I just loaded a fishing drink dispensing machine with the required number of quarters for a drink and later realized the only drink it’s capable of selling me is root beer, because all the things normal people consume are sold out.
Now I get to enjoy the fishing wondrous taste of toothpaste dissolved in water.
Being at work at ungodly hours isn’t particularly happening. (6:44, the next morning, for the curious.)
(Notice how I use the word fish so much more every time I cycle through the episodes of South Park? I do too. God damn it.)