I need a cocktail.
Fear not. It’ll be okay.
You can have my AA chips.
Fifteen years’ worth.
Roll ‘em up.
Luckily AA chips don’t need sunshine.
Vacation is thirty days out.
I’m back on the treadmill, but the results are slower than I’d like.
I feel good.
But who exercises to Feel Good?
I hate that person.
One hundred fatty-two pounds.
I weigh one hundred fatty-two pounds!
I’m fifteen pounds down, but I still look a fright.
If I had boobs I could pull this off.
I’m on the treadmill forty minutes daily.
It’s like dog years.
I like it.
I hate it.
I like it, slash; hate it.
I’m up before the crack of dawn.
I’m feeling it.
I called my foot doc.
He says, “You’re telling me the overhauled foot is your worst problem on the treadmill?”
“Wull, no,” was my snappy reply. “Now my FEELINGS hurt too.”
I may go on vacation weighing one hundred fatty-two pounds with a sore foot and hurt feelings, but booze will help.
Mike says so.
And so does Google, so it’s got to be true.
Google says “Booze helps us relax”.
It says, “Booze helps to strike up a conversation”.
“Booze helps us to loosen our uptight and inhibited selves.” As. Per. Google.
Hey Doubters; if it wasn’t factual it wouldn’t be on the internet!
On the other hand; Google says nothing about portly Prince Fielder playing baseball in pajamas.
Google is silent about Flo Rida having pectoral implants.
Google gives you accurate references to Mayella Ewell when you search “chiffarobe”, but they got nothing definitive on how much fun can occur before somebody actually puts an eye out.
How many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop?
Left to Google the world WILL never know.
How do you dress a one-hundred-fatty-two pound pear-shaped Savant this season?
Google’s got bupkiss.
But they say “Booze will help me forget,” so that’s the route I’m taking.
20 hours ago