Here I am sitting on the sofa wrapped in a blue and green beach towel after having washed off the shame and regret of another filthy Monday morning, listening to Dido (Shut up.) and plotting the end (The end? Of what?), realizing I've bathed three times in the last 24 hours and worrying I might be getting germphobic, and feeling a little sorry for myself I admit cheerfully (Well, semi-cheerfully. I'm hardly ever 100% cheerful.), when I decide to catch up with my ol' pal Blogda via the World Wide Internet. Then I laughed. So yeah, I'm obviously moody, duh, but it's nice when your sad sack state can be instantly cured just by your friend writing about sandwiches.
I was about to knock off blogging and make myself a sandwich, then I remembered I am out of Coca-Cola so I need to page my dealer before I can have said sandwich. You are crazy if you can eat a sandwich without a Coke. I can't eat any typically American food without a Coke accompaniment. Hot dogs? Needs a Coke. Hamburgers? Needs a Coke. Frozen Ding Dongs? Needs milk, and then a Coke later to keep the sugar high going. Have a Coke and a smile. I take that shit literally.
Dang, that means I have to ditch the beach towel and get dressed. I guess that's ok, I am a bit cold. What is the wackiest outfit I could wear to Tom Thumb? Obviously, it's this beach towel, my tiara and boots. I would do it on a bet, but I'm not doing it for free. Do I want to go to Target or Tom Thumb? I haven't been to Ghetto Target in a while. Nah, I'm too hungry to enjoy Ghetto Target. I need to acquire my stash and get out so I can have my sandwich ASAP. It would have been nice to have it while watching Teletubbies, but I missed it already. And yeah, I said Teletubbies, and yeah, I know what time it comes on. That show calms me down like a handful of quaaludes, it's amazing.
Ok, enough fucking around. I need a sandwich post haste.
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