And get a job.
Wait, I mean a real one. Like at a fast food restaurant. I refuse to perform at such a high level of speed and be associated with such a slow you-can-have-whatever-you-want "made-to-order" fresh cuisine. Or maybe I can be an astronaut. Those rockets move fast. And I used to have a thing for fire, in like fourth grade. Would make blow torches out of WD-40 cans. How does the fire not travel fast enough, back up the spray and into the can and kill every idiotic pyromaniacal child? Well, better that it doesn't. I wouldn't be able to make my movie if it did.
And napalm out of styrofoam and gas. Step on it and it just sticks to your shoe. Still completely on fire. You can't stomp it out, so you throw your shoe into the dry wheat field nearby. Not the water. Then the wheat turns hot and orange and red. And no longer can be used for bread. Best for coughing and dying at this point.
October is Domestic Violence Awareness Month. If you see bruises, blog about it.
