Potatoes, not politics

I had something to say, O Best Beloved, but I forgot. Surely the proper procedure is to stop typing, but when I get a notion to type, I can’t help myself. Idle hands take up the devil’s work. It’s either this or knitting the scarf I just can’t finish. I feel like Christo whenever I pick it up.

Have you called your senator to whimper about the Supreme Court yet today? I normally prefer to keep my whimpering to the comfort of my own duvet, but we do what we can. This is a remarkably angst-free January, all serotonin levels, wiretapping, construction projects, and parasites considered. I think I’ve discovered that eating every twelve minutes is the solution to my myriad personal shortcomings. Well, at least I feel better about them. Not saying it actually fixes them. Perhaps it was never existentialism: I just wasn’t eating enough oatmeal. This looks like it could be Dick Cheney’s problem as well. Fiber, mon petit robot.

7 responses to “Potatoes, not politics”

  1. I feel bad for wishing it, but I hope that Cheney fucker dies and that his doctor blames his regular diet of tobacco bribes and fresh roasted babies.

  2. AH AH AH, I REMEMBER MY LIVES AS BORDAR POTROL GARD, CHRISTO TRY CROSS FROM THAT BULGARIA TOO THAT, SERBIA!!! I PISTOL WIPP FOR FAN, THEN SAY GO YUOUR HAPPI WAY MR CHRISTO. HAPPIEST CAMP IN BARRACKS!!!

  3. Yum yum yum: Your current link goes to Weight Watchers, which is featuring “Mexican Meatloaf (Freezer-friendly)”. Talk about Pavlovian!!

    Remember all of those delicious, delicious CamplesSoupKitchen recipes?

  4. David: Roy Disney would get rid of Michael Eisner. Or cryogenically freeze himself so that he could finish the scarf in the future.

    Max: I should write about Shrimp Mold, now that you mention it.

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