I think my body tried to explain something to me last night, as I was cramming the second pound of wings along with the second pint into my maw. I, of course, paid it no heed. I mean what the hell does it know? I’m the brains of this here operation, and I’m not taking orders from some bloated, dough-like bag of guts that thinks one pound is enough. I’m a man, and no one is going to tell me what to do. Right? Who’s with me fellas? Just to show it who’s wearing the pants, I figured I’d DQ something different, and tried to stuff a chocolate dipped cone in for dessert, which is probably what started the fight. Needless to say, I overdosed on Zantac and was apologizing profusely to my rotund, but extremely wise body in between meat dreams.
I’m sure this weekend will result in me getting some pictures on this here internet thingy. Any requests? I’m not too frightened of copyright infringement, so pick something good. Like really, what can they possibly do to me? (famous last words)
It’s also my stepdad day with the girls tomorrow. I’m giving them the choice of either the movies, the fair or Chapters. I hope they pick the fair, but I’m sure they will go for the fucking bookstore. Why did I have to fall in love with a girl that has smart kids that want to learn and shit? I guess it’ll pay off in the end, but I’m really looking forward to some taffy and making fun of the dirty carnies. Oh how I hate the carnies, with their brown teeth, mullets and carefree, gypsy lifestyle.
Make sure you whip your hair,
P.S. Did you notice I put these pictures up?