Can a pie hate a human?
This is a question to ponder. This question is just another example of search terms used on Google to find my blog. Let’s really talk about this for a second though. CAN a pie hate a human? Humans do pose as huge threats to pies. Humans eat pies for dessert. A person not very cautious of their diet might even eat pie for breakfast. During the holiday season, humans eat pies around the clock. Might a lemon meringue feel hatred toward a human being for posing as such a threat? Perhaps. A strawberry rhubarb? Definitely. Can you blame them? I don’t think so.
Onto an even more important question though—-can a scone hate a human? Debate to follow.
When people invite me to participate in events like 5K runs or half marathons, I have to ask myself if they’re mentally sound. Do I really come off as the type of person who likes to exercise for no good reason? This body isn’t built for endurance or speed, Gary. This body is built strictly to be gazed upon. I think it’s pretty obvious. Am I giving off the “I like to spend my paychecks on Nike spandex shorts and sports bras” vibe somehow without knowing it? Nowhere in my “about me” do I mention, or even imply that I enjoy increasing my heart rate or perspiring on purpose. The only “running” I do consists of “running to the mailbox,” or “running errands” which is really just a figure of speech. Don’t you get this? I give up.
Stink bugs are invading every nook and cranny in eastern Pennsylvania. It’s a genuine invasion. Somebody get the Orkin Man on the horn. We’ve got ourselves a situation. They’re like mice. They somehow find a way in to even the most air-tight and secured of locations. In case you aren’t familiar with these insects, they are a nickel-sized, armored-looking beetle-typed bug that swarm by the millions in the Northeast. Their name comes from a pungent odor they give off when smashed (even though I can’t ever smell this mysterious odor that people talk about all the time). They accidentally got introduced to the Pennsylvania around 1998, and have spread like wildfire ever since. They somehow weasel into my apartment on the daily. They cover people’s screens, porches, and front doors, buzzing around and crawling everywhere. The worst part? They have no natural predators. Nothing is after them. Nothing except me, of course. Give me a bottle of hairspray. You know what I’m capable of.
I’m out like BBMak.
“If you murder your mother, I won’t tell the police we had this conversation.”