Ever since my stupid doctor told me to keep my fat intake down, which resulted in my glancing at the nutritional information on the back of a bacon package (1 serving equals 1 slice? Are you f*#king kidding me?), which further resulted in me not devouring a 1/2 pound of it each weekend morning, I've been seeing my blog like this (click the link to get a glimpse into the nightmarish hell that my world has become):
The Dead Acorn
I swear, if I meet a girl wearing bacon perfume, I'll marry her*.
*Ok, I'll be really smitten and make some bumbling attempt to try to talk to her, which would lead to her backing away slowly (or throwing a beer on me and running away quickly) and me attempting to follow her, which some judges, believe it or not, interpret as behavior meriting a restraining order, and screw you, Judge Hastings, I was just trying to talk to her.
7 months ago