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This one is from me,written a couple of days ago...Bo.
Drama with chicken condiments…
OK, so occasionally Mama Bo and myself, ‘K’ as most of you know her, go to KFC. That’s Kentucky Fried Chicken to the young folks out there. It is a fast food chicken restaurant in the U.S.A. Special blend of seven herbs and spices and all that crap.
I love their macaroni and cheese almost as much as I like my captain’s rum. As you all know, Bo Jack Express Industries keeps me a pretty busy beaver with my blog, my photography, helping friends and being a basic all around moron.
Not to mention writing, Twitter, trying to always learn new things, trying to understand what my good online buddy Stickman is talking about, and on and on and of course my football analysis and connections and my always present sense of humor and flirting with my lovely ladies online.
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Then there’s Sports Center, Bonanza, Sanford & Son, ESPN, NFL Live, The NFL Network, and my countless dear fellow online writers and friends, and endless funny emails and the Bo Jack Express itself. For an old guy with a bad back working from home is not all it’s cracked up to be, but it has it’s advantages.
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I’m lucky with a great; the greatest in the world actually, lady in my life who puts up with my fat, dumb, lazy(Often) semi retarded butt. I talk on the phone if I need a break or send or read an Email or two to my brother, sis in law or the other people who are addicted to the net such as myself.
I try to follow up on the countless schemes to make money online, but more often than not joke about them and my trials and travails. I forgot to mention movies, I love my movies too.
This particular story is about my nothing less than moron-ness. I digress…
Ok so I’m drinking at night as usual, remember, I’m Captain of the SS454 Bo Jack Express Pirate Ship, so I drink my rum because it is a requirement of the job, and you can imagine the stress of also being in charge of a multi-million dollar industry (If only in my imagination) Bo Jack this, Bo Jack that, Bo Jack’s big boned, Bo Jack’s not fat that type of thing, oh yes, I almost forgot my express train and my scools of poetry, art and cooking, as well as Bo Jack Security Industries and Bo Jack Transportation, and Bo Jack Media.
It takes time, and I need a break to eat sometimes in these late night drunken stupors.
I’m weird, I like cold Top Ramen, some people think that’s gross, I love it, but suffering from sinus problems since I was a boy, I also like it nearly boiling hot in the morning to clear my head and my ears, leftovers go in the fridge… So; same story with leftover KFC mashed potatoes. I love that as hot as I can stand it. So I put some in the microwave last night, after finding the perfect thing to warm my belly. after seeing it steamy hot, albeit whilst being half drunk, I wisely grabbed an oven mitt to keep from possibly burning my hand and removing all doubt of said potential injury.
I place it on the counter, taking in the delicious aroma, mmm, yummy it smells. Now I add the gravy, adding to the delectable palate enticing aroma. Next I stir it up bettering the scent still; I add more gravy, and I’m practically drooling now…
Ah yes time to take it to the table… being the genius I once was (!0,000 beers ago) I grab my delectable treat with my bare left hand, and scream in surprise, terror and scalding pain only to let go and jump out of the way as my dinner splattered on the kitchen floor on the rug my cat loves to rub herself on!
Next, obviously it splatters on my foot, burning the hell out of it, and all over my computer chair and in the cats drinking water. I look discouraged at my delicious dinner on the floor, take the cat’s bowl into the bathroom and rinse it, as my foot and hand are burning and i’ve reserved myself not to stop foot in the kitchen again tonight.
I now decide If I’m stupid enough to accomplish this idiotic task I’d be better served taking myself to bed, and dealing with this in the morning. In addition, our cats, especially my now famous Becky will eat anything at all, so I wasn’t worried about it. Shelfishly however I was not considering that if the kitties hang out in the bathroom, K will often brush her teeth in the kitchen rather than move the cats. So I’m awoken in the morning to a nice loud, “Matthew, what the hell is on the kitchen floor?” Obviously at 5:30 in the AM I have no idea what she’s talking about and pretend to still be asleep. She’s NOT a morning person by any stretch of the imagination.
She goes to work, I drift back to sleep. A couple hours later I get up and go to rinse out the kitty bowls, there is a giant glob of unidentifiable goop in the sink and a smashed red & white styrophome container in the sink. I laugh hysterically, and actually had to scrub it to get it off.
Flash forward to early afternoon. She calls me, picks me up we grab some grub, come home, she takes off her shoes, goes into the kitchen, replays the early morning drama and we both laugh out butts off! She tells me how she said, “What the hell did I just step in; all cold and mushy in the pre dawn darkness?”
That was the best laugh we shared together in a while. Moral of the story, don't try to eat when you are drunk or me, Bo out.