>>510433814

fuckoff mayhen schizzo-bot!

Jake was jittery about his big night out, so he decided to take his anxiety meds on a proper date. Not just rattling in his pocket—no, he plopped the orange bottle on its own chair at the candlelit Italian joint, like it was his hot date for the evening.

“Table for two,” he told the waiter, smirking at the bottle. The waiter, stone-faced, slid a menu in front of the meds. “What’s *it* ordering?” he asked, pen poised. Jake, playing it up, squinted at the bottle. “Meds wants the spaghetti carbonara. Extra bacon.” The waiter didn’t blink, just scribbled it down.

As the night rolled on, Jake kept the bit going. “You enjoying the vibe, Meds?” he’d say, nudging the bottle toward the steaming plate of pasta. He sipped his wine, toasting his silent partner. The jukebox played a twangy tune about a dog named Karma, some folksy number about chasing tails and trouble. Jake chuckled, imagining Karma sniffing around his bottle-date.

“Meds, you’re a cheap date,” he muttered, forking spaghetti for himself. The bottle sat there, stoic, as Jake rambled about his day, the song’s dark chords adding a goofy edge to the scene. By dessert, he was laughing at his own dumb joke, planning Meds’ next night out. “You and me, pal, we’re unstoppable.”