Thursday, March 1, 2007
Soul Meets Douchey
And then there are nights I come home after a long day of slacking, crack open a bottle of Night Train, pop a Hostess Twinkie in my mouth, sit back on my rug, crack open the laptop, and behold the unholy scrote.
It’s like being smacked in the face with a week old halibut.
There is so much wrong with this picture, my soul just crawled out through my nostrils and is cowering in the corner, whimpering diaphanously.
Soul, come back here! Get in my body!
No! Look at Plastic Diaper Boy on the right! I’m staying put.
Yeah. I don’t blame you.
