Without my Rascal I'm a virtual prisoner. I went nowhere today and did nothing. Plus, I'm a sight more humiliated now that those ugly canasta playing biddies here spread the word I'm a jail bird. Easier to stay inside and mastur-you-know-what over pictures of wrasslers than face their smug skeleton whore faces.
Mastur-yoo-know-what is an exercise, isn't it?
So I exercised too.
Around dark one of them nice ladies I met at church last week came around with some food goodies for me. Says the congregation was concerned that I didn't show up today and decided to see what was up. I broke down in tears and confessed my sad situations and how my Rascal got took by the long arm of the law. Miz Jenkins, the visitor, told me that they'd get me a lawyer for free from the congregation and they'd see what they could do about transportation for me.
After she left I was happy to note that there were not one but two blueberry pies in that food box. Who can think about dieting when life is serving you shit sandwiches?
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