porkjerky plogBumpercrop of Failure
Where’s Willie Nelson when you need him?
Throw me a concert, sing me a song, pay your taxes so I can get FEMA to declare my toilet bowl farmland a disaster area and get one of those sweet New Orleans type nonpaybackable loans.
What I am trying to say is that my dream of growing a plant in my toilet has suffered a temporary setback. I had to flush that bowl full of decomposing shit. Long story short, it smelled a few dozen sulfur covered hobos worse than that picture looks and nothing was happening to my seeds.
And I was like Terry Schiavo’s parents with those seeds too—holding onto false hope, seeing evidence of life that wasn’t there and talking myself into what I wanted to be true. Yesterday an eyelash fell on one of the seeds and I convinced myself that it was a crack where a sprout was going to shoot out.
A long pained exhale later and my hopes, like that eyelash, blew away. I then realized that it probably wasn’t going to happen.
Now I know what it is like to have to put down your own child.
No one gives a fourth of a cum covered turd what you think, but please don't let that stop you from spreading your insightful wit to the world by commenting below. Or fuck, you're such a pussy-eating faggot you're probably interested in the rss feed of this shitty site. Oy vey.
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