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Open Wounds And Salty Tears

August 6th, 2004

it’s friday. that means it’s the day after thursday night. that means i’m tired and groggy for reasons i’m not allowed to talk about anymore. i can’t think of anything and if i don’t come up with something quick sophie will have me in a camel clutch and shove peanuts in my ears. see, sophie is a bully, she’s a really nice bully, but a bully all the same. she forces people to write these blogs and then when you say sophie forced me to write this, she hunts you down and says “you have to pretend you really want to write them”. she is a predator. it usually goes down like this: you’re slaving away, working hard as i do, and as you might know working hard builds up a bitch of a thirst, so like kim mitchell says “might as well go for a soda”, so you go down to the basement to get yourself a soda pop, you’re digging in your pockets for some change and all of a sudden the lights go out. now you know you’re in for some sh*t. before you even have a chance to turtle and protect your face sophie has wedged her knobby knuckles into your orbital sockets and there is a knee in your groin. she fights like an octopus, it’s like she has eight limbs and they’re all hitting you in various places at lightning speed. it’s usually about 6 1/2 seconds before you’re on the floor crying like a schoolgirl with a skinned knee and your lollipop fell into a puddle. the kicker, and don’t get me wrong, sophie is a great girl, but the kicker is after the beating is finally over and you have open wounds and salty tears streaming down your swollen face, sophie steals your money, buys the very same soda pop you were dying for, stands over you, opens it, holds it at crotch level, and pours it into your open wounds while singing “la vida loca”. she doesn’t even stop if someone else comes into the room. usually she just drags you out of the way so the person can get to the vending machine because she is considerate like that. this usually happens about 3 times a week.

i’m going to a potato festival tomorrow night so i should have a couple of black eyes on monday courtesy of someone other than sophie for a change.

[ed. note: i must interject with one very important correction to this 60 minutes-style expose. i’ve been slandered and it’s a lie. i don’t sing “la vida loca” while pouring soda into fetus’ open wounds. i sing “love is a?battlefield”.]

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