Most of my problems are the indirect result of a lack of honesty and I bet dollars to donuts yours are too.
Will everyone please be honest with me.
Will somebody teach me how to be honest.
I don't really care for donuts. The sweetness burns; they rely on the assumption that I am deeply turned on by dense, oily breads. Someday I will move to Portland and try the goddess of donuts, like Tony Bourdain: a humble cake slathered thinly in maple syrup frosting, with three pert lengths of bacon nestled on top.
Nestle. They nestled down together. Nestle Semi-Sweet Waxen Chocolate-Approximating Baking Bits.
I love eating, it is one of my favorites. Lately I have been so obsessed with every junk fucking product that is in my food that it has become an exercise in guilt. I am not one of "those people." I just want a loaf of bread from the store that doesn't contain high fructose fucking corn syrup. This summer, this summer, man, I will totally walk to the farmer's market.
Last night I dreamed of five tall black men in black suits, singing in turn in serious tones in an alleyway.
I have just been informed that I fucked like an israeli lady soldier last night. I have no recollection of this. Sleep makes strangers of us all.
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