You know what really burns my biscuits? The numb nutted sadists that package picture frames. Why in the Lucy Goosey Gomorrah would one adhere an adhesive material that is incapable of peeling away without leaving a remnant, like advert herpes, to anything ever? I don’t give a shit about the fake family in the frame or whatever other cockamamie crap is hideously plastered to my purchase. While I might not be operating at genius level over here, I can figure out the purpose of a picture frame without a stock photo guiding the way. Most infuriatingly, it’s always just one little piece that remains like a middle finger to your smug preliminary celebration of properly removing all the unnecessary sticky icky that comes like an unwelcome interloper to every photo framing purchase. It’s seriously like it’s on purpose. Burnt biscuits never killed anyone, but I’d like to stick those stickers where the sun dare not shine.