I could tell you that I was hungry and that would probably be the truth but at the moment I really can't remember. All it took was a mention in passing and I was moving for my keys...
...and there is nothing in the world more helpless and irresponsible and depraved than a man in the depths of a McRib binge.
They brought it back. Again. And made a big deal about it. Again. Damn them. But I can't blame it all on the preformed patty, the bbq soaked onions or the pickles as I had already moved the vise out of the way and was reclining on the couch, but I am pretty sure there was a round two on the horizon but now I am not so certain.
A quick double-dose of cheap light beer is starting to bring me back around, but I still feel like some part of me may be slipping away and working its way south to fight the good fight.
The whip finish tool is just out of reach. If I could get to it, maybe I could use it to snag that pack of hooks and a bobbin. My finger tips tickle the thin cool metal. Maybe all is not lost. Maybe I can find the will to continue, string a few more together, pave my way towards preparedness with feathers and flash.
Andy Dufresne said that hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things... but he probably never ate at McDonalds.