Boulevard of broken spleens

Today I am Honoring My Feelings, and I feel that I should eat an entire chocolate cream pie. But Feelings Are Not Facts, so I won’t. Or something. I think I need some Vitamin Tequila and some Me Time. See, I am coming to terms with the crushing realization that I have virtually no problems save being me and nipple confusion. Damn you, mother!

I got a hot tip that I could probably haul an abandoned CAT scan machine out of a dump in Brazil, so I have new plans to convert Mr. H’s Saabaru into a roving radiology wagon. If I pry the rear seat out, I’m sure the machine would fit. For good measure, I’ll install lead plating somewhere. And I’ll need an air-brushed sign: CAT scans, $20, meow meow! I can diagnose a brain bleed just as well as a trained professional. Look, this one is in the shape of Cookie Monster. If your brain is bleeding, I can’t help you, but I will be sure to let you know, as if you had toilet paper on your shoe. I will do it politely but firmly.

Oh, I am taking a moment to enjoy watching that dog dash away from the boulangerie with a string of sausages. Well, look at you! You are so cheeky! Run.


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