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Next Time, I’m Gettin’ a Bowl of Soup

Well, fuck it. I’m just gonna go ahead and declare this ‘Blog Like a Sane Person Day‘, and dole weird little thoughts out to you as they happen, rather than saving up two thousand words’ worth of shit, and plopping it in your laps all at once.

But that’s today only, kids. The long-winded, meandering diatribes begin again tomorrow.

(And if that doesn’t improve morale around here, then we’ll institute the nude feather-duster spankings. And if that doesn’t shape things up… well, then, I don’t know what I’ll do. But ‘fireplace-size anal thermometers’ were mentioned a few days ago. So be careful what you wish for.)

Anyway, the thought of the moment is this:

Why, oh why won’t ‘tall surly Middle Eastern guy’ at the deli downstairs cut my chicken sandwich in half for me? The onion roll I get it on is huge, and the damned thing is unwieldy, to say the least. The thing is the size of a frickin’ dinner plate, and the chicken’s all chopped up, so the sandwich wiggles back and forth in my hands… it’s like trying to eat a packetful of M&Ms jammed between two slabs of Jell-O. It’s ridiculous.

(On the other hand, that analogy sounds like a pretty damned good dessert. Like they say, there’s always room for Jell-O with M&Ms stuck in the middle. And with all that gelatinous goodness around them, the M&Ms wouldn’t melt in your mouth or your hands. They’d probably melt somewhere in your esophagus, actually. Now doesn’t that sound tasty?)

Anyway, I don’t know what this guy’s problem is. ‘Goofy smily Middle Eastern guy’ cuts my sandwich. ‘Short crooked-nosed Middle Eastern girl’ cuts my sandwich. Even ‘quiet shifty-eyed Latino guy’ cuts my sandwich. What the hell is ‘tall surly Middle Eastern guy’s problem?

And sure, I could ask him to cut my sandwich… but that’s not the point. I want him to figure it out on his own, and shape the hell up without me having to tell him. Suddenly, I feel like I’m the guy’s wife —

‘Well, if you don’t know what’s wrong with my sandwich, then I’m not going to tell you. Don’t say you’re sorry unless you know what you’re sorry for, you bastard! ‘Tall surly Middle Eastern guy’… I don’t even know you any more!‘

Okay, that’s all. I’m gonna shut up and eat my sandwich now. Damn, even my ‘short’ posts are, like, eight paragraphs long. How do you short-post people do it, anyway?