Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough
I still have the flu. It's actually bronchitis and it's just the horrible cough that's still hanging around at this point, but I'm still gross. I know how you lot like to keep tabs on my levels of grossness.
Speaking of grossness and misery, who wants to see something hideously awful? Raise your little e-hands! Oh, it is your lucky day, you little self-loathing masochists! This video involves high-pitched children singing some dumbass song about feeling joy or something, and there are these dancing cats, and the one cat's mouth moves so it's like the cat is singing about joy but it has this dead-eyed stare and it's all insane and creepy enough to be pretty fantastic, but the best part is these kittens that pop up on the sides all, "WHERE?!"
It's horrible and I found it the other day and used it to torture Lainey and gp, but my brilliant scheme kinda backfired on me because I got ensnared in my own trap and now I cannot. stop. watching. BEHOLD:
Okay, so... you're welcome for that.
Moving on, can we discuss addiction for a minute? See, I have this little rice cake problem. I actually have a bit of a problem with all foods featuring a styrofoamy texture (I fucking love that creepy puffcorn shit) but rice cakes are a particular problem. I like the plain ones that just have a little bit of salt, because they are like an even more styrofoamy version of puffcorn, and I'm pretty sure I could eat them all day. ALL DAY. I don't like most of the sweet flavours of rice cakes (did you know they make chocolate ones? EW) but I really love the apple cinnamon ones for some reason. And then recently, that hoo-er Lainey told me about these rice cakes called Quaker True Delights, and that's where things started to really spiral out of control. They're whole grain or some damn hippie thing, and the Wild Blueberry flavor is amazing. They are filled with blueberry deliciousness and they taste like cereal, only without the hassle of a bowl and a spoon and all that civilised utensil-wrangling. I can't find a picture of them because the internet is an asshole, so you can't stare into the face of my master.
In other news, I am currently engaged in an accidental feud with my neighbors across the street. It's kind of a long story, but they moved in a few months ago and it turns out that either they both have some unfortunate combination of Tourrette's syndrome and intense psychosis, or they are smoking some serious shit because they have only the loosest relationship with reality and they keep coming over and ringing my doorbell and swearing at me about stuff that literally makes no sense, and then one day Mrs. Strange Neighbour People barged past me into my house and wouldn't leave and tried to lick my cat, and so I called the police because holy shit, seriously? And so now I've got these acid tripping neighbours who HATE ME and sometimes when I go out to get the mail, Mrs. Strange Neighbour People comes outside and just stands on her front stoop giving me the finger and yelling at me.
So I've got bronchitis, I'm compelled to keep watching these singing cats who won't stop harassing me about where their joy is, I can't stop eating rice cakes and I could be killed at any moment by my deranged, angry neighbors. I am living the dream and your jealousy is understandable, is what I'm saying.
Now tell me all about your strangest snack food addictions.
Sarah Larson lives in Minnesota, where she is usually up to no good. She does not believe in Cadbury Crème Eggs, because she has been over this with you bitches before and she still maintains that the filling tastes exactly like sandy diabetes. She only updates her blog when bullied into it, but you can read the archive here if you're bored enough.
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