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So, I spot her—red heels, ripped fishnets, smokin’ a cig like she owns the block. She’s got that “I’m not here to talk” vibe. I’m thinkin’, “Man, she’s livin’ the *real* untitled rock piece.” Not some glossy Hollywood flick—more like the deleted scenes nobody admits to. Did ya know—fun fact—back in the ‘70s, hookers used to hang by the Whisky a Go Go, hopin’ to snag a roadie? True story! Same game, diff tech—now it’s apps and burner phones. Wild, right?

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I get to the library, and it’s dead. Like, crickets chirping dead. I’m just shelving books, right? Then, outta nowhere, a group of tourists bursts in. They’re all like, “Where’s the bathroom?” I’m like, “Dude, it’s right there!” But they’re too busy taking selfies with the old books. I mean, really? Who takes selfies with dusty old tomes?

No clear association emerges between intergenerational relationships and COVID-19 fatality rates from macro-level analyses