Tuesday, May 30, 2006

Stream of Consciousness

10 minutes of writing without stopping.

My co-worker was on vacation last week and he took his juvenile deliquent, pot-smoking unemployed 24-year-old son on a fishing trip. I can't imagine a worse torture for that poor kid, but it probably did him good in a spend-time-with-yer-ol-Dad kinda way. I used to fish a lot when I was a kid, mostly fresh-water stuff from a pier or a boat. I wonder how many fish I've caught in my lifetime. I'd guess around a thousand or more, which is probably right around the number of people I've slept with. Just kidding, I've slept with WAY more than that. I'm glad I didn't have to take a hook out of any of their mouths or keep them in a cooler until I ate them (except for that one kid--turns out, chicken tastes like chicken).

Speaking of chicken, don't EVER eat friend chicken fingers from Wendy's. They're absolutely disgusting, even with BBQ sauce. And generally, I think that if you cover something in enough BBQ sauce, you can just about eat anything. I thought about going online to submit a complaint about the food at Wendys' Customer Service site, but I was too full from my Large Frosty to get up. And holy chocolate cow, Batman, those damn Frosty's are my downfall. I could eat those all day long. Seriously. All day. Without stopping.

Speaking of stopping, my first-floor A/C unit has decided to help deplete the ozone layer by leaking Freon (a registered trademark of the DuPont company) into the atmosphere. This has caused me to hit up my friend Mark to swing by with his ill-gotten tank of the chilly juice and use his unlicensed skills to gas me back up to frigid. That sounded sexy, didn't it? Mark, btw, is the ex-boyfriend of my former temporary roommate, Kurt, who fled sans Husky to Dallas after leaving all his stuff at another friend's house (without paying her any rent). Ain't that lovely.

And speaking of lovely, I have a nice golden bronze tan goin' on right now except for my inner-thigh, which looks a lot more like a racing stripe thanks to the crappy, CVS-brand self-tanning spray I bought in a pinch when I was in North Carolina. Seriously, don't buy off-brand tanning spray because you'll be looking like a baby without a diaper for about 2 weeks. Luckily, that was the look I was going for. And now that I think about it, I honestly have no memory of ever wearing diapers, except that I'm pretty sure I used the cloth kind when I did. Which, sadly, makes me want to cry. No wonder I'm so fucked up. I never had big boy Pullups.

Go figure.

1 Comments:

At 5:09 PM, Blogger MiKell said...

heh.

You said, "Chicken tastes like chicken". You are a dirty old man.

And not even 40 yet.

 

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