I Killed A Man

I killed a man. Really, I killed a man today. His name was Steven Eric Chunk, and he was a fighter. He really held on with everything he had, and he pushed back when he felt pressured... In the end, he just wasn't strong enough to withstand my Amazonian strength, and he had to let go... 


Don't worry, guys, I'm not heading for prison. I just knocked this huge chunk of ice/snow/frozen shit from my front wheel well as I was leaving the other day to go grocery shopping. The problem, and the subsequent murder, comes in when I actually tried to back out. My car was literally STUCK on this huge ass chunk of ice/snow/frozen shit. Of course, I did what every other sane, composed, rational adult would do- I named the fucker so when I backed over it, I felt like I had really accomplished something amazing. 


It was like being a superhero, and he was the villain who was keeping me from rescuing the delicious nectarines from certain death on the store shelves... I will not be deterred, ICE CHUNK! I WILL NOT BE DETERRED!


Sorry about that.


Eventually, I just started stabbing the crap out of it with my snow scraper until it broke into manageable pieces, and then I backed over it with my car, and turned the steering wheel repeatedly to teach it a good, firm lesson. Take that, Senor McDumbass. You won't be sticking to my car anymore. Yes, I did actually say that out loud. To the ice chunk. You wanna fight about it? Too bad, I'm still sore from kicking the ice chunk's ass. Get at me next week.


I knew going to a different grocery store than usual would probably benefit my day in some way... Well, it did. I now have more grocery store stalkers, in the way of short, unattractive balding men. Wonderful. I saw two tall, dark and handsomes at that store, so I know they exist. But instead I attract short and bald. And not the cute, cuddly baby kind either. Grown-ass men kind.


I had an epiphany in the dairy department, too... I was selecting cheese, when I overheard a cat being strangled with a length of twine. Turns out, some guy really thought he could sing. Truth is, he can sing. He was belting it out good. But he shouldn't sing. Because he sucks. Like, he sucks REALLY BAD. 


And this made me think- do I actually sound like that? Oh my honey biscuits... Do people hear me and wonder where the dying cat is? Which of course, because you know me and how my mind works, made me sing "Cat Scratch Fever" out loud, in a sing-songy humming kind of way. Which garnered some really great looks. 


But seriously, I'm sorry. To anyone who ever had the incredibly painful pleasure of hearing me sing. I sincerely hope your eardrums are okay, but truth is... Life's a bitch. I sing all the time, I probably won't stop, and you know what? If I stop singing, bad things will happen. I don't know what kind of bad things, but I'm thinking probably things that I won't remember the next day as I'm being charged with homicide and assault type bad. So, I guess... Sorry for being so awesome. 


I bought some more Munchos, too... Which I have to tell you is akin to buying crack for me. I tell myself it's the last time. Every time. I'm not going to buy them again. Okay, maybe one bag. I mean, one bag is okay. And then it becomes two bags, because B loves them too, and will throw a hissy fit if I eat them and she doesn't get any. Which will happen. And then I have to talk myself down from buying a third bag, because there are four people in this house, and three would be better. 


I get home, and make myself a tuna melt sandwich, and I throw a handful of chips on the plate. 


They're not really chips are they? They're like potato clouds. They're little crispy bites of potato and corn heaven that make you sad for third world countries who will never know the joy of Munchos. But you're not volunteering your bag to go to the third world masses, so I guess it is what it is. 


I throw a handful on the plate. Then I reach in the bag and eat one. And then another... And oh, look, this one's lonely, see? He came out clinging to the heels of his brother. Better eat him, too. Oh, shit, I dropped that one on the floor. Three second rule! And on and on goes this game, until- POOF! There's nothing left in the bag and you have no idea where all the chips have gone, but you're fairly certain you ate them, since your boobs caught a few rogue chip crumbs. 


It's a fucking sickness, okay? I don't even remember eating them!!!