WHAT DID I do wrong now?
I didn’t drop her this time. I didn’t even touch her. I dropped a pretzel, but geez, is that really a big deal? Carbs just slow you down, anyway.
But according to the muttered, “Goddammit. This is just fucking great. Just. Fucking. Great!” in my earpiece there’s a problem.
I think I should head home early tonight. I do not want to go back upstairs, that is for sure.
Mr. Armstrong is a scary motherfucker.