*Insert vague, boring description about vague, boring person here*

Note. This is Dylan’s blog. Not yours. So. Try not to rip stuff off, because it ticks him off. He’s like this wheelchair. You sit on him and he gets pissed off, so he starts rocking back and forth. Then you get really sick and shit. so you try to get up. BUT WHAT HAPPENS? He continues rocking back and forth vigorously. You start to become afraid. You’re stuck in the chair. An hour passes. Then two. The sky turns black. You can’t get off, because you’d fly across the room and slam into the wall, becoming a bloody mess. It gets even faster. You feel like vomiting. You can taste the disgusting bile in your throat. Your eyes water. You think about your family. Will you ever see them again? What about your friends? How will they cope with your death? WHY DID YOU EVEN GET ON ME IN THE FIRST PLACE?! YOU’RE TERRIFIED, CLINGING FOR DEAR, PRECIOUS LIFE.

Now you wish you’d never ridden the Dylan™.

(that was awesome, I know, and I hope you get the point.)