Hello, I am just trying to figure this out. In fact, don't even bother reading this. I am saving you some time here, so trust me. I have no clue what I am doing or even writing about. This is a color. Not. I guess I can't make text a different color. Sorry to deeply disappoint you. But that strikeout is nifty, no? I love you all. See. Pretty cool.

     This is big.

Michael Wilson eats his boogers. It's true. It's a bonifided certified fact, so don't you doubt it.

√ yes, alt codes work on here, Scroogie.

All work and no WoW makes Scrooge a bored boyX9000

Danny, take your medicine. Tony, go redrum yourself.

God, I hate this job. How does it feel to be a writer and unable to drink, you ask? It's horrifying. I can't even smoke anymore. That's what happens when you get some bad genes, kids. And I'd like a cupcake but even that is forbidden fruit. To be not even in my mid-thirties and on this silly diet sparks anger within me. I've never been overweight either. Thanks dad for leaving me your genes, you deadbeat bastard. Couldn't leave me anything else, could you? Not even a nice payday when you drank and pilled yourself to an early death.

word count is now 216. oops, 217. oops 220. . .

No spell checker? Well, I'll have to make sure I don't embarrass myself.

This is so boring. I want to go home.