I’m eating whatever the fuck I want and as much of it as possible for the next six days. I am currently in the process of making these kick ass chicken nuggets I almost don’t want to share with my children, leftover rice that tasted average but I could give a shit because I’ve got a half gallon of cookies n cream with a barrel of chocolate sprinkles ready to be dumped on the brownies coming out of the oven.
If you want to read a tragic story that I somehow tossed humor into, read the post from Monday that says it’s sad.
My dog wants so badly to bark at and hate our FedEx and UPS delivery guys but they bring him treats (they come here a lot, they’ve learned) and now my dog seems almost depressed that he can’t act all bad ass when they bring me shit.
I hate microwave beeps. I know I made something, I’m the hungry one. I’m not opening the door because I’m busy blogging or tweeting or something. Fuck off microwave.
I love chicken pot pie and Apple pie. They’re the only pies I eat. My favorite part is when I’m instructed to cut a slit in the middle. Fuck slits. I grab a knife and stab it like I’m in Psycho. It feels good. Because for thirty minutes, I get to be.
I had a pot pie today.
I was telling my 5 year old about the concept of being in public and the need to wash your hands and use hand sanitizer. I showed him how I used the paper towel from the automatic dispenser to turn the sink off because
The damn microwave just did that stupid beep. I have a hammer. Those statements have nothing to do with each other.
I had way more in here but now none of it applies since the giant fuck up my doctor made. I plan on writing it but need some time and Xanex before I can.
I love sex dreams. Anyone ever watch the Jetsons? I remember one episode where Elroy had to choose his dream for the night. Now I wish it existed. I totally know which ones I’d pick.
My kids keep insisting on being fed so peace out, home slice.