I am a hideous monster, born of the briny, briny deep. I am wearing pants without a waist band.
Hey, would anyone ELSE like a copy of my bank records or my social security number? Because I will totally fax that right over to you. I’ve been playing “justify my existence” with several financial entities this week, and it’s getting wicked old. I used to care who had my social security number, but not now. It’s 229-43-8817. Or is it? Did I even give the right one to the bank? Maybe not. That could be the trouble. Actually, there is no trouble. They just want my birth certificate for scientific purposes. They are going to build a better Licketysplit. Then the condo board wants a photo of the cat. Whatever. I hope my clone gets properly toilet trained.
Also in OMG, at IKEA yesterday I saw a woman eat a 15-piece Swedish meatball plate with extra gravy, fries, a side of macaroni and cheese, and two slices of cake. NO, it wasn’t me. I was busy gumming my way through an ADEQUÃ„T potato. It was a boiled potato. Boiled things have no calories, don’t worry.