Spent 2 hours cooking to just relax, and blank out a little from all the cramming for my upcoming exam. Then my joints reminded me why I’m no longer cooking for a living.
Decided to call it a night with some milk, and half a chocolate chip cookie I had leftover. *dunk cookie* *cookie slips out of fingers* *cookie drowns*… *sigh*
3 more days till freedom.
Have you ever been to earth?
On earth, we use the word “burrito” to describe a tortilla filled with things you eat. Pretty simple stuff, and I’m surprised you at least got that part right. My burrito was, in fact, filled with food. In this, you and I agree and are friends. But this is also where my lifelong hatred begins for you and anyone else whose brain has been repeatedly scrubbed with the same mixture of bleach and Pop Rocks as yours has. Because that should have killed you, but left you around long enough to do what you did to me today. Let me explain:
You’re an idiot.
Let me further explain:
Burritos are eaten from one end to the other. So that means when you assemble a burrito with motherfucking ZONES of ingredients going that direction, you create a disgusting experience for the burrito’s end user. When you make a burrito, you should put the ingredients in layerslengthwise. That way, every bite has AT LEAST A FUCKING CHANCE of getting at least two types of ingredients, and there is little chance of becoming almost hopelessly trapped in a goddamned cilantro cavern.
Have you ever eaten one of the things you make all fucking day? You should try one. They are pretty good WHEN YOU ARE NOT WILLING YOURSELF THROUGH THE FUCKING EMPIRE OF SOUR CREAM ONLY TO END UP IN LETTUCE COUNTRY.
When you eat a burrito, you don’t stand it up and bite down on it lengthwise like a fucking Rancor. Humans can’t usually dislocate their jaws, and I’m not a fucking pelican. But you must think that’s how it’s done, since that would be THE ONLY FUCKING WAY to take a bite of your crapstrosity and have it taste like a burrito.
And guess what else, player? You probably can’t guess anything, because I’m pretty sure you’re just a mop with a hat on it that fell over and spilled some shit into a tortilla, but just in case, here’s what:
Humans also don’t eat burritos like fucking corn on the cob. Like a fucking typewriter from one end to the other a little at a time and then DING next line. But today I wish I had tried that. Because at least THEN I would be able to eat some rice, then beans, then be all like HEY BEANS I’LL BE RIGHT BACK JUST GOING OVER HERE TO THE GUACAMOLE FOR A SECOND.
My experience was more like HEY BEANS IT’S JUST GOING TO BE YOU AND I FOR A MINUTE UNTIL I CAN FUCKING EXCAVATE THE RICE FROM BENEATH YOU BUT BY THEN YOU WILL BE A FADING MEMORY OH HEY I WAS WRONG I’M IN THE FUCKING CHEESEOSPHERE NOW RICE MUST BE NEXT I HOPE IT’S NOT ANOTHER FUCKING SALSA POCKET.
You built this thing like a fucking pack of LifeSavers.
And don’t even fucking think I’m about to open this shit up and re-engineer your nonsense 90 degrees. I ALREADY PUT A HOLE IN IT WITH MY FUCKING MOUTH. YEAH. THAT’S HOW I DISCOVERED YOU FUCKING SUCK AT LOOKING AT THINGS. I AM NOT GOING TO DO FUCKING TORTILLA ORIGAMI TO GET THIS SHIT BACK TOGETHER, ONLY TO END UP WITH A BURRITO THAT’S BEEN SHOT IN THE GUT AND IS BLEEDING YOUR INEPTITUDE.
What’s that? I should ask you to mix it up first next time? IS THIS JAMBA JUICE? I DON’T WANT TO DRINK MY FUCKING BURRITO THROUGH A BENDY STRAW, AND I DON’T WANT A PILE OF BURRITO SOUP IN A FLOUR CAN.
I just want a burrito.
You’re the worst thing that has ever happened to the universe, you owe everyone everywhere an apology for this burritobomination, and I hope your babies look like monkeys.
UPDATE FOR EVERYONE WHO SAID “JUST EAT IT WITH A FORK”:
A fucking fork?
I DIDN’T ORDER THE FUCKING COBBURRITO SALAD.
If anyone ever handed me a burrito with a fork, THEY WOULD BE WEARING A BRAND NEW BURRITO HAT FROM MY FALL COLLECTION TEN SECONDS LATER.
