The Crack Machine

5 am comes far too quickly after laying my head on that delicate pile of bunched up puffy clouds I call my pillow where I dream of unicorns farting rainbows and the Partridge Family bus (having serious bus/tree problems).

Food is an ever present part of my dreams too as well as part of my every waking moment. 

It’s what I do. 

This is why I get up (again, try to crawl over the wife unflatulently) and flog myself for a mile in lane three while trying not to swallow mumu swimsuit flavors. 

I’m trying to stop following my belly around. I’d like it to be a part of the walk with the rest of my being instead of trying to always lead the way. 

When I get out, I generally make it to the shower without weaving or falling over, clean up, shave and write this post. 

This morning, after sitting in the same chair every weekday morning for the last two months, I finally noticed…

“The Crack Machine”


I’m doomed…

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