What the fuck's the point of a vacation? You go far away from your nice, comfy home, to sleep on some shitty other person's bed, you eat colon-loads of rich foods and drink all kinds of wine and pop and shit, you stay up way too late every night, get up way too early, completely fuck up your workout schedule, then you're all surprised when you get home and you're sick and you can't sleep and you're out of shape and your dump schedule is completely outta whack. Motherfucker. No wonder I've taken like four vacations in twelve years.
So, yeah, I'm still trying to bounce back, and it ain't happening. I also forgot that, while vacationing, I didn't work or watch any TV or write any blog posts, so I was under the illusion that I had all this free time to just sit around with my hangnaily thumb up my crapper and play board games and assemble puzzles with pictures of multi-colored beach stones on them. And that was great for, like, four days, but I'm telling you, I'm going to have to work until they start shoveling dirt over me, 'cuz after that fourth day, my mind was turning to Maypo. And trying to get back into the writing groove has been like pulling teeth from a... whatever that expression is... what is it, a donkey? Pulling teeth from a mule? A badger? SEE?! WHAT'S HAPPENING TO ME?!?!
Putty, my brain is. Putty!
So, I heard Mr. Z and Miss O talking at dinner tonight, and they overheard the Old Lady and me talking about this guy she used to know who OD'd, or something, and then Mr. Z said:
MR. Z: Hey Miss O. Do you know what marijuana is?
MISS O: No, what?
MR. Z: Well, you'll learn about it in 3rd grade, but it's like cigarettes but you chew it, and it's totally nasty--
ME: What?! You don't chew it. You smoke it. [pause] And hey, I don't think you should be talking about marijuana with your sister... during dinner... so, eat your soup.
MR. Z: What if they had marijuana-flavored candy?
MISS O: Oh, nasty!
ME: Actually, I think they do have marijuana-flavored lollipops... [pause] but hey, that's not the point. Look, let's just stop with the marijuana talk, okay?
MR. Z: Okay... Hey Miss O, what if they had poop-flavored candy?
ME: That's better.