You've Come A Long Way, Baby, Now Strip Down and Go Back to Where You Started. You Know, Just For Kicks.

What's to say that I haven't said already. For those of you who have been exposed to the hideously disfiguring experience of going in for a 6 dollar smoothie at a Jamba juice or at least have been around to hear me shit all over it, I do not apologize. You did it to yourself. Deal. But in case you have no idea what the fuck I'm screwballing over, here goes.

You walk into this little environment.

You see the brightly lit interior, taking special note of the wheatgrass planters and the clear plastic cases full of oranges.

You look at the menu, daunted by the fact that everything in sight is an alliteration. Mango mambo madness...Root-tooting Raspberry Roofies...Asian Apple Assfart... you get the picture.

You walk up to the counter, anxious about the fact that when you order you will hear the words "pomegranate peach passion punch" escape your lips and die just a little bit inside.

(You have to use the name they gave it. You can't get away with calling it the red one. or the orange one. They are all red or orange. The oranges in the display case quiver in fear.)

You make your order and they ask you with a smile (Some, not all, and I don't reciprocate.) if you would like a booster.

You flounder for a moment. What the fuck is a booster?! Oh, right, powdered supplements that make you feel more alive to compensate for the fact that you died a little naught a minute ago. You ask for protein or immunity boosters and think about other powdered alternatives. Coke comes to mind, but most pills can be ground into the right consistency with the a bevy of household objects.

You look at them incredulously when they ask for your name. Why do I need to get personal with you? You consider picking an alias, but are so lost in thought that all you can come up with is your real name. You resign yourself to reality.

You wait.

You wait.

You pick the crud out from under your fingernails.

You wait.

You hear your name, feeling a little shamed and pick up your fruity beverage with your head tilted down.

You walk away, drink a third of it and realize that you aren't in the mood or it's too cold or you can't handle the 6 pounds of fruit in a cup or you feel like your life will never be the same...



i just realized I have half a beer that I was drinking from last night sitting on the kitchen counter. It's 10 in the morning. I'm thinking about it.

Oh yeah, so in random news in recent history...

OOH! Picture says it all.