My ma came round yesterday and rearranged chez Spunk. So screw you guys who thought I lived in my ma’s basement. She left a lasagna in my freezer and a mason jar of iced tea in the fridge so I guess all’s ok with the world. And every guy knows, no woman will ever love them like their ma.
And I don’t mean that in a dirty sense, you filthy heathens.
Plus you need to see my shitter, honestly. You could eat dinner off that thing. It’s like a toothpaste commercial full of sparkle. One thing moms are good for is providing your ass a clean receptacle to drop a deuce into.
But talking of eating, as we were briefly up there, my ma brought me some table set thing. You know, plates, cups, those little plates you put a tea cup on, the whole shebang. She was displeased with my old kitchen apparatus. My old plates I’d had since 1989. I got them from a Mexican restaurant that was closed down by the health department. They’re made of some plastic compound with cacti around the rim and had gotten a little warped and bumpy over the years. It was like eating pizza off of Gwen Stefani’s ribs. No more though. Thanks ma.
In other news, Pedro is dating a flamenco dancer. It’s serious lust. One shake of her castanets and he’s jello. Plus the last time I saw that dude gel his mustache, the Pope was in town hanging with Tony Bennett.