What it’s Like to Be 2 Millennia Old?

The following is a guest post from a mysterious writer. You must read until the end to discover the secretive recluse …

Everyone has their secrets.

Mine is more complicated than most. Sure, I look like a perky twenty-four-year-old with resting bitchy face, but you’d be wrong. At least about the twenty-four-year-old part.

I’m actually older than Jesus and far more cynical.

So, you might be asking yourself, what’s it like to live for two millennia? Allow me to explain in GIFs. They’re the “in” thing now, right?

1) Like you simply can’t deal with the human race’s stupidity for a second longer.

2)  Like you’re in a crowded room and completely standing still.

3) Like getting close to anyone is just another road trip to heartache.

4) Like times and technology might be changing, but really, that’s about it.

5) Like you’d rather slide down a banister of razor blades into a pool of alcohol—than be forced to make new friends.

6) Like you could totally ace any history test thrown at you.

7) Like whenever you meet someone without ulterior motives, you might just faint.

8) Like in all honesty, the majority of the time, it’s just…

This probably didn’t sell you much on the glorious lifestyle of being older than dirt—but deal with it. In all honesty, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.

Then again, maybe you’re a sadist. C’mon, I know at least a few of you reading this are. If that’s the case, feel free to linger a bit longer in my world. Check out Oracle by Carissa Andrews—but don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Oracle-XLarge

Wondering who Carissa Andrews is now? Well, you can find her:

Death to the Spoon Gnomes!

Is it just me, or do microscopic gnomes sneak into your kitchen at night … and steal all your spoons?

Because each time I clean my dishes, or open my kitchen drawer, I find less and less of this very necessary utensil. Not only does this happen to me, but my boyfriend suffers as well. He quietly revealed to me last week that all his spoons have been disappearing, mysteriously.

I feel like whipping out my old, investigative reporter hat, and following the clues. Because this question is driving me berserk:

What happened to all the spoons?

oh-no

After nights of lost sleep and cortisol-filled panic attacks, I’ve come to one, discernible answer.

It was the gnomes. 

The evil spoon gnomes. And they all must DIE.

How dare they sneak into my house, without my permission, and take my hard-earned silverware while I’m asleep! They fool the cats, they trick the dog.

But worst of all, when the spoon gnomes strike, you can’t sip soup. Or eat cereal.

Or consume ice-cream.

NOOOOOOO!

So, my friends, I implore you. Spoon-lovers of the world unite! And death to the spoon gnomes!