I hate to break this to a couple of you dudes, but that kleenex/tubesock-worthy pic from last week was actually of my flat stomach.
I'm in just a feisty enough of a mood to wipe the dust off of the word Sike, and bring it out of the closet for a couple of days.
But, maybe we'll see. One source of my feistiness is a certain, golden-arched, mis-representin' fast food chain. If Muscle'll have y'all boycotting Quizno's, then I've got an even taller order. F- McDonald's! Yea, I said it. First we've got to deal with the spicy chicken sandwich's insane absence from the menu, then Justin's high-pitched badda, bah, bah, bah Lovin' It annoying, rebranding-jingle, then the commercials with the old lady bustin' out the debit card, and now this...
Not all of the McDonald's can even take your debit or credit card just yet! What the hell?!?!?! I thought I was could've been swiping and enjoying for like 3 months now, and upon my first attempt I'm greeted with "Coming Soon" flyers and "Sorry, sir but we don't have the machines, yet"?
What a load of crap. I'm not asking Ronald to take Grimace and the Hamburgler to colonize Mars, I just want him to make good on his offer. I'm ready to swipe and enjoy----is that too much to ask? And I certainly don't want to see that card-carrying, sanctimonious old hag on my screen until you're ready. Until everybody's ready.
Anybody know anything about Eggburger 3? Yeah, me either.
But I do know that I think it's cool as fug that Dorf has capitalized on his instructional golf videos and parlayed it to the latest reality bride-hunt. I'll give you 2 to 1 odds he picks a normal sized chick. Cuz even little people know there's nothing better than a long set of legs. Unless Bridget the Midget makes a guest appearance. Then all bets are obviously off. Hell even the Bachelor would consider giving her freaky, acrobatic azz a rose.
Want to know what else is on my mind? Of course you do. Already in the early part of 2004, I've done things that I didn't do in all of the last three years combined.
Purchased flat front pants.
Tried to throw the let's-go-out-for-an-early breakfast mack.
Yep, that last one is how I spent the early portion of Valentine's Day, and let's just call it a bad idea, never to be repeated. It's never wrong to explore every opportunity to keep the evening from ending, but once you throw a couple of pieces of french toast down a half-drunk girl's throat, stick a fork in her and watch her crawl under the covers. Fully clothed. Even if it means inviting her back to your place (assuming you keep your fridge stocked), something that I don't normally recommend. That's better than wasting 2 hours in a greasy spoon thinking your glass of O.J. is half-full. Because it's not. And there's probably something floating in it anyway. And orange juice just tastes weird without vodka.