Outhouse Kitchen On Fire

It’s been several days since the boys cooked and left the kitchen in a post-apocalyptic state, despite many requests/reminders to clean up. You’d think they hadn’t gone in the kitchen since. Do they not see what I’m seeing (and smelling). UGH!

In one of the sinks, there was a thick coating of something like a mixture of chunky peanut butter with lard and various ground meats. The water would sit for a long while before making its way down the drain. AND adding to the stench was this soupy sludge in one of the frying pans, not to mention all kinds of sticky and dried-up something on the countertops. I will leave you to imagine the scent wafting into your nostrils upon entering the outhouse kitchen.

This morning, I wanted to have my sprats with sauteed onions and vegetables. I had no choice but to clean up. (heavy sigh). Turned on my Ambrosia Radio and got to work. Two hours later, I didn’t feel for that meal anymore – I ordered from Burgers Park instead. Maybe their plan is to wait me out – “Mom will eventually clean up after us.”

AND you think anyone said thank you? No. Like it’s my fuckin’ job to clean up after them. Too bad I can’t power-wash everything. Zoo!? Pigpen!? No. Teenage boys! (which is much, much, much worse). They’re a plague. Biblical pestilence.

Can you power-wash people out of your life? Kinda like how you can ๐ŸŽถ wash that gray right out of your hair ๐ŸŽถ


I am one incident away from arson with a side of double homicide. ONE!

This may be goodbye ๐Ÿ˜ฆ


I just don’t get it. I’ve shown them how to clean up while cooking – which makes complete sense to me.

Of course, no one will think my actions are justified. And when the lit match hits the gasoline that’s on the floor, in the aftermath all you’re gonna hear is, “OMG! I can’t believe she did that over a few dirty dishes. Those poor boys!”

My ass!

๐ŸŽถ I was sitting all alone, watching people get it on with each other. They were dancing, crossing the floor, turning, moving back and forth. They were lovers. One more lonely night for me. I looked up what did I see
Sexy eyes. Sexy eyes. Moving ‘cross the floor. You got me wanting more. Sexy eyes. Sexy eyes. Sexy eyes. I’m getting down with you. I wanna move with you. Sexy eyes. ๐ŸŽถ

Sexy Eyes – Dr. Hook

I wonder if I have sexy eyes – is that something I can claim or do x-number of people have to tell me my eyes are sexy first? I can claim to be a comedian, but that doesn’t make it true.

Currently, there are just over 500 posts on my site – Hooray! 310 journal entries, 109 poems and 84 art/short story things (that I still have to organize).

Sat Mar 19, 2022

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