I really, really, really, really, really want a snow day tomorrow. Like, man. Prospects are good – the weather seems to be quite right. But I don’t want to get my hopes up. Judith Pastel is a nasty woman.
The kind of woman that goes home to an unheated and unfurnished mansion at night. The kind that eats a bowl of gruel, and then sleeps on the cold floor. The kind that opens the closet to a dozen sets of the same black and white suit, with half a dozen pairs of the same black shoes, and a matching jacket and gloves for those days where the snow is colder than her icy heart. The kind that, on Thanksgiving, doesn’t eat turkey, but eats tofurkey, with unsalted, unbuttered, lumpy mashed potatoes. Judith Pastel never went to school, she never grew up. Her mother died in labor from expelling a full grown woman, and her father just said “omg” and promptly joined the local Communist party, never to be seen again. Truly, this woman can bring a tear to the eye of even the most stout hearted. The only man known to withstand the horror that is this woman? Jack Thompson.
*rolls d20 for snow day*