It's Friday night. I was bored earlier so I shaved off chunks of my beard until I had a graphically designed handle bar mustache.
I walk over to the refridgerator for the third time in the last twenty minutes hoping I've missed a hidden treat. Sadly, the stale neon innards of the fridge are still as barren as I remember: a can of black olives, an ancient bottle of apple cider vinegar, a bottle of mustard with a scabbed spout, and beyond the limits of my comprehension, yet as real as a pig in a pen, a tin of spicy hot spam--half eaten. I'll be back in ten minutes.
1 comment:
hahaha, I do that all the time!
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