An evil conspiracy is afoot. They've reprogrammed me. Every weekday between 3 and 4, I zombie walk to the vending machine with a dollar in my hand. And punch in 130. The dreaded number 130 that houses my small (75% nitrogen, 25% chips) packet of Jays Hot Stuff potato chips. And they even proclaim 'Can't stop eating 'em'. They are right! As the only close-to-my-spice-level item in the vending machine, I gravitate toward this one item, mesmerized. So day-after-day I'm stuffing my face full of red crunchies that are supposedly 0% Trans-fat, 9g Fat and 260mg Sodium. Hello my dear 65cent ticket to a heart attack.
I also got an eviction notice from my pants this past week. They're unhappy right now, their seams are a-bursting. So unhappy they decided to cover themselves up with lint and other miscellaneous scratchiness from the dryer. And they keep zapping me with static. I know you guys *miraculously* moved the buttons farther apart to make me think I was getting fat. Argh. I hate you too pants, the feeling is mutual. Watch me swipe my credit card, and toss your sorry seams on the street one of these days.
Who am I kidding!
skip to main |
skip to sidebar
