Self-immolation is a hell of a drug, friends! Ask the DNC, as they continue to tear the walls down on themselves to prevent the Bern. Shit, ask me! On those dark nights where it feels like 8,000 calories of M&Ms makes way more sense than trying to fight my way out of my malaise! But, it’s fucking futile! We’re going to get another Trump presidency, and I could end up in a waistband three-sizes bigger than currently constituted. But if I’m being honest? The former seems way more plausible than the later, as I sip my deeply unfulfilling weekday smoothie that serves as both breakfast and lunch.

None the less, what’s the key to staving off self-immolation?

What are the secret ingredients of the Anti-Apocalypse serum?

I’m happy to tell you!

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