Mother’s Contract *not legally binding in all states

March 21, 2019 By

 

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WHEREAS a mother forms human life completely inside of her own body but for a man’s sperm, eats chicken fingers due to raging salty cravings, and pushes a life form out of a small crevice that was formally used for recreational purposes;

WHEREAS a mother is responsible for the training, nutrition, and education of child (except for when mom has a Migraine or the child’s being a real pain); and

WHEREAS child doesn’t really care and simply wants mother to take him/her to soccer practice and allow for sufficient time on Minecraft,

NOW, THEREFORE, in consideration of the mutual covenants and conditions herein contained, the parties agree to the following:

Section 1: Term

This contract shall be in effect upon the uncomfortable screaming event that when child made its debut breathing air (“Child’s Birthday”) and shall last until the mother’s death and/or until the child says “my therapist says you are toxic and I need to cut you out of my life” (“Termination Date”).

Section 2: Duties of Parties

Duties of Mother:

(1) Mother shall hereinafter and at all times love child except from the ages of 12-15 when the mother shall simply tolerate and barely like them on certain days they aren’t yelling “for heavens sakes mom please don’t drop off us off so close to school” or crying about pimples / premenstrual cramps;

(2) Mother shall cook for children daily and/or buy them food and/or simply set out plates of crackers and cheese and say “it’s this or starvation, kiddos, because it’s been that kind of day;” and

(3) Mother shall drive them places, listen to their daily stories, ensure they do just enough chores to hear them complain, punish them when appropriate, and say “I understand this is hard for you” when they say “you really are the most strict and cruel parenting figure that has ever lived.”

Duties of Children:

(1) Attend school (sometimes)

(2) Eat mom’s food (unless it’s meatloaf, fish, olives, or anything with “that gross cheese in it”)

(3) Play videogames

(4) Complain

(5) Half-ass their chores

Section 3: Compensation

Mother gets paid only in sticky valentine’s cards that say “I love you, mommy!!” as well as cold eggs and some barely toasted bread covered in butter the children bring on a tray into her bed on Mother’s Day.  No one will remember Mother’s birthday, any important event in her life, and will let her sleep in on weekends except the times they knock on her bedroom door at 7 am to see if they can use the ipad.  However, Mother shall receive a coupon for a “free foot rub” that no child ever intends her to cash in on.  When they are teenagers they will mutter “yeah, you too” when she says I love you, which in a way is a form of emotional payment.

Section 4: Incentive Payment

There will be a one-time payment when children grow up and have their own children, which will make them realize how hard their mother worked and how patient she was, and will say “wow mom, we never realized it was this hard” as Mother visits and helps fold burp pads, going the grocery store and preparing seventeen freezer meals.  This is the extent of the payment, this weak acknowledgment of not realizing a Mother’s true worth, but it’s something?

IN WITNESS WHEREOF, the parties have executed this Agreement not under sound mind or body because if Mother knew all the terms of this agreement she would never, ever sign it.  And yet here we go.

 

__________________

Mother’s Signature

__________________

Just include an image of child’s footprint out of craft paint and stamp it here, because that makes a lot of damn sense

 

 

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Filed Under: Humor, Motherhood, Uncategorized Tagged With: , , , ,

Using Words Wrong to Save Time + Words

March 12, 2019 By

“At a recent round table meeting of business executives, & long after formally introducing Tim Cook of Apple, I quickly referred to Tim + Apple as Tim/Apple as an easy way to save time & words. The Fake News was disparagingly all over this, & it became yet another bad Trump story!”

-President of the United States, The Donald, Man of Few Words

We need to cut the President some slack. He’s running this nation.  He’s a very busy man, and cannot be bothered with things that take time PLUS contain words.  That’s a lot to deal with.  I mean it’s Monday.  Tanning day.   Hamberders.  Hungry.

Okay, sure. It actually takes longer to create an online rant on twitter using your thumbs on an outdated apple phone (see above / contact Tim Apple) indicating why you didn’t say this one word by instead using fifty-two words, but he has his reasons!

We all need more time plus less words.  Let’s try this at home:

Let’s go grab lunch at the French bakery=                 LUNCH FRENCH

I’ve had a headache since Tuesday=                          HEAD TUESDAY

What a cute blue dress your kid is wearing=             BLUE KID

It’s like an entirely new (nonsensical) language!  Look at all those words we saved!

 

THANK YOU, MR. PRESIDENT.

 YOUR IDEA STUPID

(short for “thank you for your helpful idea which makes us better people and less stupid on all fronts!”)

