As many of you might know, it’s been a rough week for me.
My roommate moved out, he’s going back to school. And also my girlfriend has been in the wilds of Montana for what feels like a month.
So I’ve been desperately lonely for human contact. I went so far as to watch Jerry and his kids on Monday, he didn’t do much while I watched but he looked healthy, that was good to see. Of course I had to miss his flare up. I also missed Blake fall apart at the open, it looked like he had it in the bag so I quit watching.
Finally I caught a break.
Last night I went to take out the recycling and lo and behold, Danimal had left a year’s worth of Playboys in the recycling bin. I quickly made sure my neighbors weren’t watching and scurried back inside to read them.
The articles were amazing, interviews with luminaries, in depth exposés on government treaties, and funny cartoons (did you know how many secretaries in today’s business world are sexually promiscuous? I had no idea!)
Then I sort of noticed that every few pages there were other ladies in various stages of undress. It sort of made it hard to concentrate on the articles. All those ladies made me feel funny in my hidden parts. But all the lady’s faces were twisted up in manners of ill repute. This vexed me to no end. I worked around my distaste, nay distrust, of the ladies by cutting out a picture of my girlfriend’s face and gluing it to a popsicle stick. Then I was able to strategically place her face over the faces of the fanciful ladies while I read the magazines.
Problem Solved.
Labels: It made my Pepe throw up milk
