Today at work Jeannie gave me a bag of cookies. The cookies she makes = amazing. They're chocolate chip cookies with coconut and -- get this -- just a hint of Bailey's Irish Cream. Well, I ate 20 of them in ten minutes and it goes without saying that I'm shithammered. Seriously, one beer and I can't control my bowels. Or my vowels. And I can't fold towels. But I'm good at scowls. I howl at owls and chase after foul fowls.
(WHAT?!)
Aaaaaaanyway. I was at work today and I had a thought: Work is an Alabama prostitute without the six dollar blowjob: it’s dirty and boring and I think it gave me herpes. That doesn't entirely make sense, but you should all know by now my brain does not work past 6pm. I'm almost like a Mogwai that way, except that I can eat after midnight (I won't give birth to gremlins...I just get fat).
Clearly I have nothing to say. What's new? Well, I do have something to say, but don't quite know how to say it. Lets just say I'll say I don't know how to say what I have to say today.
P.S. Do you think Elton John gets angry when people tell him he should stop looking at the world through rose-colored glasses?
1 comment:
Brilliant word roller-coaster. I really can't tell if this makes sense or not, but it seems to flow with my brain's current line of thinking, so I'll go with it.
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