I think something may have died in my office. It's not the cat, I just got done yelling at him for sleeping all day on my hoodie. I went down to get more coffee (a pot a day keeps the voices away) and I was hit with this epic funk that damn near burnt the hair out of my nose.
It might be that I smoke a carton of cigarettes every 5 minutes, or the stack of empty Fresca cans. It could even be the dried out paints, or the cup of dirty water, but something truly pungent has invaded my once pleasant milieu, something more eviler than Skeletor himself.
To the right, you'll see a cake that I baked and decorated myself. I blew off that paper I was supposed to write for English but baked a cake. A model of productivity is me.
It looked like shit but tasted alright, providing nourishment for a couple days.
That's right, I lived the dream of every 5 year old in the world, to eat cake every meal. Or every Ethiopian child, to eat a meal.
At any rate, I'll be doing some cleaning eventually, or emptying a bottle of Febreeze into this som'bitch. Whichever requires less effort, I'm lookin' at you Febreeze.