So you tell me I’m a Millenial

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I don’t go outside that much because I’m a Millenial. We like the sun, but it isn’t that healthy of late.
I read because I’m Generation Y. I read on electronic devices because I read all the time. To manage that, I also download books illegally (my generation received a very old moral compass, which broke soon after).
I take many photos because I’m a Millenial and we come with awesome cameras. I take photos of raspberries on books because I’m a hipster and we can afford that.
I have a lot of time to read, take photos and connect with strangers online because I was born unrealistic, hence unemployable.

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Still a little shy

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Someone has been here all its life, waiting to teach you something. When you arrive, all knowledgeable, it slithers and hides outside the frame.

You need lots of stuff

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They say you should cut down the number of things you own to 51, to be happy (there are websites on how to reach that number).
That’s not true.
What you must do is you must acquire a great number of things, thousands upon thousands, and you need to arrange them all on shelves and set up proper lighting to see them and show them to others. And you should wait for 51 people to tell you: ‘Ah, your collection is wonderful. I wish I had one just like it!’, and then you should give all your stuff away, divide it equally between the 51 individuals (there are apps that’ll help), and when you’re down to zero, ask each of the 51 to give you back an object of their choosing, and then drop me a line to let me know if it worked, the happiness thing.

Mr Caveman hits plateaus

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I had some distant reading in my schedule this weekend, so I sat and looked at this book.

The Fourth Within

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May your plants work out as you see fit.
May you snap dragons aplenty.
May your weedsies come true like the grass of champagne.
May your sorrows begonia.

Stars and strippers

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Tethering is the use of your spare bits as modems to access the outback from the city centre. Future pavement releases will come with fail-safes in case you’ve stripped down to your fluff and aren’t ready to stop.

Missed calls from astronauts

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Just pick up? I pick up the exoplanet vibes from the glint in my missed calls’ number-laden bearing.

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