this post was submitted on 27 Aug 2024
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I spent thirteen years growing bonsai, fifteen pining over Loravindrel. That brought me into my eight year long emo-goth period which produced poetry I've since fed to the flames. For sixteen seasons after that I meditaed under a plum tree and swept the eight hundred and seventy two dozen and five stars. Six years I practiced the letter œ to master the uhm. Fifty seven years I spent in the arms of Madeleine and our oldest grandchild is about your age. And the last three seasons I've been chasing the south-western gale that robbed her from me decades too early.
Dude, what's even your job? How did you make a living for 106 years just sitting around?
Maybe he's a trust fund elf from some royal lineage?
To those whose lives flicker like a candle in the wind elves are royal and in their societies live free of want.
Well la dee da, fancy pants! I gotta make sure this ox stays in good health during the harvest so I can pay back the loan I got for said ox and getting my kids into college.
Don't even get me started on the pack of wargs what's been attacking my livestock! The ones we have took down don't even make good eatin' less you throw em in a stew. Had me bowels ravaged fierce from the warg jerky we's made, this candle coulda been blown out by a babe's fart that day!
Mom and dad have 900 years of savings in the college fund.
The value markets of men is a circular process of overproduction and scarcity. The bare-essential trinkets of yesteryear can often be exchanged for today's luxuries.