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In another hour or so, this work week is history. No telling what's on the other side of the night, or what tomorrow has in store. But right now, I'm cussing Jared. Or at least, my giblets are. I should know better than to eat anything that's spelled "k-r-a-b," and is fish, dyed red to imitate it. That sub shop must get their "seafood" from the Black Lagoon... 'cuz I think Alien is about to pop up it's l'il haid from my belly button. Maybe I'd better lay off ol' Jared. Maybe that's the key to the diet... the mudslide effect. That's just what I get for swearing off ramen, for one night. Oy. I remember a particularly foul sketch on In L*ving Color (back when it was stylin'). Character "Anton" on the street in "Th*s Ol' Box." His castle a cardboard container, his "facilities": a jar with one lonely pickle floating in brine. At least, I THINK that's what it was. The only thing more shag-nasty than that: go check out the gefilte fish in your grocer's refrigerator. Now, this is no slur on ethnic food (since that's most of my diet)... but that thing looks like it's been floating in the pot for a month. Boogity-Boogity-Boogity! This has to be the most tasteless entry in my short D-Land stay. And, personally... I don't care. Cuz I'm a Hurtin' Unit. |
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