I’ve hit a wall.
I keep staring at the blank screen, trying to think of something that might make you chuckle or, at the very least, huff loudly through your nostrils, but the proverbial crickets be chirpin’.
This is all your fault.
If you weren’t so intent on being amused when you read my blog, I could just write about how much I love potatoes and that would be that. I wouldn’t need to think up clever anecdotes and new ways to say the word ‘tit’. I could just be all “Yum. POTATOES. Nom nom nom” and you would take it like a champ.
Actually, can we take a moment to pause and appreciate the potato, folks. I mean, for serious. The possibilities are endless with those little delicious fuckers. Starchy, adaptable vegetable FTW.)
If I had an online store, I would sell T-shirts that say:
Since y’all aren’t here to read about produce, you’ve left me up shitcreek without a paddle. Nothing overly interesting has happened in my life lately. I mean, I could tell you about last weekend and how I got so drunk I nearly picked up a cougar by accident, or about the time my landlord locked me out of my apartment and I reluctantly donated my bananas to raccoons, but those stories would probably compromise my ‘cool shit’ reputation, and we can’t have that, now, can we?
So instead, I’m going to enlighten you with a brief story that outlines why my roommate may eventually take over the world.
One quiet evening, I sat in the living room of our little apartment. The television may have been on. This is not relevant to the story. My roommate was in the kitchen, probably doing something with food and/or drink (so far, this story is going really well…), and suddenly came hurtling into the room.
Roommate: “Okay, think about this: If you were telepathic with pigeons… like, if you were all ‘Dr. Doolittle’ with them, you could totally take over the world. With pigeons.”
Me: “What exactly would you accomplish by communicating with pigeons? Tell them where to poop, and to swoop down near people’s heads when they aren’t paying attention to scare the shit out of them*?”
Roommate: “They were used in the war!”
Me: “Well then.”
Roommate: “Think about it!”
So, if she starts acting
strangely more strangely and engages in bizarre one-on-one interactions with pigeons, I’ll know to watch my back- because bitch be taking over the world, Dr. Doolittle style.
(P.S. I still think you're crazy, roomie. And I've thought about it.)
* I’m 90% sure that pigeons exist for the sole purpose of fucking with me when I’m drinking wine in a park.