We're Whoever You Wanna Be

I've taken to waking up as late for work as possible. My mourning routine has devolved into a 2 minute examination of my hair followed by a 4 minute rationalization that I can go another day without washing it. Any clothing within arms reach is pulled and inspected (not carefully, mind you) for obvious stains, mustard and the like. The least reprehensible top, bottom and jacket are removed from bedroom floor and sprayed down with a half bottle of febreeze then shaken out to simulate that 'fresh from the South City clothesline that may or may not cause beef with the neighbors" clean feeling.

Then work comes. My real home. Just me and my buddy the PC, hummin', chillin' and gettin' all cross-eyed. Now what, huh? Who am I even talking about?? And what is this "Febreeze" crap?

If anyone would like to add on to the story here....add a post..or send me a message and I will add it. Proper spelling is, as always, highly discouraged. And I do have weakness for anything that is just balls-out crazy. Or, maybe you are a skilled writer who can make me look like a fool. YES!

So, like, write something on this story, 'k?

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