What’s the Darwinian adaptive significance of the odd human ritual in which a group of two or more women unleash such brutal rancor on the personality, traits and past deeds of another woman mutually known to them that, were the target of their attacks actually present, she would doubtless cast herself off the nearest promontory – and then, once she has been thoroughly denounced and exposed as the stuck-up pretentious wanton whore bitch Grendel’s mother she is, why do they cap off the ritual by convincing themselves that, actually, she’s “nice”? How did that help us forage for berries and take down mammoths?

Also, what’s the deal with the stock market?!?! Am I right????

I know you work the sushi bar at a mediocre Chinese restaurant. I know you don’t have any customers. I wouldn’t even be in here if I had any friends who wouldn’t be content to eat Sonic breakfast burritos and dry, Kikkoman-drenched pork fried rice every day for the rest of their lives. But for real, man: when you wander off for half an hour to go pick your nose in the walk-in, don’t fucking leave your knife covered in crud.

You see, your knife is made out of high-carbon steel. High-carbon steel is noted mainly for two things: its incredible capacity for sharpness; and its incredible tendency to rapidly corrode, especially when exposed to acidic foods for significant periods without regular wipedowns. So when you leave your carbon steel yanagiba encrusted in vinegar-coated sushi rice on a wet cutting board, very soon it will start to look like, say, this poor kodeba, yanagiba and usuba:

As opposed to:

Used, sharpened, yet corrosion-free.

Your abandoned, rice-encrusted sashimi knife says more about your professional apathy than the fact that you’ve got more imitation crab in the case than fish.

Respect your tools, dick, and they won’t fail you on the day’s twentieth “Spicy Longhorn Cream Cheese Roll.”