OK, I'll admit it, I've had a slow "funny" week. Partially, because I had a rough weekend and so I just haven't felt funny this week. A GREAT weekend, mind you, but I guess it left me feeling a touch burned out.
Anywayyyyy...(yeah, its kind of been one of THOSE kinds of days...)....
Oh yeah, I got on to lunch time today. Yes, it finally rolled around.
See, I work from home most the time and so when lunch time rolled around, I walked out of my home office, walked down the hall to the Kitchen (capital K because, well, I LOVE a room dedicated to making, playing with and eating foods, not that I usually EVER eat in there but, you get my drift). No, really. The Kitchen, is a cool place. I can prove it. Rent Nine 1/2 Weeks, sometime. Check it out.
So, I make myself a Tuna fish sandwich (and I capitalize Tuna because, well, I try to be respectful of what I have to have killed just so that some day, I'm going to open that can and eat from its now molded shape of a slice of a tube of fish).
What? Oh, okay, OK....
So, I only eat half a can per sandwich and I store the rest for another day. Or till someone else eats it before I get to it, which happens far to often around here. Now, I'm going to store it, so I decide to use the plastic wrap.
You know plastic wrap, it was once called "Saranwrap", but not anymore because one day, we woke up and realized that was a brand name and we were giving them WAYyyyy too much credit. Just like "Fridge" for Frigidaire brand refrigerator (ever realize that their brand name literally says, frigid air?), or Kleenex for sinus leakage tissues (or have you considered that this brand name means, "clean x"; see, even THEY can't call sinus leakages, well, sinus leakages, so the just refer to it as, "x"; really kind of clever if you think about it).
OK, so here's my thought for the day.
I believe...that how you leave the plastic wrap situation, decides your position in Life, AND in after-Life.
No really. Why? Because. Anyone who puts the plastic wrap back with the plastic wrap itself, tucked back inside the deep dark recesses of Satan's box from Hell, with that damn thin, impossible to tear film, wrapped around the tube, so that it takes forever to detach it from that damn tube of impossible to extract aforementioned thin plastic film, made from petroleum I might add(!), yes, petroleum from HELL, then that person, never, is ever, never, never going to make anything of themselves in Life.
They are going to suffer through life, bad things happening at every turn. Suffering through the most miserable of things: thermometers breaking in their ears at 2am when they're sicker than a dog (sorry dog); or the old glass kinds that will break (snap) in their mouths, mercury running with deadly toxic succor down their throats; their favorite redneck trucks breaking down (continuously) on them (FORD: Found On Road Dead, Fix Or Repair Daily, etc., etc., et al, ad naseum, ad infinitum); friends, spouses or lovers will leave them (repeatedly), and for their best friends; every dog they will ever have will die from unnatural causes or aliens will steal them (or land UFOs on them); or their favorite cat will move out to the old lady down the street; and then finally, at the end of that long unendurable, miserable life, they will, most assuredly, go straight to Hell.
But really, I do love my kids.