Je m’appelle Bob.

There are precisely two things I remember vividly about elementary school French class.

1) The only foods we deemed worthy of mention under any circumstances were the ones that had funny names.

2) Someone always needed to be named Bob.

Snakes on a 10 horse power outboard engine.

So since gas is expensive to the power of hella and I’m still at least one decimal place in my salary away from being able to afford to buy a Tesla, I do the occasional online survey to earn fuel reward points, because a 10¢ off per litre is currently higher on my priority list than my dignity.

The surveys are usually pretty innocuous if occasionally somewhat time-consuming, and just between you and me, trying to figure out how the hell I would rate the overall personality and trustworthiness of a particular brand of dish soap is a great way to look like I’m concentrating on something super important when I’m actually just bored out of my skull in the office.

Snapchat gets me.

I have a Snapchat account for precisely two reasons:

1. To receive entertaining photos and videos from a dear friend in Japan chronicling all the weird and wonderful things she sees and does there.
2. To filter the everloving shit out of my face.