Corpse Run 074: Priority Oblivion
Every so often, customers at work reach for a handshake. This shouldn't be a big deal, however, in the heart of New York City, it kind of is. New Yorkers are an unclean, unkempt people, and their greasy, disgusting paws come in all forms:
Sweaty. Slimy. Covered in foreign objects/liquids. The list goes on.
I'm a more or less decent guy, so if someone wants a handshake from me, they will get it... it's just that I will immediately lunge for the nearest bottle of hand sanitizer/holy building.
On a completely random subject, during my four years of college, I regularly consumed 10-20 hot dogs a week. They were pretty cheap, and as a guy who loves to save cash on things that he really shouldn't be skimping on, hot dogs were the perfect food. My health, naturally, suffered.
Fast forward to now, where I haven't had any dogs in months. At the grocery store today I picked some up to, you know, rekindle the flame of old. I wolfed down six, and have been on and off the crapper since.
Thought you guys would want to know.