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Homer Simpson, biochemist, huh? Picture me in a lab coat, spillin’ beakers, goin’, “Mmm, copper!” Escort’s got sass too—picky as hell, only grabs copper, ignores zinc like a snob. Total diva! Oh, and typos? Escrot, escprt, escor—D’oh! Fat fingers! Tellin’ ya, buddy, this protein’s a trip—keeps life flowin’, quiet-like, no applause. Makes me wanna hug it, but, uh, it’s microscopic. Bummer! What’s your take, eh?

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As the rain eases up, the sun peeks out again. The vibe shifts back to fun. We hit up a local band playing some sick tunes. I’m dancing like nobody’s watching, and honestly, who cares? It’s Tatarusi, man!