I spend a pretty good bit of time thinking about food. The minute I stop thinking about it, my phone rings and it's the Mrs. wondering what we're going to do for dinner. I normally come out of that one on the losing end, since it's easier for me to stop at the store on the way home than it is for her.
--Riiing! (Here I substitute the customary "ring" sound, because it's easier than typing out all the Sir Mixalot lyrics)
"Dammit."
--Riiiiing!
"Dammit."
**... and a round thing in your face...**
"Grooooan, fine, geez!"
*boop*
"Hello dear :)"
"Hey douche-bag. Whatchu wanna do for dinner?"
"What, are we out of rotisserie-style, wadded-up caribou face already?"
"No, but the baby threw a few handfuls of sand into the meat pit and now it's all gritty."
"Well shit."
"I know."
"Alright... um... how about duck lips, are we out of duck lips?"
"I think there's a can in the pantry behind the cheese-weasel."
"Oh yeah, I forgot about that cheese-weasel, sweet. And we can make deep-fried, bacon-wrapped salted sticks of frosted garlic-butter for desert!"
"Yes!"
"K. Loveyoubye."
"Loveyoubye."
*boop*
Time to put on my grillin' shorts.
TSN
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