Midnight snack, I swedge off some cheese.
I know it's not a word. That's not important.
I get up this morning, go to get some cheese.
Cheese isn't in the fridge.
Isn't in the freezer, oven, microwave...
Eventually, I find it next to the tin foil, in the tin foil drawer.
This is what my life is like. Every day is like this.
So, I wasn't going to mention it.
And I don't want everyone getting excited here.
Because it seems like a breaking point, I suppose.
And I haven't reached any sort of breaking point.
However, I do appreciate a good shortcut when I can use one.
Therefore, I made an account for Plenty of Fish.
Solely for the purpose of contacting women who interest me.
Of whom there are a whopping two.
Out of about a hundred or more.
Anyway, that's the motivation.
Not so much for attracting the bass to my boat.
I wouldn't have brought this up because I want my exes to (continue to?) respect me.
But I had to bring it up.
Because I sent one message to one woman.
Minutes later, I get two messages back, both from the same user.
A man.
"Yeah, I'll be around to chat, but not til later."
That's the first one (minus the spelling mistakes).
The second one goes on to explain that the guy meant to send the message to someone else.
But, since we're talking, would I care to masturbate with him.
I haven't responded yet.
I intend to decline.
It would be my fortune to receive the equivelant of a wrong number minutes after joining a dating service.
I never get to rebound, y'know?
Everyone else gets to rebound.
Everyone else wakes up in other people's beds.
In other people's pajamas.
Why can't I make some idiot choices, too?
A fellow comic met a Halifax woman on Plenty of Fish.
She ended up burning his cheek with a lit cigar.
Now it's my turn.
Among other mildly embarrassing news, my home has a mouse in it.
Or dozens of mice who all look the same (genetics).
I didn't particularly care at first.
He's not the only one who has had to squat somewhere during the winter months.
He has since lost the sense of fellowship I shared with him.
I've had to stay in other people's homes, sure.
But I never pooped near their garbage cans.
You just can't do that.
If I did do that, I'd understand if my hosts lured me onto a platofrm that released a strong metal bar that snapped my neck.
I want to catch him alive.
I do.
I fantasized about herding him into a shoebox in order to later release him in Shitty Dartmouth.
However, my landlord does not share my compassion.
Besides, I'm too much of a pansie to catch him alive, really.
And I'm not Wile E. enough.
I refer to the mouse as a 'he' because shes get pregnant.
Happens in high school all the time.
I want he-mice.
Did you know that mice are the most adaptable mammal on the planet?
I figured it was Justin Timberlake (he can sing, he can dance, he can host SNL...)
I've been reading up on my new adversary.
Know your enemy, that sort of thing.
I consulted Sun Tzu on the topic.
But he just told me not to engage an elevated enemy.
The only other thing his scrolls offered were metaphors for starting a small business.
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