On Saturdays they all hang out behind J. Crew and do lines of granola off the back of New Yorker magazines.
I weep for us all, and yet I have no tears left. If I did weep however, I hear Crocs handle puddles of water excellently.
And by stinging, I mean writing angsty poetry about them.
If red isn't your color, they come in a green Bowser edition too.
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