SuperNova Afterglow: End Of Days

Carboholic...Junkie

I'm making up words to go with melodies in my head today.

Good lord, I'm a carboholic junkie! Lord, have pity on me!!  Poop-poop, poop, poop, Pa-poop, poop, poop, poop! However that parts supposed to go...

Carboholic Cowboy, maybe?

I could create a character named Carb who is trying to introduce himself into people's diets, only to be denied by an old fart named Atkins who won't let Carb go near his people. There's a mystery. Someone has gone about the desert lands destroying food pyramids, or something...

Carb is joined by a fat Italian fisting bread sticks. Maybe, he's made of sausage-filled, canola-marinated pesto, with garlic cologne and oily. Could have a snooty pastry chef named Frenchie. How about a fast food baron offering flash frozen and reheated meats inside starcy food wraps as the financier of whatever missions he sends them on.

Who's a likely suspect now for destroying those pyramids?

I don't know where this is going...

I'm just not eating as healthy as I should. I need a stick of celery and less time in front of the boob tube.

It's days like this where it doesn't feel so much like regression but that I cannot escape who I really am, a muddle-minded, food fantasizer (is that not the correct spellling?) who won't tear away from a tv or computer long enough to get any chores done around the house. I've got better things to do that regurgitate this asinine garbage. Applying plunger to my disposal now...but leaving this little passage back to my wasteland just as a reminder.


...and making PUBLIC today 3.22.12 to expose my drivel. Not DRIBBLE, people! Least I knows sumptin'.