Pie

The last week or two seem to have been really taxing, for some reason. It seems like all I do is drive and work, and the business with Poopie has been pretty draining too. I know it's chic among a certain class of trogodytic men to pretend that cats don't matter and should be killed anyway, but watching your cat die is kind of draining - almost as draining as putting up with troglodytic men who make a fetish out of hating cats. I'd go into this in more detail, but what's the point, really? The fact that he wasn't immediately struck by a bolt of lightning is proof of how little control I have over the universe, and I'll leave the matter rest there.

So tonight it's apple pie and ice cream. It's been about a decade since I had pie and ice cream, and we intend to eat a whole lotta pie and ice cream, just because. Because it's fun. Because I'm tired and worn out. Because my ribs hurt. Because I feel depressed. Because I'm sick of having to put up with troglodyte assholes. Because I want to do something other than drive and work. Because I want to do something fun, by cracky.

So if you happen to be my cardiologist and you're reading this, please permit me this one wild excessive orgy of fat and cholesterol and sugar and monosodium whatever-the-hell without laying the Heavy Brow on me.

Thank you. And now, I consign myself to a Safeway pie and a half-gallon of French Vanilla ice cream.