Japanexican:

It pisses me off when...

I wait 'til the last minute to do something recockulously simple. When crunch time comes, that simple thing is magnified by the amount of time that I DON'T have to finish it, and now becomes quite hard. Then I misfire anger at random, unrelated $#!t---like when this site slows down, or when I see how non-well Joyce Hyser has aged.

:-( ...That's probably my fault too.

I'm also angry at myself for neglecting my physical upkeep. The other day, on my way to meet Angela, I caught a whiff of a distant barbecue party--laced with the delectable aroma of burger patties. Having only a few cents in hard currency and the hunger of a Viking army, I immediately went into @$$hole-McBitch-mode on the road.

Upon arrival, I placed my concentration on appearing pleasant. Somehow I got Angela to buy me an incredible, indescribible, inconceivably fattening milkshake from D'lush. She was either charmed by my witty banter, or she took preventive measures because she didn't want to be seen on the evening news as the friend of the "psychotic homosexual" who "massacred dozens at local lifestyle center" with a knife set stolen from The Sharper Image. Hunger summons the beast.

Anyway, I shouldn't have accepted the milkshake. It probably made my car's engine work harder to carry me, and will therefore cost me ANOTHER $50 worth of petrol. Nevertheless, that delicious shake fulfilled me like only Todd knows how to do. Isn't that why we make purchases in the first place? If we take away all the excuses and really analyze our mentality, we only "get" stuff in order to fill that illusion of void inside us. Maybe my void really was real, maybe not. But in my moment of great nutritional need, it did a better job of elevating my mood than any similar "thing" I can remember in recent times. Of course, it could also be the fact that I'm not the one who paid for it.

The other incidence of bodily neglect of which I am also guilty is manscaping. I've really got to get on that. No one wants to engage in frottage with a cactus. Maybe my condition of manscaping is a barometer for my financial status. If I were a millionaire, I sure as hell wouldn't be plagued with this "situation."

Picture it: an endless supply of wax.

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