Tomato, Tomahto.

3 Feb
HEY THERE. What’s up. Sweet, I don’t care.

I just got home from the ol’ taco stand where I mainly sat around and stuffed my face as usual. The other day at work was pretty stimulating: Kehly made a gamble that I couldn’t eat 6 tomato halves, and if I did, she’d pay me five bucks. I love tomatoes, so I figured I’d be a fool to not take that challenge. It proved to be much more difficult than I anticipated, but I got through it eventually.

It was sick. I wanted to vomit. It was worth the five dollars though, and plus Jordan said she’d take a full shot of super hot sauce if I succeeded. I was more than motivated. For those of you who are ill-informed, super hot sauce is a sauce made of whole jalapenos that we simply blend up into a liquid form.
It’s hotter than hell, and WILL burn a hole in your esophagus. I met the challenge, succeeded, and Jordan held up her half of the deal. I have two entire photo albums dedicated to these events if you dare to take a gander.
Days at work like that tickle my fancy. Other days, like today for example, make me want to engage in full-blown mass murder. Today I was about two seconds from shooting everyone in the mall and putting a bullet in my brain. I hate people. I hate the Mall of the Bluffs. People wait for the very last second before the mall closes and all rush to the counter to order $35 worth of Mexican cuisine that I will not hesitate to sneeze on by the way. Watch yourself. Normally under these circumstances I become loud, violent and vulgar, and sometimes it helps to frighten off the nervous customers. Other times it damn near gets me fired.

Either way I don’t care.

I was watching television the other day when I saw another Fruit of the Loom commercial. Now, I consider myself an educated person, otherwise known as “not retarded,” and I am entirely confident in my ability to identify elementary things such as colors and, say, fruits. On Fruit of the Loom commercials, they’ve got two sets of grapes, an apple, and a mystery fruit that appears to me as Chewbacca. One of these fruits is not like the other:

I don’t understand. I don’t even have an inkling, or a shot-in-the-dark idea as to what the furry “it” with teeth is, and if I ever saw it hanging from a tree, I would NOT eat it. Explain, FOTL. Explain.

In other news, I don’t know if I already mentioned that we finally sold our house. Unfortunately the people who are buying it are lunatics and want everything we own, like our furniture, lamps, childhood photos, souls—I think they actually added my first-born child into the contract. Freakaleeks.

If I hear Fergalicious 13 or 14 more times, I’m going to punch a grandma. Not mine though.

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