Stuff I thought about while driving home from Wal-Mart
So that's what opression feels like. Huh. Most of those people were really old, too. That makes me twice as evil.
Actually, some of the clothes weren't too bad, especially if you were going to work like, a Keira Knightly young London boho-type look.
I didn't really see anyone there working like, a Keira Knightly young London boho-type look.
Hmmm... hungry. Ice cream....
The lyrics to Rod Stewart's "Tonight's the Night" are really dirty! How did I miss that?
Huh, this road is straight. And flat. And I'm the only one on it. Got the cruise control on... I wonder how long I could go if I took my hands off the wheel?
Did Rod Stewart just say "Spread your wings my virgin child, and let me come inside"? Oh shit!! Hands back on the wheel!
Like, one of those malted chocolate milk shakes from Jack in the Box. That would kick all kinds of ass.
I hope that didn't max out my debit card. That would really would be the final act in this dark carnival. I would have to go sleep with the meth dude on the corner. You know, the one that tried to sell me a broken lamp shaped like a large-mouth bass. For $10. Because evidently, that's how much meth costs.
Speaking of, I hope I locked the front door.
Ice cream. Yeeeeah - no, No, NO!
Wow, it's a good thing TV was invented, because if I had to rely on my internal monologue for entertainment, I would probably die of boredom.
Actually, some of the clothes weren't too bad, especially if you were going to work like, a Keira Knightly young London boho-type look.
I didn't really see anyone there working like, a Keira Knightly young London boho-type look.
Hmmm... hungry. Ice cream....
The lyrics to Rod Stewart's "Tonight's the Night" are really dirty! How did I miss that?
Huh, this road is straight. And flat. And I'm the only one on it. Got the cruise control on... I wonder how long I could go if I took my hands off the wheel?
Did Rod Stewart just say "Spread your wings my virgin child, and let me come inside"? Oh shit!! Hands back on the wheel!
Like, one of those malted chocolate milk shakes from Jack in the Box. That would kick all kinds of ass.
I hope that didn't max out my debit card. That would really would be the final act in this dark carnival. I would have to go sleep with the meth dude on the corner. You know, the one that tried to sell me a broken lamp shaped like a large-mouth bass. For $10. Because evidently, that's how much meth costs.
Speaking of, I hope I locked the front door.
Ice cream. Yeeeeah - no, No, NO!
Wow, it's a good thing TV was invented, because if I had to rely on my internal monologue for entertainment, I would probably die of boredom.
posted by La Blonde Parisienne at 12:55 AM
2 Comments:
Hey, it's better than my internal monologue:
Politics. Politics. Politics. Why won't the dog stop scratching himself? Politics. I don't want to work on my dissertation. Politics. Politics. Yeah my wife is home!
You are braver man than I, Gunga Din, I wouldn't DARE post my internal monologue...the men in white coats would surely be at my door!
Thank you for sharing.
p.s. WM either has clothes for pencil girls or overly-round women
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