After a weekend of dumping shitty domestic beer down my gaping maw, my poor liver has grown a soul patch, inked a tribal tattoo and shit shrapnel for 3 straight days. He also got a bottom rung job hanging sheet rock for some non-union outfit of small time criminals. To add insult to injury, my liver changed his name to The Boz. He likes Nickleback, because strippers like Nickleback.
We're on the mend though. I've eaten nothing but kale and bananas since Sunday evening.
1 comment:
Gotta have Nickelback in the house for the Strippers.
(And yes, I capitalized Strippers. In my world it's a proper noun.)
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