You dump out your shitty fries onto the table, and then meticulously smash them with your fingers while dumping the salt and pepper shakers on top. You slide the tomato and lettuce off your burger and mix them into the flat mess. Once a thick paste is formed, you fashion a pinch-pot, and then fill it with root beer and honey mustard. You smack the shit down onto the table, causing the food to spatter around. A little piece flies into your face. Without thinking, you wipe it into your mouth. Whoa. Delicious. You eat your soup up off the table and floor before going back for seconds. Perhaps, just maybe, you've found nirvana.
Are you concerned that you may be a character trapped in a Tom Waits song? Be smart and learn the warning signs before it's too late. Also, it's too late. It has always been too late.
I'm haunted by a recurring vision of a skeleton flipping me off. To avoid seeing this terrifying image in bumper sticker form, I pay someone with a blank bumper to drive in front of me at all times.
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