MONEY DOES GROW ON TREES, BUT IT'S THE ART THAT MAKES IT VALUABLE

HOW TO RUIN MY DAY EVEN WITH ALMOST PIZZA

What I'd like to do now is tell you about Sunday, specifically yesterday's Sunday, the second of this month, which, say it with me, is called "November", the lowest rated month of the year according to Popular Cheese. Everything started off fine, as I woke up wart-free, ate some cereal, ran a comb through my beautiful hair and headed off to my ball hockey game with dreams of goals and butt pats.

I had a pretty good streak of feeling pretty good about everything up until this point. Maybe it was the rain that washed away my feelings of 'yeah dude', or maybe I was just due for a saddening. Even the happiest millionaires get pissed that their clothes aren't rare enough, you know?

Anyway, during my ball hockey game this girl on my team got into a bit of a spat with this man on the other team. I was on the floor at the point and asked him to simply apologize for what she claimed was a push on his part. He didn't seem to think that what he did constituted a push so he went about his business. Because "justice" is my favourite name, I took offense to this and aggressively slashed his plastic stick the next time we came together, which he really didn't like because this is apparently an illegal move. I felt no need to apologize after what he had just done to our girl, so we started arguing a bit. I don't remember exactly what was said, but I definitely ended it with "Well, at least I don't push girls", accentuated with a pushing motion on my part, which I was very pleased with. Huge burn.

But shortly after I was all like "oh man, that was embarrassing, I'm turning into the kind of butthole I call a 'buttman'." You see, I'm an advocate for not taking recreational, co-ed sports very seriously, so when I thought about it and realized I'd turned into the loud mouth serious taker that I despise, I got mad at myself, and I'm the only guy who can get mad at me. Except that guy who I slashed. I'm a sweetheart! This is quickly turning into a children's book - "I was upset but when I got home and saw my dog marbles I felt a lot better. Ma, Pa, and Aunt Bee Deeds were waiting with supper, which was cabbage and cracker soup." Anyway, I put the issue behind me and went home for a scheduled apartment cleaning.


Cleaning truly stinks. I can handle vacuuming because it's futuristic, but every other facet of cleaning goes against our natural human tendencies of throwing old bones everywhere. I thought to myself, "If I'm going to clean, I might as well eat pizza while doing it", just like every Italian house wife who ever put on an apron. It was the only thing keeping me going, like a chocolate bar dangled in front of a walrus during a company picnic at the zoo. So I get this sweet zit faced dough baby in the oven and go back to soppin' up grease. Then my oven broke! I kicked the oven so hard. Then our mop broke! So I made a sandwich. By the end of the day I was so cheefed that I was about ready to call my mommy. LIES. It didn't get that bad, but still, no pizza, fight with old man and a broken mop is enough to make this man turn into a Mr. Hyde who doesn't kill anyone but just pouts and watches the CFL.