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But wait, there's more.

There's just no polite way to say "Buy me things", is there?

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I'm baded and jitter. So are these people. (And why not follow the previous, next, or random links?)

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Doug vs. Japanese Snack Foods: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3.

rant is where the heart is

diaryland: entry for 2003-02-21 (12:22)
In which our plucky young hero spends money to make ... something.

They say everybody has their price. Now I know mine.

When I joined the gym, I ended up paying more for it than I did for the YMCA membership I had back in Saskatoon. (Without going into details, let's just say a lot more.)

But, you see, I planned it that way. That YMCA membership, which automatically deducted about thirty bucks from my bank account, was a waste of money. I never used it. Quite literally, never. I didn't even bother to pick up my membership card, after one visit where I looked around the place. The amount of money just wasn't significant enough for me to care that it went missing. (Hell, I didn't even bother cancelling until well after I'd made my move.)

But yesterday, even though I felt like crap and didn't want to even leave the apartment and certainly didn't want to move around heavy weights with novice muscles, I sure the hell did leave the apartment and move around heavy weights. I just couldn't let myself waste that much money.

The only thing I ask of you, loyal reader, is that you stop me from shopping for a car using this same logic. Otherwise, you'll know me as the guy who drives everywhere in his new Mercedes, because like hell he'll let it rot in a garage.

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