Shambles can be found either working on new recipes in the kitchen, making decisions that will inevitably give him incredible amounts of anxiety, and generally being a walking contradiction of a person.
And once again his gaze settles on the bottom drawer of the dresser. The mind’s eye of the man draws up a vivid image of the brown paper bag freely given senior year, still filled with all the hope and brightly colored, ribbed latex of a wretched and wonderful youth.
But the bag is crumpled now, creased from the attention of nervous hands on lonely nights. He is scared. Scared of how each day has eroded away the last memory of a woman’s inviting smile like a once-mighty tree stripped to a bare husk by the desert winds. Scared of himself, of his own waning strength. Could he bear the weight of waste on his weary back, if that small, unobtrusive date printed on the plastic has passed? Or will he break?
With a jolt he snaps his gaze away, as his left hand quests for the familiar comfort of a Cheesy Gordita Crunch and only finds a pile of empty wrappers. Reaching for his phone to check the time he finds it already in his right hand. It’s 1:30 in the morning. His hand hovers over the “send” button to a text addressed to the FWB of bygone days. One word shines up from the screen, casting a mask of light and hard shadows onto his terrified face
On God man. Only pants I need to be wearing in a relationship are sweatpants. You know what, fuck pants altogether. What, 5 years or so of putting my career on hold? Shit, I got plenty of French pastry recipes to try out, and momma gonna need some food to go with that backrub after putting the family on her back.
By now my predictive text automatically subs in the pizza emoji every time I type the letter “p” (#blessed), but it then hits me with my second-most used emoji right after- the “100”. Is that going to factor in at all? Because that’s exactly the kind of gamble drunk shambles loves to take. And lose.
I mean it’s not necessary at all, but dang; if I could afford one I’d be mixing my cereal and milk with it. At least put it on the counter, ladies love stand mixers. Guys too. Everyone loves them.
Yo I’m gonna be real here for a second, I have no idea what a foodie is. Is it just someone who likes food, or do you have to be an asshole about it? If I had a dollar for every person who trapped me in conversations about food when they find out cooking and baking are my hobbies I’d finally buy a stand mixer. If I had another dollar for every time those conversations devolved into me being condescended to by someone who reads a food blog I’d buy a Shun Premier®. I might now know that’s it’s called poêle but at least I’ve done it, damn. I don’t need that kind of disrespect in my life. And if I get one more pitying look when I mention not cracking my oven open when to cool a cheesecake I’m gonna cut off your damn man bun. Don’t tell me I’m doing it wrong until you baked for a year in my jank-ass oven. My cheesecakes deluxe.
I’m all for new ideas and talking about food but damn, if watching food network made you an expert I’d have all kinds of Michelin stars. “Foodie,” like you special because you like good food. Fool I like good food too, I’m just too poor to go to these places and take pictures of a plate with 3 oz of meat and 5 leaves of Kale (fuck kale).
Let me stop, people are gonna think I hate basic chicks who instagram pictures of lattes. I love those girls.
I cried a little reading this at my lab bench. Only 40 hours a week? A desk? That’s the dream. Didn’t cry too loud though, or someone will come by and ask why I’m not working. They aren’t paying me 40K a year to be sad all day.
I dunno, Halloween is still mostly the same for me. When I was 7 I dressed as a pirate, overindulged (on candy) and threw up before bed. Last year when I was 23 I dressed as a pirate, overindulged (on flavored vodka that tasted pretty much like candy), and threw up before bed. To be fair I did try to sleep with a girl in a penguin costume last year, which was new.
1. Where’s the gravy? If I’ve learned anything in my 20-something years on this earth as a black guy it’s that ball is life, you should never hit on a girl at an Asian supermarket unless you’re sure her parents don’t run it, and gravy makes everything better. Really, chicken and waffles with no gravy? Foh.
2. A hard waffle cone doesn’t seem like it’d work too well here. Maybe an actual waffle would taste better? I’m willing to pay $15+ to find out.
3. Where’s Brian?
4. This doesn’t have the same sinful appeal as a doughnut stuffed with bacon. I can almost convince myself that it’s healthy to shovel all that starch and meat down my throat. Hell, lying to myself like that is practically a hobby of mine. I mean, you need protein in your diet if you want your workouts to be effective. And if you don’t have enough carbs to balance it out you get that keto-stank, and that ain’t cute.
Good news is yesterday I found out that I qualify for very-low-income-housing. Bad news is I’m in Silicon Valley so I could probably apply to and finish med school before I get to the top of a waitlist
“Respectfully Yours,” now that’s some shit. It’s 2015, black people free now. Forget Marc, I don’t want to hear another whimsical story of “the good ol’ days (fact: no one does casual racism and sexism like an 82 year old physician). Shit, I don’t want my boss to get the notion of paying me less than he is now.
If I recall, titanium dioxide is used in tons of stuff as a pigment or food coloring, like toothpaste. And as a biologist I can confidently say that pretty much everything can kill you so you may as well enjoy those donuts while you still can. Granted, I’m probably not qualified to give health advice given the amount of Wild Turkey I consume in a given weekend but dammit I worked for that bachelor’s.
Advertise
Hey, that line about leftover free condoms struck a nerve okay. Inspiration doesn’t strike much these days but when it does, it hits hard.
