Filler

That thing I posted yesterday is gross. Not that the image bothers me, particularly, but everytime I look at it, I remember the smell.

So.

I was gonna write something for real, but yeah… haven’t done that yet. What gives with all you weebles, anyways? I understood the rather desert-like aura of comment no-man’s land this site has been experiencing for a bit, because I’ve been rather neglecting to read other people except the ones I always read because they make their blogs feel deliciously like a bad habit instead of stuff one might actually be compelled to think about….

But suddenly you all got very chatty over a bloated, faceless animal corpse.

(Freaks.)

I could feed that appetite, I could. I could exploit your weirdish fascination with zombies and chupacabras, heifer maulings, and aquatic rigor-mortis… but why pass up the opportunity to discuss something really scary?

It’s like this: When you’ve been nursing a box of almond clusters for a couple days, and there’s six candies left, and you curl up on the couch to get nice and angry at the incredibly stupid, greedy people on ‘Deal or No Deal’, slipping a hand out to take a pleasantly chocolate-laden mass of fattening nuts,

and realize with some horror that there is only one left in the box,

…and after a minute or two of trying to figure out the minutes-of-Howie-per-cluster rate of consumption, you go to town on the 6th and last cluster with some relish,

and acknowledge to yourself that you don’t feel the least bit bad about it; in fact you wish there were six MORE to hog down between epithets-

…and if your jeans don’t fit tomorrow then FUCK YOU MR. LEVI STRAUSS, and his little dog too, (but not in a sick, animalistic porn-site kind of way)-

…then there is the decided possibility that you may also be experiencing p.m.s.

If that is the case, come on over. I’m having salad for dinner, garnished with a nice pint of Cherry Garcia. We can make catty remarks over ‘Dancing with the Stars’ and then set some snares for tomorrow’s chocolate-laden midget zombies and chupacabras. If we’re lucky, we’ll catch a yoda. Master Yoda always makes an excellent haul.

Open season starts …Now.

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4 thoughts on “Filler

  1. I can’t empathize with PMS or mildly shameful television, but damn, I hate that “one left in the box” thing. And may I compliment your taste in candy? Almonds are just inherently better than peanuts, any day of the … well, I guess “month” would be appropriate here.

    Based on years past, my parents and I are likely to catch a lot of middle school girls dressed as hookers, and possibly some meth addicts. My post-Halloween debriefings tend to be surreal at best.

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