Monday, 27 January 2014

Free My Name


Yes, Comrades

Once again, there was a little surprise on the couch for me. It was cheap, low quality and I suspect it was found roadside. That's right, Nancy got the day off again. I don't know what the shit's going on with her work, but what can you do? With a mild pain in my head thanks to being a rock star the night before, we settled down to watch Too Cute, a showcase of pug puppies and other things that make you go "Oh, look at that".

By about 3pm, we were all kittened out and headed in our usual direction. Right before this though, I was reintroduced to Brotha Lynch Hung. He spits bars about loving to cut pussies up with razorblades then fuck them since he was six. Cunt should be locked up. Now, apparently I've been to Metro Center before, but I don't remember. After picking Sheba up, that's the route we took, being forced to endure Toto's Hold The Line for about the fiftieth fucking time.

Wasn't a lot worth reporting at the place itself, even me companions would attest to that. I sampled a blue raspberry Airhead, which blew me away. When we realised just how little there was to enjoy, we stood outside, staring at the cinema, none of us willing to make a concrete decision on what to go see, if anything. Women, I'll tell you.

On the way out, we also debated what we were going to eat. Lolo's was closed, so no chicken and waffles with an ice cream scoop-sized of butter on top for us. Instead it was to the Hibachi grill nearby, which turned out to be more or less just a Chinese buffet. I decided tonight was the night - I would eat octopus and oyster. Octopus I didn't like so much, too chewy, but the oyster/mollusk thing was enjoyable. These marshmallows we had too, even our waitress had no idea what it was, even going so far as to guess it was a marshmallow and sour cream dessert. I mean, come on, look at your game, girl. Amazing food.

The rest of our night was generally uneventful. We weren't at home #3 for very long, we had an early bed ahead. The car ride home was just a blast - it consisted of me repeating "Pepsi bottle. A Coca Cola glass. I don't give a damn" and "No no the Canadian government has apologised for Bryan Adams on several occasions" over and over again. That was uneventful.

We watched our usual nonsense at home and it was an early bed indeed. Just to finish up, I don't think I've been called by my real name in weeks. It can be Allan, Leo, Scotty, Mona Lisa, it depends on the day. Just 'Guy' would do me fine.

I guess this is what a warm plate of shut the Hell up would look like.

"Tie my laces and chain me sound below"

In a bit.

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