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.
4 years ago
1 comment:
Or you'll say something really genius like,
"Well,I could call a cab for you" and she'll say,
"Don"t you live close by?"
and you'll say, "Well, not THAT close"
and she'll say,
"I'll go to your house"
and you'll say (mouth agape),
"You're coming over? To my house? You're coming over to my house? Really? Seriously?"
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