Dear diary,
I received the duplicated email at 1315 pm today that my item is ready for pickup at the post office since 1258 pm today. So once again the stuff has been taped down with a single strip of Post Office thick, tacky tape over the original paper seam of my box, which I recycled for my refurbished MacBook Pro. It has that lithium ion battery sticker on it. The only thing missing are the two Lightning to USB cords for the two accessories, which is en route next Monday, you idiot dorks!
Anyway, I’ve finished my steamed white rice and orange chicken crap from Costco and Dad came downstairs at 1355. I couldn’t wait for him to process his crap; so I ate ahead of him. I forgot to brew fresh coffee grains from Starbucks.
So we finished yesterday’s errands if returning an electrical outlet to THD, visited Mom, attended noontime mass, bought gasoline, bought a new RED plastic transmission fluid funnel from our local automotive store, ate burgers, and headed on home.
Today we recycled the last garbage bag of plastic water bottles for $4.61, hurried to visit Mom (with the primary goal of melting down the two glass jars of scented candles, err, Dad’s closure through conversations and prayers), and noontime mass.
I awoke at 10:00 am and found Dad eating breakfast. He said I was snoring loudly at 9:30 am. I quickly washed up, got dressed, warmed and ate a HUGE plain bagel, and screamed at Dad to hurry TF up!
I have to jolt him in this cruel manner to snap him outta his deep thought because I’d prefer just like Mom to get crap done before noontime / mass. This schedule is borrowed from the Twit Wifey whose family visit their graves before noontime due to better or higher energy.
So after helping Dad haul the usual Friday city bins for both garbage and recycle from the streets, through the street facing alleyway, and into the backyard, we threw away four HUGR plastic planters into the recycling bin. Once again, we’re taking our time to throw junk away. We don’t care anymore.
As a matter of fact, I have nothing to do with Dad Squirrel and his Twit Wifey. So whatever crap images you happen to see out in the public arena was faked – enough so that he shuts up and grieves in his own way. I really don’t care for these two knuckle heads. They drag their knuckles and continue to buy junk and say no.
So now it’s time to eat Dad’s stupid salad because it’s easier that way. Salad from Costco and salad dressing from Lucky. Mine is Paul Newman and Dad is Ken’s.
Sincerely,
Flynn B not caring if y’all play me like a damn old fool. Three more days! Stop it! Now pick up you damn item and email me for complete receipt of added niceness – 10 key crap, a box of three cords and a white wiping thingy, along with the three main items.
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