Do not judge me. Okay so I spend all my free time hanging under my kitchen sink subsisting on whatever doesn’t make it through the disposal. And last night, as I scraped the floor of my oven I was overcome with emotion upon the discovery of a year old fish stick. I knew the turnaround between mastication and defecation would be short but for a few brief moments as I dipped the charred Gorton’s tidbit into my homemade blend of bird feces and Colgate Total Advanced Whitening, I was God-like.
I still find it amazing how relatively easy it was to eat the neighbors. Granted we didn’t share political or religious views, I still expected some tinge of guilt or at least a gag. But nothing. I hate to say it, but they were kind of delicious. I guess it’s one of those self-preservation thingies. Try telling me God doesn’t have a plan and I’ll laugh right in your face… before I try to bite off your nose.
In the wee hours of most nights, I can’t help but think wistfully back to what used to be. Oh, the daily rituals consisting of deodorant (non-consumable by the way) application, generous shitting and eager masturbating. Now I consider myself lucky if I get one or two of those pleasures a month. I remember hanging on to every word Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert teased. How I laughed at the morons on Fox News as I made out my Whole Foods grocery list. Thank goodness for Armageddon or I woulda been a pussy my whole life.
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