In which I have nothing to say.
Bread woke me up way before eight because he hates me and wants me to suffer. I’M UNEMPLOYED, for chrissake, I should be allowed to sleep in like the total fucking loser I really am.
Then I dusted all three dogs with diatomaceous earth. I’d dusted the cat the night before and saw three dead fleas on him this morning, and all three dogs are totally infested again even though we dipped them 48 hours ago. Damn fleas.
Then we drove to town, picked up our loan, hit the bank, ate Indian food, and came to BoSe’s.
Where we still are. They’ve been working much of the afternoon. Working is all well and good, of course, but I think it’s time for a cocktail, myself.
I reworked my resume. I learned that there is nothing worth applying for in Fairfield or Ottumwa. I think I’ll end up on foodstamps, working in a coffee shop. (As long as it has wireless, that might be okay.) (Just kidding!) (Well, mostly.)
If you enjoyed this article, please consider sharing it!
YOU have nothing to say? Poppycock, I tell you. Pure poppycock.
Bread obviously has fleas. Dip him.
Foodstamps and coffeeshops sound like fun. There should be a reality show themed for that.
hold on, hold on! what? i’ve been reading a blog of a loser?! that can’t be right, can it?
and foodstamps ain’t so bad. in fact, i grew up on foodstamps. that’s how i remained so svelte.