I Call Her... Mini-Me.

So, Sunday night I finally had sex with my sister's husband. When she asked how the sheets on her bed got all messed up I told her her kids were eating popsicles in there while they were watching TV, then I put on this concerned look and asked her if everything was all right, meaning: why are your kids so uncouth and out of control? Heh.

Did I mention that I haven't changed my underwear in a week?

Last night the fire department broke into my house to check on a report of a gas leak. One of the neighbors had called in a complaint about the smell of gas, but it was just the stench of rotting produce on my kitchen counter. I keep bringing home vegetables thinking I'm going to start eating healthy, but it's kind of hard to fit them into my diet. I mean, today all I ate was the Lumberjack Special for breakfast at the diner, then a little double bacon cheeseburger with a large shake and supersize fries and Dr. Pepper for lunch, but somehow the thought of eating broccoli on top of that makes me queasy. All that fiber makes me feel bloated, dontcha know.

I wonder if that cat I ran over this morning belonged to anyone.

Well, gotta go--the cops are at the door, probably wanting to ask some nosy questions about that IRS inspector that somehow slipped and broke his neck when he showed up here last week to audit me. Good thing the landlord still hasn't replaced the window screen from the last time I cut it open. Toodles, doodles!

Disclaimer: I don't have a sister, and she doesn't have kids. I haven't been to a diner in at least two days. This entry is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons or events is entirely coincidental.