Due to the lingering aftereffects of too much heavy lifting, half marathon training, and coping with the straightjacket escapees who continue to plague me at work, I am exhausted. Picture me as a hyper-sensitive and highly strung Victorian belle suffering from nerves. I lie prostrate on the couch, holding the back of one hand to my pallid forehead while clutching my smelling salts in the other fist. If you could come to call and gently flutter a fan in my general direction, I would be most appreciative.
Instead of plumbing the depths of my creativity, and perhaps straining my fragile psyche in the process, I will instead ply you with internet videos depicting the seamy underside of Sesame Street.
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