Inside Doug's Head

I am not a number, I am… What's that stuff they make glue out of? I'm that. Forever swirling, forwards and upwards, but always sticky. Sometimes, a little sad.

Not that long ago, I used to go outside for groceries. I would drive the walkable 0.7 miles to the local grocery store (it is California, and we are all about the environment, you know) to pick up carrots, dead cow, dead Babe (i.e. pork, or pig), and poultry, (there are no movie famous chickens, except for that little one, what was his name? I always forget his name. Little Chicken?)

Life is harder now, and easier. Thanks, Governor Nuisance, for locking us all indoors to die, but I found a way to live through your political bull shirt (Apple auto kermit is so kool). You can order all of your micro nutritional needs online. And they deliver right to your door. With a note. From Santa.

It’s just like Christmas! I got a package of tomato sauce! Thanks, Santa! And more yeast than I can leaven in a lifetime! Thanks Santa! What’s this? Capers? In sea salt?! AND nonpareil! How did you know, Santa! I always wanted these. And a nude Farrah Fawcette poster. Food and hot chicks are my two favorite things!

Soap in a bottle! And lotion to stop me from itching. I used to have to go outside for that. Thanks, Santa. I can’t help but feel like maybe Santa is manipulating me a little bit, here.

Yay! Democrats!

I could be wrong. Feel free to reach your own conclusions. Yay! Democrats!


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