That’s like buying a car and having them hand you a fucking wrench with the keys. Like YEAH WE KNOW THIS MOTHERFUCKER’S GOING TO EXPLODE AND BE SPREAD ACROSS EIGHT LANES AS SOON AS YOU HIT THE GAS, BUT SHIT, WE GAVE YOU A WRENCH, SO BE COOL.
Jesus already gave me two burrito forks. One at the end of each arm. They’re called fucking HANDS.
A fork. My god. I haven’t cried since I was six, but I’m fucking sobbing now.
People eat burritos with forks?
God is sorry he made us.
I always need this on my blog.
I can’t be laughing this hard in the morning.
the chipotle experience
“Jesus already gave me two burrito forks. One at the end of each arm. They’re called fucking HANDS.”
If I ever need a pick me up I’ll come back to this post. Bloody hell, I never knew there could be so much joy from something so wrong.
i’m pretty sure i flunk my exam. i’m trying to blank out the hundreds of dollars that just went down the crapper.
so here i am in a food coma trying to just chill out and let my brain reboot for the second round of exams.
large pizza with a cold beer, and then some take-out from congee queen (courtesy of mom). gluttony, such a lovely sin. now i just gotta find some duct tape to hold down my exploding stomach as i keep stuffing myself.
such splendid vivid images
oh i dream
of what will never be
for so busy i am dreaming
i fail to awaken
so lost in the realm of make belief
no action has been taken
a glorious universe built behind my eyes
but nothing to grasp and show for
how lost and bare am i
in the world that i must live in
Sometimes I lay still in bed. So still that my lungs pause mid-breath as I close my eyes. I bring back the memory of my two cats. And for that brief moment I can pretend they are right there with me.
Vanilla ever the lady, chooses to spend her night sitting prim and proper on my chest. Her paws tucked under her chest. This is where I developed the habit of sleeping on my back (worst position for someone with lower back pain) and being really still when I sleep. Something about never wanting to disturb my cats sleep (even though they get plenty of rest throughout the day).
Oreo, brother of Vanilla, is the dork with the mind of a dog. Sometimes it’s hard to believe they’re related. Oreo chooses to sleep as close to my head as possible. Every night he attempts to sleep right on my face, or become a scarf on my neck. Eventually settling for curling up right next to my head. Sleep time with human is one of the few times Oreo shows some cat like behaviour (damn it spell check, I’m Canadian! Accept my u’s. Behavior just looks wrong).
Sometimes when I lay still at night, and pause mid-breath, I can still feel them in their usual sleeping position. The slight weight on my chest, and the warmth near my face.
The moment passes. I exhale, and open my eyes to my dim lit room. A room that never falls dark from the city lights, and poor insulation allows all the cold and noise to flow in. A room I’m still not use to.
The moment passes, but the comfort lingers…so does the ache of longing.
ARE YOU SHITTIN ME RIGHT NOW LIKE
LITERALLY ALL SHE SAID WAS YEAH MAKE IT PRETTY WITH LIKE, PINKS AND PURPLES AND STUFF MAYBE OTHER COLORS IDK
AND HE JSUT FUCKING
HE JUTS DID IT
HE JUST DID IT AND DIDN’T EVEN CARE HE JUJST
DID IT IN
LeSS THAN 10 MinUTES?!!?1
Every time he sprays over what he just did I’m like “Noooooo! what are you doing?!?!” And then, “OooOoooh” he goes and makes it more awesome each and everytime….damn I really want one.
Does our increased lifespan mean we’re taking longer to learn this lesson?
My comic; “Introversion” is finished! Please go to the main page of my blog to read it in full size (the text is kinda small)
I really hope you’ll like it!
This hits close to home
My hermit ways are accepted by friends and family, lucky me.
But really…with a laptop and internet, what more do I need?
My sister got me a Thor bobblehead.
This is what I did with it.
since I’m a serious grown adult, I have a reply for you
ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh I AM CRYING
My Yoda bobble-head has something to say…
it got better
IT GOT SO MUCH BETTER
i told my parents i’ve started really liking raspberries. raspberries on super sale at grocery store. i open my fridge this morning and
we have turned into a raspberry warehouse
Glad I’m not alone in this. My mom was going to buy groceries one night and asked me what I would like. I said yogurt, and the next day this was the result:
Take your time and let’s play a game of I spy, how much yogurt can you spot?
…I’ve never asked for yogurt again
I don’t remember this scene…this is a pleasant surprise. My childhood shows just keep giving.