Folly golly rig-a-ma-rolly, Rasberry flaunt toot-toot; Kitten-ka-bottles and oodles-of-noodles, Titter-me bleau ma-goot; a week 'til Victory Rose
What the hell is that title all about?
Well, innocence is lost in this blog. No, innocence is more than lost; she's been chopped into pet bedding for cockroaches, tossed into a burlap sack that a hobo decayed in, and buried 'neath the shattered dreams of a child (stop here). No, I'm not talking about Katrina or Iraq, or any other legit catastrophe, I'm talking about a week ago when some hooligan broke into the trunk of my 1996 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme...SUPREME. Yep, my once proud trunk just flopped around when I pulled out into Howe street. "What the Sam hell?" I muttered to myself at the time.
Anyway, I sercured 'er with a bungee. My pride was raped that night my friends. So now that makes twice that I've been violated recently. My apartment was broken into in May by a ghost, or a real burgler more than likely, so vile that it only tampered with one bag and left the brand new laptop to do whatever laptops do when they're scared, probably close-up and whimper. I'd close-up if I were a laptop.
I'm only writing because I feel like I'm overdue for a blog. With that said I just finished up food shopping. More innocence was sqaushed last weekend when I had a few friends over to the place and they pointed out that a fridge full of four bottles of hot sauce and a can of live bait represents the eating habits of someone who society cocks its head in potential distrust towards. See, someday I am going to make whoever decides to be my wife a very happy person. I won't make her, nor even want her, lean over a hot stove or strain her eyes to read a cook book. Just heat me up a can of beef raviolis and play Monopoly with me until your fingers bleed. I'm a simple guy.
Did I tell you guys about my DUI 5 years ago. I had to be evaluated to to see if I needed to attend 8 sessions with a psychologist (standard procedure for all PA DUI arrests). Anyway, the interviewer on hand to do the evaluation, a nice lady named Nancy, asked me..."Mister Bower, when drinking, do you have problems starting things, such as a relationship or project?" I was honest, I said "No, just my car." See people, honesty. And did they make me see a shrink? Nope, and look at me now, smothering worms with hot sauce and watching scarred pointer fingers push a thimble around Marvin Gardens.
BM
Well, innocence is lost in this blog. No, innocence is more than lost; she's been chopped into pet bedding for cockroaches, tossed into a burlap sack that a hobo decayed in, and buried 'neath the shattered dreams of a child (stop here). No, I'm not talking about Katrina or Iraq, or any other legit catastrophe, I'm talking about a week ago when some hooligan broke into the trunk of my 1996 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme...SUPREME. Yep, my once proud trunk just flopped around when I pulled out into Howe street. "What the Sam hell?" I muttered to myself at the time.
Anyway, I sercured 'er with a bungee. My pride was raped that night my friends. So now that makes twice that I've been violated recently. My apartment was broken into in May by a ghost, or a real burgler more than likely, so vile that it only tampered with one bag and left the brand new laptop to do whatever laptops do when they're scared, probably close-up and whimper. I'd close-up if I were a laptop.
I'm only writing because I feel like I'm overdue for a blog. With that said I just finished up food shopping. More innocence was sqaushed last weekend when I had a few friends over to the place and they pointed out that a fridge full of four bottles of hot sauce and a can of live bait represents the eating habits of someone who society cocks its head in potential distrust towards. See, someday I am going to make whoever decides to be my wife a very happy person. I won't make her, nor even want her, lean over a hot stove or strain her eyes to read a cook book. Just heat me up a can of beef raviolis and play Monopoly with me until your fingers bleed. I'm a simple guy.
Did I tell you guys about my DUI 5 years ago. I had to be evaluated to to see if I needed to attend 8 sessions with a psychologist (standard procedure for all PA DUI arrests). Anyway, the interviewer on hand to do the evaluation, a nice lady named Nancy, asked me..."Mister Bower, when drinking, do you have problems starting things, such as a relationship or project?" I was honest, I said "No, just my car." See people, honesty. And did they make me see a shrink? Nope, and look at me now, smothering worms with hot sauce and watching scarred pointer fingers push a thimble around Marvin Gardens.
BM
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