It's like an encyclopaedia of retardation. You can honestly just open it to any page and you'll find...
wait for it...
...yup. RETARDATION!
wait for it...
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(Also, keep a record of all the assignments you’ve slayed, so that when your boss expresses hesitation about your readiness for a promotion, you can attach it in an email to him. Subject line: Bitches get shit done.)
The beauty of Fight Club was we relied on each other for support if things were good and commiserated if things were bad
There was a brief period in 2014 when a few of us in the Fight Club seemed to hit rock bottom at once. I had been dumped after an eight-year relationship, gone freelance, and was now working out of my apartment, AKA my bed. There was one particular afternoon when I was coaxed out of my house by some Fight Club members for a sanity check. Three of us met at a cafe in the East Village, and spent 10 minutes talking about our bowel movements (we all had stress-induced IBS).
...yup. RETARDATION!
The public will judge a man by what he lifts, but those close to him will judge him by what he carries.