And once again his gaze settles on the bottom drawer of the dresser. The mind’s eye of the man draws up a vivid image of the brown paper bag freely given senior year, still filled with all the hope and brightly colored, ribbed latex of a wretched and wonderful youth.
But the bag is crumpled now, creased from the attention of nervous hands on lonely nights. He is scared. Scared of how each day has eroded away the last memory of a woman’s inviting smile like a once-mighty tree stripped to a bare husk by the desert winds. Scared of himself, of his own waning strength. Could he bear the weight of waste on his weary back, if that small, unobtrusive date printed on the plastic has passed? Or will he break?
With a jolt he snaps his gaze away, as his left hand quests for the familiar comfort of a Cheesy Gordita Crunch and only finds a pile of empty wrappers. Reaching for his phone to check the time he finds it already in his right hand. It’s 1:30 in the morning. His hand hovers over the “send” button to a text addressed to the FWB of bygone days. One word shines up from the screen, casting a mask of light and hard shadows onto his terrified face
“‘sup?”
ONE OF US! ONE OF US!
On God man. Only pants I need to be wearing in a relationship are sweatpants. You know what, fuck pants altogether. What, 5 years or so of putting my career on hold? Shit, I got plenty of French pastry recipes to try out, and momma gonna need some food to go with that backrub after putting the family on her back.
By now my predictive text automatically subs in the pizza emoji every time I type the letter “p” (#blessed), but it then hits me with my second-most used emoji right after- the “100”. Is that going to factor in at all? Because that’s exactly the kind of gamble drunk shambles loves to take. And lose.
I mean it’s not necessary at all, but dang; if I could afford one I’d be mixing my cereal and milk with it. At least put it on the counter, ladies love stand mixers. Guys too. Everyone loves them.
Yo I’m gonna be real here for a second, I have no idea what a foodie is. Is it just someone who likes food, or do you have to be an asshole about it? If I had a dollar for every person who trapped me in conversations about food when they find out cooking and baking are my hobbies I’d finally buy a stand mixer. If I had another dollar for every time those conversations devolved into me being condescended to by someone who reads a food blog I’d buy a Shun Premier®. I might now know that’s it’s called poêle but at least I’ve done it, damn. I don’t need that kind of disrespect in my life. And if I get one more pitying look when I mention not cracking my oven open when to cool a cheesecake I’m gonna cut off your damn man bun. Don’t tell me I’m doing it wrong until you baked for a year in my jank-ass oven. My cheesecakes deluxe.
I’m all for new ideas and talking about food but damn, if watching food network made you an expert I’d have all kinds of Michelin stars. “Foodie,” like you special because you like good food. Fool I like good food too, I’m just too poor to go to these places and take pictures of a plate with 3 oz of meat and 5 leaves of Kale (fuck kale).
Let me stop, people are gonna think I hate basic chicks who instagram pictures of lattes. I love those girls.
I cried a little reading this at my lab bench. Only 40 hours a week? A desk? That’s the dream. Didn’t cry too loud though, or someone will come by and ask why I’m not working. They aren’t paying me 40K a year to be sad all day.
They pay me 22K a year.
I… I wouldn’t get guac.
I’m a monster.
I dunno, Halloween is still mostly the same for me. When I was 7 I dressed as a pirate, overindulged (on candy) and threw up before bed. Last year when I was 23 I dressed as a pirate, overindulged (on flavored vodka that tasted pretty much like candy), and threw up before bed. To be fair I did try to sleep with a girl in a penguin costume last year, which was new.
JayTas are you saying that our Brian is in another castle?
Okay, couple of things:
1. Where’s the gravy? If I’ve learned anything in my 20-something years on this earth as a black guy it’s that ball is life, you should never hit on a girl at an Asian supermarket unless you’re sure her parents don’t run it, and gravy makes everything better. Really, chicken and waffles with no gravy? Foh.
2. A hard waffle cone doesn’t seem like it’d work too well here. Maybe an actual waffle would taste better? I’m willing to pay $15+ to find out.
3. Where’s Brian?
4. This doesn’t have the same sinful appeal as a doughnut stuffed with bacon. I can almost convince myself that it’s healthy to shovel all that starch and meat down my throat. Hell, lying to myself like that is practically a hobby of mine. I mean, you need protein in your diet if you want your workouts to be effective. And if you don’t have enough carbs to balance it out you get that keto-stank, and that ain’t cute.
Good news is yesterday I found out that I qualify for very-low-income-housing. Bad news is I’m in Silicon Valley so I could probably apply to and finish med school before I get to the top of a waitlist
“Respectfully Yours,” now that’s some shit. It’s 2015, black people free now. Forget Marc, I don’t want to hear another whimsical story of “the good ol’ days (fact: no one does casual racism and sexism like an 82 year old physician). Shit, I don’t want my boss to get the notion of paying me less than he is now.
Swiggity swooty coming for that booty,
Shambles
If I recall, titanium dioxide is used in tons of stuff as a pigment or food coloring, like toothpaste. And as a biologist I can confidently say that pretty much everything can kill you so you may as well enjoy those donuts while you still can. Granted, I’m probably not qualified to give health advice given the amount of Wild Turkey I consume in a given weekend but dammit I worked for that bachelor’s.