This is Bullshit
Shit, that is what I should be feeling akin to.
I do not feel like the aforementioned excrement, though I am righteously perturbed. See, I have a little tradition. On Wednesdays, for no reason whatsoever, I like to go out and eat a quality meal. I eat a vast amount of pasta-based one-pan creations throughout the other six days of a week for the intent and purpose of having enough extra money to enjoy my Wednesday night meal. This is normally not a problem.
Well, I rolled out of bed, shook off the feminist literature hangover, and what to my wondering mind should appear, but the CBS morning show (damn them bitches is hot), and some guy cooking up some type of lobster weirdness. He carved the carcass of the previously living, and one can only assume happy, lobster and put it into a feast for "someone special."
Don't get me wrong, I love cooking shows. I also love to cook. That being out in the open, hopefully some shining ray of heterosexual prowess will burst forth to quell the suspicions you may have, I would not consider in a million years lobster on a weeknight. So, why on this green and purple bentonite mud earth (and thus I submit the obligatory geology reference) would I have to watch some goddamn frog with a white coat decorated up like a goddamn NASCAR driver fireproof gay-o-tard cooking lobster? It is Tuesday, motherfucker.
Oh, that's right. Tomorrow is that day. That one day where everyone pretends to like each other more. I have no problem with any of that. If there is anything I learned from the string of pork rind women dressed up like tiramasou, it is that relationships thrive on the two people pretending to like each other more than they do. Do you women realize what kind of hair you leave in the sinks?
No, friends, what thoroughly annoys me about tomorrow is that I will not be able to go out on my date with the only person who's tastes I always agree are good and who's company is guaranteed not to annoy.
There is something wrong with the world when a man must make reservations to enjoy his own company. It takes all the fun out of being single. And thus I submit the tragedy of this February day, that I will have to order pizza or visit some sandwich shop on my hallowed day. It just don't seem right.
6 comments:
I guess it wouldn't be the same if you went out to dinner on Thursday?
I'm sorry that Valentine's Day is fucking up your ritual.
So find a nice lady an take her out fer a heapin helpin o some pasta-basd, one-pan lobstr suprise.
Go for Thursday instead and blow the tradition. :-) Also that is Singles Awareness Day (SAD) seriously - look it up.
Chickie: It's the principality o' the motherfucker. I shouldn't have to.
Joey: I told her about the lobster pastat to get her to free up her schedule. She don't know she's just getting a keilbasa.
FOUTP: Ah, tradition is too damn important to just throw away.
My reward for Valentine's Day was that I got to cook for my wife and a mutual friend. It went something like this: Happy Valentine's Day...now cook us some damn steaks, and don't wait to open the wine.
On the flip side I got a card that played "I Love Rock-n-Roll" when it was opened. I guess that's even.
That's funny. I had steak too, but it was more along the lines of sitting in my underwear and eating it off the grill with a knife while I listened to Merle and rank beer.
Sort of a celebration of being a single man.
I should have bought myself a card that sang Just Sit Here And Drink.
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