I want so many material goods. I need a million dollars. I want a genie. Or a sugar daddy. I have a friend who once had a real sugar daddy; some old Indian dude that just loved her and gave her money, gifts, and fancy dinners on the reg. Where can I sign up for one of those? Maybe I can search on Craigslist.
Actually, that sounds like a great way to get tortured and killed.
I suddenly have this great desire for shoes and boots of all kinds. I want them all. Will somebody please get me a rad pair of Sperry Topsiders? And maybe some high top sneakers? Also I need some black boots.
People that eat boiled hotdogs need to be punched in the face. It’s so disgusting. The only way to eat a hotdog is to flame broil the crap out of it over a roaring fire until it is hissing with juicy readiness, bubbling and slightly blackening, ready for the pillaging and ketchup-smothering. Eating a boiled hotdog is like eating a raw chicken leg as far as I’m concerned.
It’s not right. It’s gross. It is punishable by death. End scene.
I need to do 800 loads of laundry today. How am I supposed to do that? Someone tell me. I wish I didn’t loathe doing menial tasks so much. For some reason I don’t mind doing other peoples’ dishes, but I despise doing my own. Not that dishes have anything to do with laundry at all. Anyway,
I know all of you have been sweating and biting your nails and having restless nights laying in bed worrying about my damaged teeth, so allow me to update you. The excruciating, vomit-inducing pain subsided after the first day. My jaw is still sore, and my bottom left teeth are still not in ideal shape. One in particular, the pointy 3rd one over, feels…dead, for a lack of better words. I still have to chew my food with a ridiculous overbite to avoid letting Murdered Tooth come in contact with any of my other teeth. I really, really hope I didn’t do any root damage. We’ll see.
Well, time to try to do some work. Peace.
“SIR, STAND UP! STAND, UP!”