(no subject)
So as of 1:00 this afternoon I am no longer a single, broke-ass, unemployed college dropout with no functional vehicle who lives with his parents. I'm now a single, broke-ass, EMPLOYED college dropout with no functional vehicle who lives with his parents. I'm a cashier at Food Lion in Moyock. Hooray for mediocrity!
And as a side note, if one more person gives me an anti-smoking sermon I'm going to tell them I'll quit when they can take my cigarettes out of my hand. All the people who seem to preach about it to me are horribly out of shape anyway; well guess what? I might smoke but I still take better care of myself than you do. So when you put down the remote, get your ass off the couch, lose several dozen pounds, reach a point where you can do at least a few situps and maybe a pushup or two (I'm not even going to bother asking for pullups), and manage to run or even walk a mile in less than half an hour, come back and talk to me. I get stressed and crave nicotine; you get stressed and crave sugar, grease, and sodium. My weakness is no greater than yours. I've got a whole list of things I need to straighten out, and quitting smoking is on it; I'll get to it when I get to it. But until that day comes, all your lectures are going to get you is a cloud of smoke blown in your face and a middle finger raised in your general direction. Don't even bother to give me that disappointed head-shaking unless you're damn sure you're in better physical shape than I am.
OK, rant's over. Now I'm gonna go, because I've been babysitting my two-year-old half-brother, Ian, all week and if I don't get the hell outta this house I'm probably going to kill someone. I've got a truck key in my pocket and a check in my wallet, and I am outta here. Later y'all.
And as a side note, if one more person gives me an anti-smoking sermon I'm going to tell them I'll quit when they can take my cigarettes out of my hand. All the people who seem to preach about it to me are horribly out of shape anyway; well guess what? I might smoke but I still take better care of myself than you do. So when you put down the remote, get your ass off the couch, lose several dozen pounds, reach a point where you can do at least a few situps and maybe a pushup or two (I'm not even going to bother asking for pullups), and manage to run or even walk a mile in less than half an hour, come back and talk to me. I get stressed and crave nicotine; you get stressed and crave sugar, grease, and sodium. My weakness is no greater than yours. I've got a whole list of things I need to straighten out, and quitting smoking is on it; I'll get to it when I get to it. But until that day comes, all your lectures are going to get you is a cloud of smoke blown in your face and a middle finger raised in your general direction. Don't even bother to give me that disappointed head-shaking unless you're damn sure you're in better physical shape than I am.
OK, rant's over. Now I'm gonna go, because I've been babysitting my two-year-old half-brother, Ian, all week and if I don't get the hell outta this house I'm probably going to kill someone. I've got a truck key in my pocket and a check in my wallet, and I am outta here. Later y'all.