Frigid Fingers, Many Questions

Why does my dad utterly insist on keeping this house at a "cozy" sixty-eight degrees Fahrenheit AT ALL TIMES?

Why am I still awake?

Why haven't I finished that bottle of sparkling orange juice over there?

Why is sparkling orange juice so tasty?

Why hasn't my current music put me to sleep? It's so soothing and warm... Warmer than this damned house.

How come Thom Yorke can have a pretty singing voice and I can't?

Can this post count as my Friday's post? Or did I do that one already?

Why do we obsess?

Why has this quote, out of all the best possible quotes, stuck in my mind?

"I know what you're thinking. "Did he fire six shots or only five?" Well, to tell you the truth, in all this excitement I kind of lost track myself. But being as this is a .44 Magnum, the most powerful handgun in the world, and would blow your head clean off, you've got to ask yourself one question: Do I feel lucky? Well, do ya, punk? "

It's just so bad ass, I guess... Clint Eastwood is amazing. I could never fully memorize this quote entirely, word for word, but I at least get most of it when I recite it to people out loud.