“dude srsly. what up. u r lamez. COME BACK TO THE INTERNET.”
Hellzapopping, my peeps. THE GUILT. I have THE GUILT.
For the past [rustle rustle rustle] too-freaking-long, I’ve being buzzing along, with this nagging, chronic ache in my belly. An ache that said, “Sommmmethinnnnng… izzzzzzzz… wroooooonnnnng.”
But you know what I said to that nagging, chronic ache?
“Yo! My homey! Chill! Everything is GROOVY. I’m just busy. All cylinders firing, know what I’m saying? I’ll get back on that horse [Cut to shot of bleached horse skeleton in the desert, single tumbleweed drifting by] soon enough. Cool. Your. Jets.”
Yes. I really said this. And then I punched that nagging, chronic ache in the arm. Like a drinking buddy. Or second cousin.
But things… As they say — THINGS HAVE COME TO A HEAD.
I HAVE THE GUILT.
DAMN YOU, GUILT! STOP EATING MY INSIDES!
YEEEEEEEEARGH! MY PROCRASTINATION! IT GNAWS AT ME! LIKE A SECOND COUSIN, HUNGRY FOR PIE!
Oh. By the bye, it is My Lovely Wife’s birthday today. Shout-outs are appreciated.
As is, as always… pie.