No motherfucker affirms me and if he does I don't believe him. So the day after Valentine's Day I splurge on a $3 heart-shaped box of Russell Stover chocolates. I eat the entire box in two days. Some of the chocolates were milk chocolate, some were dark chocolate, some contained caramel, some contained nuts, most of them were yummy. I don't enjoy the coconut chocolates. Right now I'm baking kale and green onions and drinking room temperature lemon water. I have a big stomach. Nothing new there. Do you think the average American woman looks yummy in a bikini? Do you think the above average (by Budweiser swigging Dallas Cowboys rooting Hooters loving average American man standards) American woman who rocks a bikini is happy with her life? These are deep thoughts for a Thursday morning in Year of The Fire Rooster in San Antonio, Texas.
Look. The world is your beach ball, regardless. So what the fuck are you waiting for? Make the motherfucker BOUNCE. I'm just happy that I can buy a box of heart-shaped chocolates for myself and eat the entire box without shame. I'm happy that my happiness quotient isn't dependent on the way I look naked or in a bikini. Also. My happiness quotient is not dependent on the approval I receive or do not receive from an average ass American male. I wrote at least one book about this sort of thing. I encourage you to buy several copies. Keep one for yourself.
Look. The world is your beach ball, regardless. So what the fuck are you waiting for? Make the motherfucker BOUNCE. I'm just happy that I can buy a box of heart-shaped chocolates for myself and eat the entire box without shame. I'm happy that my happiness quotient isn't dependent on the way I look naked or in a bikini. Also. My happiness quotient is not dependent on the approval I receive or do not receive from an average ass American male. I wrote at least one book about this sort of thing. I encourage you to buy several copies. Keep one for yourself.
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