I was at a fast food place yesterday that was woefully under-stocked. I'm sure I was already agitated by other issues in my life because this bothered me far more than it should have bothered me. A man got his burger and there were no napkins. A kid ordered fries and there were no fancy ketchup packets. A woman got her strawberry shake and took the last straw. That pushed me over the edge. I won't say what happened, but I am now in jail. Luckily, since the phone wasn't working, they gave me one blog post instead of one phone call. Honey, could you come pick me up?
Being in jail has given me an opportunity to think about a few things in my life. It's pretty quiet in this cell, just the soothing tune of blues harmonica and the soulful singing of the oppressed to inspire the mind. I realize now that a few things have to change. Firstwise, I need to stop experimenting with the plug-in electric car. I've spent almost $6,000 on extension cords already and I can't even get out of the neighborhood without something coming unplugged or someone being decapitated by the cord. I'm pretty sure the decapitations are against the Neighborhood Association bylaws.
Secondlish, I need to get out of disorganized crime. What a bunch of morons these guys are. They say you can never get out, that once you're in you're in for life, but I guarantee you these guys have lost my address and phone number. They have never, ever killed anyone on purpose.
Lastesque, I want to be prettier and more delicate. I'm going to start putting flowers all up in my hair and shit. I'm going to wear perfumes and prance around like a fucking princess.
I have got to get out of this cell. Honey? Are you reading this?
Hello, friends. Can you bust me out? I'll try to slip into the bags of dirty laundry if they have any. You hijack a laundry truck. Okay?
Love.
