Thursday, December 23, 2010

The Fighter was good. Maybe Christian Bale should get best supporting actor or something. Maybe Amy Adams looks too good in black lingerie. Maybe I will stop feeling sick from too much lunch some day. Maybe. You never know.

Maybe my toenails are too long. Maybe. I don’t care. They are painted red, and the red still looks wet. No chips. Not yet. Miracle. Sexy. I feel them sometimes. With my fingers. I reach down. I feel them. They feel strong. And long. I should probably cut them. That’s the thought I have. But then I do something else. Whatever it is I was doing that brought me to accidentally look at my toes; get in the shower, finish peeing, put on socks, etc. It’s always secondary, it seems. Looking at toes. Never a first thing. Unless you’re into that sort of thing, which I’m not. But they do look good. My toes. Right now, anyway. Maybe.

Cereal is also good. I remembered to buy Grape Nuts after several years of touting its significance. I poured a bowl. Sprinkled some fake sugar on it. Served it up. Received favorable responses. I nodded my head, puffed out my chest, felt vindicated for some reason. Like for a crime that I never committed and one that never existed. Some sort of small victory I didn’t know I was ready to have. Anyway, the moral of the story is that, later, I poured myself that same bowl and as I ate it, it tasted like disappointment. I looked into the bowl. It looked like a bowl of Grape Nuts. I looked at the spoon. It looked like spoonful of Grape Nuts. I chewed it. I swallowed it. It tasted like crap. WTF Grape Nuts? Where did all the good times go? We used to be bros, you and me. Heck, two seconds ago I stood up for you. Told everyone how great you were, and I guess they fell for it emperor’s new clothes style. My blinders are off, Grape Nuts. The bloom fell off the rose and I didn’t even want it to. I’m so sad about this, Grape Nuts. So sad. You’ve now made me afraid to go re-try Count Chocula or watch episodes of Good Times. Way to go, a-hole. Way to go.

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