When did Publix decide that they’re Whole Foods? When did my landlord decide that because my shower makes a weird gurgling noise that they can charge me for an in-unit jacuzzi?
It feels like no matter how strictly I budget, how many off-brand products I opt for, and how many times I avoid the additional $3 peanut butter on my $15 Wednesday market acai bowl, I’m doomed to be pinching pennies in this city. I miss the days when Happy Hour was actually Happy Hour and not a “Sell Your Kidney On the Black Market for a Cheap Tequila-Sprite Hour.” When was that again? 1993? Or was that the last year that a parking permit on this campus didn’t put someone into months of debt?
It seems that I’ve been backed into a corner with nowhere left to turn and only one option remains: Selling feet pics online.
Hear me out.
This little piggy needs to go to the market, and if that means helping some beer-bellied-bro living in his mother’s basement wank off his little piggy, then so be it. I’ve done a lot more demeaning work for a lot less, so what’s a couple of pictures of my dirty dogs? At the end of the day you’re not selling your soul, just your soles. On second thought … How much does a soul go for on OnlyFans?