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NPR On-Air Personality Job Interview Questions

December 27, 2018 By

NPR headquartersWhere the magic happens.  I hear they have chamomile tea

  • Do you have a voice that is soft and spreadable like butter from grass-fed cows?
  • Are you able to keep a straight face when reporting on the President, the President’s tweets, the people who work for the President, the President’s choice of hair or skin color, or the fact that the President may pout, punch other world leaders, or whine?
  • Do you consider all things?
  • Do you ever use the words “scrupulous” or “colloquial” or basically any words that normal people with an 8th grade vocabulary have never heard of?
  • Do people naturally smile and have a trance-like appearance when you open your mouth and speak, especially when you are discussing a war-torn country in a far-off location or economic woes in Detroit?
  • Are you totally comfortable talking about stories of seeming insignificance, like the third-generation carver of burled-wood tables in Virginia?
  • Can you pretend everyone else is lovely when we all know they are not?
  • Do you have a name that is unique and special like Garrison, Dina, Ira, or Neal, or a last name that’s gross?
  • Are you okay with asking people for money for months on end even though it’s just a radio station they can turn off at will?
  • Do you feel that a mug is ever an appropriate incentive? What about a t-shirt with an elitist quote?
  • Do you support a self-supporting, insular mindset where most people drink tea rather than the country’s more common and pedestrian coffee?
  • Speaking of tea, do you drink organic fair-trade tea from India? If not, what’s wrong with you?
  • Have you ever lived on a prairie, and if so, did you have a home filled with suitable companions?
  • Are you inspired and uplifted by stories about rare ants found deep in the woods of a forest in a country whose name nobody can pronounce but you?
  • Speaking of that, can you pronounce all words in the history of the world and in various languages with the correct accent?
  • Are you okay with umlauts?
  • If we have any further questions, we’ll be sure to ask you quickly and efficiently via telephone before you hypnotize us with your melodic and uplifting voice. Also, we kinda want to punch you in the throat.  Nobody really cares about ants that much.

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An Open Letter to Parson Brown

December 11, 2018 By

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Dear Rev. Brown,

I’m sure you recall last Winter, when we first met.  It was in the lane, where snow was glistening.  You may have believed it was a beautiful sight and we were happy that night. But you know what? I can honestly say it the worst time of my life. I was taken advantage of with a broken-down car and was not fully aware of that one night’s long-lasting implications.  It was the moment I met Ted, who coincidentally is now my husband.  And it’s all your fault.

I was just passing through the woods on my way to the airport.  Detour signs led me deep into the forest. My car skidded off the road and out of nowhere came a man who walked up and offered to help.  He handed me a flask of whiskey, and I drank it.  What was I supposed to do? It was seven degrees outside with a negative wind chill. Reverend – I should have known better. This is 2018. Who is out at night walking in a Winter Wonderland? I looked around me because I was scared, but gone away was the bluebird.  Instead all I saw were new birds.  They appeared to be crows, who peered at me with their steely death-filled eyes.  I should have seen that as a foreboding sign.

As we walked, we came to a meadow, where Ted said we could build a snowman.  Who wants to build a snowman in a blizzard with a stranger?  I just wanted my car fixed!  I was beginning to think he slipped something in the whiskey.  All of a sudden there you were, this fat white guy with a large nose and a top hat standing there asking if we were married.  I was like “no, man” and at that point things got really hazy.  I think someone said they’d get the job done in town, and I was like “FINALLY” since that’s a fairly new Saab. Now I realize it wasn’t the car you were talking about.

I think Ted must have been sitting home alone before we met, conspiring and dreaming by a fire, to make this all happen. I mean, normal men don’t walk around in forests with laced whiskey unless it’s pre-meditated.  Did he put the detour signs there to force me off the road?  Had he been stalking me?  He kept going about the stupid snowman again, this time pretending it was a circus clown.  I think even in my altered state I realized Ted was mentally ill.  Now, there is no doubt.  The other day he said he liked to frolic and play the Eskimo way.  An Eskimo?  We live in Massachusetts, not Greenland!  This is getting worse by the day.  He’s a psychopath and needs medication.

Look, I’ve been trying to contact you for a while. I’ve searched all the seminaries and they have no record of you. I’m beginning to think you’re not a real preacher after all. I need to contact you to see how to annul this marriage since it was based on false pretenses.  If annulment isn’t possible, we are getting a divorce.  I can’t take it anymore.  I come home from work every night and I have to listen to Ted yelling at the television and ringing those stupid bells. Sleigh bells ring, am I listening? How can I not? The tinkling and jingling is giving me anxiety. That’s not snow glistening, it’s tears filled with hidden rage!

I’m done with this whole game.   You can take this Winter Wonderland and stick it.

