"Alright, listen up! First things first, the conditions down here are repugnant! It's infested with rats, molds, and some strain of flesh-eating virus."
"Pretty metal."
"Pretty metal."
"Oh, is it? Your staff is dying down here. Is that metal?"
"I hate to say it, but yeah."
"Yeah, not to be contradictory, but it's very metal."
"...Is it metal to have your drains clogged with dead, rotting employees?"
"...Yeah. It is, actually."
"Metal."
"Is it metal to have easily-avoidable work-related accidents be the cause of death?!"
"Yeah. Again, metal."
"Is it metal for none of you to care at all?"
"Yeah, it's way more metal if we don't care about it."
"Well... I guess I, uh, didn't know all that stuff was metal."
Dear Diary,
I sure am glad to have Greg as my best friend because he is always giving me tips about school. Like today he told me the boys' and girls' locker rooms in the gym were labeled wrong.
Well, it turns out Greg got his facts mixed up on that one.
“So we move to LA. My father gets a job at the palm restaurant, my Uncle Junior works there who was a Jehovah’s Witness. Believe it or not, he went from Catholic to Jehovah. So basically my grandmother wanted us all to switch from Catholic to Jehovah. You know, meanwhile, we’re from Harlem, my father’s doing coke, you know my mother thinks she’s Ann-Margret, she’s teasing the hair with a bottle of vodka. You know, so dysfunctional, cross-addicted family, still cooking pasta on Sundays.”