*Crystalline* Hark: It's A Post Revival.
And a Pet Burial. Parker died last Friday. So, in memory:
I dislike mouse death, its stiffness. Poor Tea--despite what's natural, I hope Parker wasn't gone too long before I noticed. I placed her in paper towels and a red checks box, buried her in a side garden, and then made Tea a huge fabric scraps nest so she could burrow.
*sigh*
This is my scarf. Isn't it glorious?
Effing glorious. I dedicate it to Parker...maybe I could knit her visage (or general shape) in the center.
Urgh. I give up on stringing complete sentences together. Instead, I whip out the List, entitled Hilarious Events That Shall Not Be Insulted By The Working Into A Long And Rambling Complete-Sentence Dialogue; No, Instead They Shall Be Exalted As Individual Chunky Lettered (Not Numbered) Paragraphs.
A Today, on the way to work, I ran over a pair of high heels. Pink stilettos now lay quite crushed along Galvin Road. They might have been spared had I stopped staring, but...I secretly wanted to run them over.
And so I did, laughing.
B A few nights ago, my brother and I went to Borders, where I took vicious advantage of the Buy 3, Get 1 Free, Oh, Hell Yes Sale. Afterward, we went to Burger King.
I don't know why.
Vaguely, I remember wanting to gnaw on some juicy meat; otherwise, I maintain the Evil King Mickey Amendment (no ingesting any substance originating from Burger King, McDonald's, or any similarly gross establishment). Runza was closed.
Nathan and I grabbed our trays, pumped some ketchup, and found a booth. I shoved the nasty hamburger into my mouth and then obliged my second instinct: grab a napkin.
Napkin acquired.
Napkin approaching mouth.
Napkin cleansing mouth.
Napkin nudging against nose; nose inhales.
JEEZUS. JEEZUS.
Napkin smells like ass!
I yanked out another napkin--ass! Third napkin! Ass! Fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh, oh my god, they all smell like ass!
WHAT THE GKOJFLA.
Therefore, I warn all thee fast food partakers: Burger King has ass napkins.
C Shaken by the tragedy, we decided to scan the No Frills dessert department. I drove down the hilly thing, turned right, moving slowly through the nearly empty lot. Nathan's ability to kick assailant ass wasn't entirely sound--and I'm slightly paranoid--so I swooped round to head for the front.
And there, sitting alone and precisely in the center of the parking lot, is a 12-pound packaged turkey. Illuminated prettily in the streetlamp light.
Hahaha! HAHAHA! Wooo...I had to park the car; I was cry-laughing. I tried to make Nathan get out and kick it, but for some reason he refused.
Five seconds before I die of old age, wheelchair me out midst the African savanna with one of those on my head.
I dislike mouse death, its stiffness. Poor Tea--despite what's natural, I hope Parker wasn't gone too long before I noticed. I placed her in paper towels and a red checks box, buried her in a side garden, and then made Tea a huge fabric scraps nest so she could burrow.
*sigh*
This is my scarf. Isn't it glorious?
Effing glorious. I dedicate it to Parker...maybe I could knit her visage (or general shape) in the center.
Urgh. I give up on stringing complete sentences together. Instead, I whip out the List, entitled Hilarious Events That Shall Not Be Insulted By The Working Into A Long And Rambling Complete-Sentence Dialogue; No, Instead They Shall Be Exalted As Individual Chunky Lettered (Not Numbered) Paragraphs.
A Today, on the way to work, I ran over a pair of high heels. Pink stilettos now lay quite crushed along Galvin Road. They might have been spared had I stopped staring, but...I secretly wanted to run them over.
And so I did, laughing.
B A few nights ago, my brother and I went to Borders, where I took vicious advantage of the Buy 3, Get 1 Free, Oh, Hell Yes Sale. Afterward, we went to Burger King.
I don't know why.
Vaguely, I remember wanting to gnaw on some juicy meat; otherwise, I maintain the Evil King Mickey Amendment (no ingesting any substance originating from Burger King, McDonald's, or any similarly gross establishment). Runza was closed.
Nathan and I grabbed our trays, pumped some ketchup, and found a booth. I shoved the nasty hamburger into my mouth and then obliged my second instinct: grab a napkin.
Napkin acquired.
Napkin approaching mouth.
Napkin cleansing mouth.
Napkin nudging against nose; nose inhales.
JEEZUS. JEEZUS.
Napkin smells like ass!
I yanked out another napkin--ass! Third napkin! Ass! Fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh, oh my god, they all smell like ass!
WHAT THE GKOJFLA.
Therefore, I warn all thee fast food partakers: Burger King has ass napkins.
C Shaken by the tragedy, we decided to scan the No Frills dessert department. I drove down the hilly thing, turned right, moving slowly through the nearly empty lot. Nathan's ability to kick assailant ass wasn't entirely sound--and I'm slightly paranoid--so I swooped round to head for the front.
And there, sitting alone and precisely in the center of the parking lot, is a 12-pound packaged turkey. Illuminated prettily in the streetlamp light.
Hahaha! HAHAHA! Wooo...I had to park the car; I was cry-laughing. I tried to make Nathan get out and kick it, but for some reason he refused.
Five seconds before I die of old age, wheelchair me out midst the African savanna with one of those on my head.