Sincerely,

Susan White

 

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Helpful Recipe Ideas for Parents with Annoying Teenagers

November 27, 2018 By

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You can see leaf veins on these suckers so don’t tell me algebra homework is hard. 

(1)  When You Want to Kill That Kid Vegetable Soup.  This involves a great deal of chopping.  You take a large knife and slice through various root vegetables like carrots, turnips, onions, and extra celery since it makes a satisfying bone-crushing sound.  This way you don’t cut through actual parts of people you are supposed to love and care for but are instead raging against the shallot.  Murder those red potatoes, people.  They don’t bleed.  Chop away on the cutting board and when the kid comes in and to ask what’s for dinner, they will see the murderous and slightly crazed look on your face with a large knife in your hand and quietly slink back in their rooms until dinner is ready.

(2)  Talking Back Biscuits.  These are a light and fluffy way to start your morning when the kid says “YOU SAID YOU’D WAKE ME UP MOTHER” and “WHY DO I NOT HAVE ANY SOCKS THAT ARE CLEAN.” Like their socks are your problem.  Then you catch them saying “oh shit, I have a history test today and I didn’t study” so you add extra salt to the dough to match their mouth. When they eat them and say “gross, I don’t like so much salt” you can say “welcome to my world, kiddo” and “try some jam with that.”

(3)  Crappy Attitude Casserole.  With teenagers, they come home ecstatic and happy and talking about the school dance with glee or they look like someone pulled out all their wisdom teeth without anesthesia.  If you are unlucky enough to catch them on a bad day, make a dump casserole of all the leftover vegetables with rice and a can of creamed soup, cover with cheese, and bake for 30 min.  When they ask what’s in it you can say you just vomited all your problems into the dish and maybe they can chill out asking you what’s in the casserole because IT’S BEEN A ROUGH DAY OKAY? and you’ll match their sour attitude with the almost moldy broccoli you chopped up and threw in underneath the cheese.

(4)  Incessant Chatter Chowder.  When your daughter comes home and wants to tell you all about how this other kid got together and how the rumors are that the first kid actually hooked up with this girl at a party but then this other friend got involved and he’s a little weird, you know, and by this time you just turn on the hand mixer and begin to wave in their direction and mouth the words “I can’t hear you” because you’re just trying to make this lovely dinner for everyone that involves loud noises and creamed soup to drown out their obnoxious stories about teenagers almost kissing under bleachers.

(5)  Slow as Molasses Cookies.  These cookies are full of a gooey sweet substance that takes forever to pour out of the jar, just like when they have missed the bus and you need to drive them in but suddenly they sit on the floor “putting on their shoes” but they are laughing and somehow magically creating a snapchat story and you walk in front of them and wave at them like OMG WE HAVE TO GO I AM NOT YOUR PERSONAL DRIVER and they look at you like “what is your problem” and proceed to lace their sneakers like they win a prize if they can draw out this process until Christmas.  Sprinkle sugar on the top of the cookies just before you put them in the oven, just like when you say “I love you!” right when you drop them off after yelling at them in the car for twenty minutes.

(6)  Stinky Pasta.  This is a crowd-pleaser with a cream sauce out of limburger cheese and that is served over fettuccini noodles and sprinkled with basil, which basically smells like how a teenager’s room smells.  You tell them to shower but it’s like they are allergic to water or soap but instead cover up the stench with some cheap perfume from Bath and Body Works that doesn’t smell at all like strawberries despite the label.  They walk out of the house and you have to air the place out for an hour and you think “at least the basil in this pasta recipe actually smells good.”

(7)  Phone Addiction Applesauce.  Teenagers think applesauce is just for kids, but it smells lovely to cook apples with cinnamon and then puree them until they are soft and smooth, just like how their minds are mush after staring at their devices for a solid seven hours on a Saturday.  When you tell them “hey, kiddo, how about reading this classic novel to give your brain some activity” they say “I’ll tell you classic, how about Mario Brothers” and you end up eating all the applesauce and watching cartoons alone wondering why you even try.

(8)  Tired Tuesdays.  You cook no food and say “there’s always cereal” because your kids are exhausting and you are tired of their smells and their talking and their attitude problems and you just don’t understand how come they can’t grow up and get a job already.  Then one of your teenagers is sad because some boy dumped her and she says “Mommy?  Can you make me a grilled cheese?”  Her cute little pimply face reminds you of all those nights you stayed up with her until 3 am with a fever and rocked her and there’s so much love pouring out you in that one moment that you say “YES OF COURSE I’LL DO ANYTHING MAYBE YOU WANT FOUR TYPES OF CHEESE ON IT AND I’LL HEAT UP TOMATO SOUP WITH THAT?” The teenager smiles in that sly way that says “ha ha – I’ve still got it.”

