Caterwauling

My social media site is not for name-calling when you’ve already made valid points. Those points get negated real fast when friends start sniping at each other and I have to delete shit after a particularly ugly comment. I hope the other person didn’t see it. The only one who can call people names is me, darn it. And even that’s only reserved for Pumpkinfuhrer and variations thereof.

So you can’t wear dress shorts.

You can’t leave your blinds open overnight.

You can’t leave groceries and the sammich your momma made you with her hurting little hands in the fridge if your name isn’t on them.

And good people are shown the door but certain others have job security for life.

And all these roads lead to exactly ONE place.

Seriously. Messing with a fat girl’s food means the fangs are bared and looking for an ass to chew out.

That time when the office people threw out all your brand-new groceries that you needed because you have no time to take lunch before the holiday weekend …

Because you didn’t put your name on it last night instead of THIS MORNING when they said the fridge would be cleaned out …

And you HAD a fridge of your own but it’s been taken hostage somewhere else in the building and no one will GIVE IT TO YOU …

And everyone is like well you were warned to put your name on your lunch like you have to stitch it in your underpants like a 5-year-old going off to camp …

And you just have to just be “overjoyed to be employed” as I say to everyone every single day. Because, that’s the way the cookie crumbles.

Mmm, cookies …

Goodbye, sandwich from mom, container of fruit, brand-new tub of hummus, and more carrots and broccoli than you can shake a Trader Joe’s at.