I love the TV shows that have animals, and I especially love the ones with giraffes. You see a giraffe, and you’re like, “What ahhh you? And WHAT is that OUTFIT?” Like, they’ve got the high heels, and the lwong eyelashes…it’s like “Whatever you’re doing there, you’re doing it all for your bad SELF.” Nobody knows what they’re doing, nobody even knows what sound they make…I think if all the giraffes were to suddenly disappear, everybody would go, “Well…we never did know what they were for anyway.”
It happened as I was drifting off to sleep, and it was so huge it woke us both up. I knew right away because the sheets were on the ceiling, and the windows of the apartment had shattered, and outside, cars were turned over on their sides and alarms were going off….
As anyone who knows me knows, I will never be late to your nacho-making party. You say you’re having a nacho party? Well great; I’m at the front door to your apartment; actually, I just let myself in with a key that I found under your mat in the foyer, after I broke the glass out of your front window with a brick.
Oh, it’s next week? Well that should give us plenty of time to perfect our recipe. I hope you’re not going to pile up all the chips first, and then put the toppings on top—I mean, it’s your party and I don’t want to tell you how to do your job—but you will end up with dried-out brittle chips in the middle, and goo around the sides. You know what? Really it’s sort of our nacho party now.