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Partner Workout Day

February 6, 2018 By

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I haven’t worked out in a while.  The last time I went to the gym my instructor was pregnant, and this time she was stressing about her kid’s college applications.

To be fair, I’ve had stuff going on.  I got married and moved and have been cooking for seven instead of three.  I am launching a new company, I’ve been running a law practice, and I’ve been doing lots of writing, sleeping, and eating snacks.  But mostly I’ve just been watching Netflix.  I hate working out.  The only thing worse than working out is working out the next time. That being said, it feels good AFTER you work out, similar to the feeling after you leave the hospital or after someone stops punches you repeatedly in the stomach while calling you Mandy.

Upon my epic return, all I wanted to do is hide in the corner, run on the treadmill, listen the instructor’s guidance in stoic silence (except for the necessary gasping of air), burn some calories, and complain about it later. I was proud of myself for showing up and fitting into my work-out bra, which was indeed a miracle of science.

The way this gym works is that they give you a little preview of the workout, which is like showing you a play-by-play of how you will die, then they turn on the music and give you a little peppy high-five as you walk in the work-out room. The instructor says “Welcome!” and “Glad you made it!” while I mutter “it’s better than dying from heart disease.”

I prefer Treadmill Number 8.  It’s right below the heart-rate monitor screen and I can see it without my glasses. So I give people a look that says “I will cut you” if they take my precious Number 8 or inch towards my Number 8 or act as if they are coveting Number 8 in any way.  But I realize I’m a stranger here and they simply don’t know.  Okay, I’ll give them this.

So here I am, waiting for class to begin.  Then, out of the blue, the instructor says something that I wasn’t expecting and rocked me to the core. The words slid out as if it was nothing.  Like we desire social interaction while wearing spandex.  “IT’S PARTNER DAY, EVERYONE!” she yelled.  Why she yelled it, I have no idea. Calm down. And what fresh hell is this partner-day nonsense.  I panicked.  I looked around and everyone is like “Whoop!” and giving each other big smiles on a Tuesday and I’m standing there in my ill-fitting sports bra like “this is the thanks I get for coming to the gym today?”

A short woman standing next to me named Stacey (could have been a fake name, hard to say) looked equally petrified so I just sorta shrugged and said “hey – wanna partner up?”  She nodded in despair and we trudged into the room together like sad little turtles.

The first order of business was to get on the treadmill and be the pacer, meaning you had to run half a mile and then tag your partner to switch with you.  You want to be fast and competent and show your partner that you’re not a lallygagging lazybones. Despite my unhealthy competitive spirit, my heart rate was raging against the machine.  I ran only a quarter of a mile and then said to Stacey “it’s cool – you really don’t have to listen to what they say.” I figured I’d give her permission to slack off. She said, to my great surprise, “I never listen and I’m actually more of a walker.”  I then realized we were kindred spirits, this other lazy person and me.  So the rest of the hour we’d walk past each other and say little things like “well this is ridiculous” and roll our eyes at each other.  After the class she said “I really don’t think I’m supposed to be in the red zone the whole time” and I was like “you’re just an overachiever” and we laughed and laughed like we were always meant to be pudgy and slightly terrified work-out partners.

I think the lesson of this story is that (a) maybe you should just stay home and (b) working out is awful; but (c) if you work out with a partner you should totally pick Stacey (or whatever her real name is).  But mostly it’s a lesson that people generally do a little too much high-fiving.  I would go into more detail but I’m late for my work-out class.  Today is “leave everyone the eff alone and just lift weights day,” which is my favorite class of the year.

Happy American Heart Prevention month, everyone!

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(threew’s).flickr.com/photos/cumidanciki/5163310087/in/photolist-8SgjcH-8Sgjwn-owzvqk-S7j7De-5osALY-SSEfNX-canpFA-8SjqBd-SPahFb-FxngsX-cansiS-p5UJ57-c8x1YN-RCJp58-cant1q-pk8rah-4HjHun-ehzwCR-dPFfXw-9sdfhX-75XhJt-7N3fwq-g9giVA-canoC7-53LFKJ-pBCysV-edGF6R-c8wuVq-TrZbtD-auo7zn-s85Vbh-9QxFLR-4GXcBN-8sGSM1-SLzCrt-qpxq5b-Sd9hh4-cqsfHj-dhP33i-6K51KM-pnTWU6-8r4WEb-a2cjpo-drEG3-75mypy-7vcp2u-RK7LuQ-oo9uYA-bqFowP-bkXDA6

 

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