As I promised yesterday, for dinner I devoured a dozen hot wings. Mary, Ben, and Lauren got in on the action. I can only hope they are feeling better than I am. Over twelve hours after I had those wings, I feel like there is a little man named Snappy Redfire in my belly. He’s river-dancing and swinging around a cobbler’s mallet, much to my dismay. Settle down now, Snappy!
They say chopping firewood warms you twice: once when you cut it, once when you burn it. Eating wings has warmed me twice. I’m a candle burnt at both ends. In less poetic terms, wing sauce burns your ass when you shit the next day.
…
Yesteday I listened to the Joy Division song “Digital” twenty-three times. I’ve decided no good music has been made since 1984.
…
I’d like to official announce a moratorium on making fun of Gigli. It’s just too easy. And too obvious.