So remember that whole ad campaign about “BE-cause sometimes you feel like a nut, sometimes you don’t?”
Well, today I don’t.
Actually, I do. I pretty much always feel like a nut, unless something really, really bad has happened, but then that wears off within a couple hours, and I feel like a nut again.
But not literally.
And not in my candy.
In fact, I still have to sing that little ditty to myself to make sure I buy the right one. The one without nuts (and, if you are like me and can’t remember much of anything to save your life, the song goes “Almond Joy’s got nuts, Mounds don’t” and then BE-cause again and you loop back through and if you don’t watch yourself, the loop could go on into infinity, although at some point you’d probably be placed in a mental institution by the people that used to love you, and they’d move on and get new lives, and you’d just keep on singing.)
Anywho, so long as it doesn’t take over my brain and drive me mad, it’s the little ditty that keeps me in line and ensures that I reach for the Mounds.
In China, if you’re driving and sleepy, you can now pull over and the police will give you raw chili peppers to eat. I don’t even know what to say to that, except ‘No, thank you. I’d rather crash and die than eat raw chili peppers.’ Clearly, the Chinese are bezerk. Why are they taking over the world again? Are the rest of us really so pitiful that the panda-hugging, raw pepper eating Chinese are the new world leaders? Sad, people. SAD.
Some lady bought a used couch that had a cat in it. That just gets into my issues about used stuff being all creepy and wondering what people did to it and on it and why it smells like pastrami and my deep hopes that I will stay financially solvent enough that I will never have to get a scratchy plaid couch with or without a rat nest inside from Goodwill ever again.
The Mexicans continue to kill the hell out of each other. I find that slightly amusing. But then there’s the death principle rearing its ugly head again…
Random quote heard immediately after changing the channel to Bravo, “Intimate is good; filthy, sort of bestial porn is bad.”
Oh, NOW you tell me.