First off, I need to Apollo Creedologize to the following: Californians, Californians on my mother's side of the family (I really do love you), and my father's side of the family that scare me with their war stories, cowboy boots, and unibrows.
Today for Cinco de Mayo I went and had some delicious food made by Mexicans at McDonald's. The plan was to go to the Mexican restaurant in town that employs white people and one Samoan. Yeah, I do get a bit head scratchy about that one sometimes, but then I drink something with lots of caffeine in it and go on with my life.
Just when it is safe to think I can tell people that I wasn't made out of parts and reanimated--that I have family--shit goes all 'razy again with a member of the family. Did I mention that I am my family's emotional waste facility? I am signaling the aliens to pick me up as we speak. I think I am robust enough to take their experiments. I have to accept the harsh reality that when I find the "one" she will have to be set down at the family table and presented with the "loving cup" ceremony: Gooba-gabbo! Gooba-gabbo! We accept her! We accept her! One of us! One of us!
If anybody asks, I'm out working on my Camaro, waiting for a French exchange student to help me ski the "K-12". Oh yeah, I don't have a Camaro.
4 years ago