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I keep finding objects online that make me want to buy a one-way ticket to a minimalist concrete bunker with no Wi-Fi, like this antique globe bar cart painted pepto-pink with a glittering disco ball earth that’s an insult to both geography and Saturday Night Fever. This is what happens when a history major and a party planner collide at a garage sale with a gallon of cheap acrylic paint and no supervision.
Things only get worse from here, folks, because we’re headed into a truly unsettling territory of things I absolutely, unequivocally do not want.
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