23 July 2012

I Hate My Fridge

It sings to me in the night, inserting malicious earworms that I must turn into country songs, and that's bad.

It froze solid the bottle of tequila that I personally smuggled from Mexico ('cuz it tastes better without tax stamps) and shattered the glass inside the freezer compartment.  Sorry, Amy.

The food that I put in the refrigerator section has now grown warm.  My cheese, destined for sandwiches, has now all but grilled itself.

My neighbors think I'm some sort of Militia guy, or maybe a Survivalist.

No, I stockpile beans, vienna sausages, and  canned tuna because I don't trust my fridge.

The Ramen noodles are because I'm a survivalist Militia guy.

BTW, it's 5 drops of bleach per gallon of water, and that makes it taste really bad.  That lemonade powder?  It's mine, beotch.

Now I need to work on my old Mauser.  Got any 30-06, neighbor?  Sure you do. This is Texas, after all.

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