23 April, 2009

her name was lola, she was a showgirl, blah blah blah, feathers something, something something, lah lah lah

must be that time of the month coming up, because if you bring me your baby, i will dip its toes in butter and eat it raw. if you don't have no baby, no worries, i'll still find something to chew on. i am systematically emptying out the cupboards here, and when i get down to the crappy crap that magically made its crappy way into our home (yes, jar of pickled pears of questionable provenance, i'm looking at you!) and actually consider consumption, well, there might be some deep underlying psychological issues here.

let's not get into it*.

mister monkey is now home, sitting on the toilet engaging in his favourite toilet activity which is reading gigantic boring history books. 

there is white stuff on the ground outside (good job, environment canada, off by 3 days but you finally managed to predict something). 

the house is quiet and there are apple pears on the fruit platter. 

in a word: good night.


*this is not a tease, there is no story, i am PMSing and want to eat the world. the end.

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