Wish You Were Here
Last week I was tricked into eating brains.
It's kind of poetic justic in a way, as many years ago, back when I was 18 or so I tricked my then-boyfriend into eating brains on our first date (which ended in an all-night taqueria somewhere on the wrong side of Chicago's tracks). The karma wheel, she takes her time.
But that's not what I'm trying to say. What I'm trying to say, to all my dear friends back home suffering from arrested development: after my girly squealing subsided, this made me really miss you guys.
Because when you're sitting at a table with a steaming skillet of fried brains still bubbling in butter, there's obviously only one thing to do. But I couldn't do it, because not one person at the table, not a one!, would have gotten the joke if I'd tilted my head to one side, glazed my eyes, and, drooling a little out of the side of my mouth, said "MMMMMMM BRAAAAAAAINS."
A crying shame, I tell you.
It's kind of poetic justic in a way, as many years ago, back when I was 18 or so I tricked my then-boyfriend into eating brains on our first date (which ended in an all-night taqueria somewhere on the wrong side of Chicago's tracks). The karma wheel, she takes her time.
But that's not what I'm trying to say. What I'm trying to say, to all my dear friends back home suffering from arrested development: after my girly squealing subsided, this made me really miss you guys.
Because when you're sitting at a table with a steaming skillet of fried brains still bubbling in butter, there's obviously only one thing to do. But I couldn't do it, because not one person at the table, not a one!, would have gotten the joke if I'd tilted my head to one side, glazed my eyes, and, drooling a little out of the side of my mouth, said "MMMMMMM BRAAAAAAAINS."
A crying shame, I tell you.
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