Fuck Sundays

Saturday night was great. Went down to CLS’s place, had a great dinner that she paid for, went out to several bars, got drunk, and she drove me home. Then got laid, some reverse cowgirl seal action. Pics in the Wam.

Wake up Sunday, and she is in the kitchen cooking pancakes wearing nothing but t-back panties. Me being thoughtful, I sneak up behind her to cover her nipples with my hands to prevent any batter spatter from hitting them. Safety first. Well the hands hitting raw tit scares the shit out of her and she shoots her hand up with a pancake batter covered spatula right into my face. I turned just in time so as not get totally glory holed. Not my proudest moment. Made less proud because before I could stop myself I said “not in the hair.” FML.

Take a shower, get now cold pancakes, and think the day has nowhere to go but up. I am so fucking stupid. She tells me “Hey, we have to go shopping, there’s a fondue party next Friday night.” I’m thinking fuck yes, I don’t know what fondue is, but this sounds like a gangbang. So I’m confused when we glide right past the adult superstore and slam into the Bed Bath and Beyond lot. WTF?

Turns out fondue is melted cheese. People actually have parties, get this, where melted cheese is the central theme of the party. These people are called faggots.

Spend an hour picking out fondue shit and color coordinated plastic dishware. Fuck you Sven.

You ever been to a BB&B? Women are in there zipping around 100 miles an hour squealing like piglets with glee over useless seafoam green plastic ware and 200 thread count pillow cases. The dudes in there look like extras on the Walking Dead, just shuffling around behind them wishing for death. Or hot wings.

Finally escape BB&B, only to notice CLS is staring longingly across the parking lot. Michaels MJ Designs. Spend another hour looking at flowers that aren’t even real. These mother fucking things are made out of what can only be described as the same fabric fat grandmothers wear to the pool. Walking by the craft aisle I fantasize about pulling an xacto knife out of the packaging and stabbing myself in the torso while singing “God Save the Queen” and jerking off. Seemed like something Sid Vicious might do. Instead of doing that I arrange the lettered towels to spell words like fuck and cunt. CLS glares at me. I rearrange them one last time when she isn't looking. Victory.



Get back to her house. Finally. She asks me what I want for dinner. I’m despondent and call out “Hot Pockets and Mountain Dew!” She tells me that will fuck up my cholesterol someday. I think to myself there’s a gun in the glovebox of the Jeep. Kill yourself. She hollers “I’ll make you some homemade soup instead, and I'll do it naked, and I promise not to smash any cookware into your face.” Okay, I’ll have to off myself later. Tits first.

She busies herself unloading all the useless napkins and she we just bought, while I come here seeking solace. First thread I read I realize the Rutgers game is Friday night. I’ll be eating melted cheese with some faggots then. So fuck you Larry Scott. I hope you die you mother fucker. And fuck everyone else to. But most of all fuck me.

Anyone have any blow? I'll need several grams to make it through Friday night. TIA.