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So for supper I had some wholewheat crispbread which had been in my work desk drawer for about a year now. I don't believe that wholewheat crispbread gets better with age, but in the same breath I can honestly argue that it does not get any worse. Wholewheat crispbread is seemingly one of those things in life that one can always depend on.

At first I tried some low fat animal spread or some such to at least attempt to alleviate the anhydrous dullness which defines wholewheat crispbread, but quickly realised that it would probably be better if I just fish out some navel lint or smegma and apply it on this snack of desperation and pretend that it is some exotic entree from Eastern Albania. Much to my dismay I took a bath the night before and paid particular attention to the area around my navel for reasons which I am not at liberty to discuss at this exact moment in time but would certainly go into verbose detail in the near future when the anecdote had matured and I am sufficiently bitter to part with that little chapter of my life. And I am circumcised. God had some pretty strange designs on me but I'm sure it will all come together and make sense about a second after I have pulled the trigger and the bullet has already begun to lodge itself into my medulla oblongata.

So I continued my exloration of a rather barren refrigerator in a desperate attempt to locate something that would save me from the bromidic hell that is my life. Somewhere between a mexican stand-off with the fridge light and trying to figure out what the hell that shit that is clinging onto the shelves are, I suddenly and without any logical explanation realised that there are absolutely no tomatoes in this refrigerator. Now, I'm not a petty person, but I'm not quite sure that I can work for an employer that does not have tomatoes in his fridge. I believe that there is something fundamentally wrong, perhaps even sinister afoot. With my paranoia now in full swing and my career in doubt I somehow stumbled upon a tupperware container filled with cow's gold: butter. My mind raced back to all those commercials where people spread butter on everything with huge grins on their faces as if they know something about that butter that the TV audience will never comprehend. "Butter: the anal lubricant that keeps on giving. It even makes a rimjob bearable!"

Disgusted in myself I took the butter container off the shelf and feverishly applied it to my vintage wholewheat crispbread imagining fucking that girl from Private Matador II up the ass while my employer is lying below her with his cock up her moist wet lubricated pussy and through the thin sheath of skin between her cunt and her anal cavity I can feel the texture of his cock against mine as if he is fucking me too.

Understandably, the butter was no deliverer from the arid abyss that is wholewheat crispbread. The tales of the messiah were lies and I, I am the fool who swallowed the fraudulent images of whitened teeth and racial purity through the use of dairy products.

So with the image of stained teeth in mind I wandered to the nearby bottle store and purchased 2 bottles of cheap red wine, returned to my office and had a couple of glasses of the cheapest wine money could buy while receiving abuse from an ex-girlfriend on MSN Messenger about what a terrible person I was when I spent my 3 year sentence with her in the loveless gulag one calls a relationship, all the while praying for the prince with the white Nissan pick up to deliver me from this hell and mistake me for a stray cockroach and mangling me into a pastry of exoskeleton and bugshit.

But to make a long story short. I stayed at work really late. See, I don't have a car. I can't even drive. As a matter of fact I can barely walk because of a crime of passion, which is another one of those anecdotes that will require a certain level of bitterness to be conveyed properly to an attentive and sophisticated audience. That's the problem with being milquetoast, instead of doing something about the situation at hand, I'd rather just battle with wholewheat crispbread for about 4 hours. Fuck it. I may not have achieved much tonight but at least I didn't sit in rush hour traffic.


I am so fucking happy I can beat myself with a stick
Sticks: Is there anything they can't do?
Argh. I'm fucking hungry and I can't walk
All I have in life are tazos and a massive collection of disease inducing condoms.

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