Animow

I’m wearing a jacket and leaned my elbow on the desk and it made a farting noise. Hehe.

But back to Animows. Today I was sitting at lunch, eating my second bowl of fiber cereal, which isn’t the best tasting, but it’s cereal and no one can just eat one bowl, unless you’re a witch.

I got to thinking about how fitness trainers and diet planners say not to reward yourself with food, because you aren’t an animal. Pardon me, while I hate all of that and drink a gallon of smashed up McDonald’s french fries. Firstly, yes I am an animal and secondly, I don’t think I want to know a person who doesn’t treat eating like a reward. That’s the whole point. Sure, it sustains life and that’s great but that only comes second to how fantastic shoving your mouth full of soda and strawberry doughnuts and pouring chocolate syrup down your face feels.

That’s how I start my day. I reward myself for getting out of bed and going to work by stopping at a coffee place and getting the largest vat of mocha iced coffee they have. If I didn’t do that, I’d be crying at my desk all day. Useless, sad, alone. But with my scrumpsh reward, I can somehow find the strength within me to live and do things like check my Facebook and watch RuPaul’s Drag Race and answer phone calls.

Another point is, it’s April. Everyone knows that April is the crusty butthole of the 12-month calendar year. It’s April, it’s raining, and it’s a Tuesday. Monday’s are better than Tuesday because you know they are terrible. Wednesday means we got through the bad part, Thursday means we can say YAY TOMORROW’S FRIDAY LET’S DRINK, and Friday means we get to sleep in Saturday. How can a person even live through a Tuesday without rewarding themselves with gourmet microwave popcorn their mother planted in a movie theater butter popcorn box because she’s a dirty trickster.

I see no other reason than to celebrate food and be enslaved by it’s glory.

Until next time, Wondersluts!

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