Wednesday, September 28, 2005


Yes, I sat on the f***ing tomato.

I was just sitting here, working, minding my own affairs and munching on some veggies when it happened. Probably two hours ago.

The guy that came to break me didn't say anything even though there was a dead, squashed (150% flat, I think it was actually concave) one right on the seat, a run-over one on the floor near my chair, and an actually intact one near the printer cord. Which I ate.

There was also a bunch of tomato guts, seeds, etc. all over the damn hell ass place from the ill-fated fruit. Luckily, it was only a cherry tomato.

I'm pretty sure I looked at my ass in the mirror when I went to the bathroom but I didn't see no tomato spooge on there. Not on either asscheek, anyway, although the deep crevasse in my pants is somewhat suspect. There's no tellin' what might be lurking in there - it's like the f***ing couch cushions.

These pants smell like squirrel pee, anyway.

Of course, my boss overheard me leaving a message for the caterer (evil provider of stuff for me to miss my mouth with & sit on) and had to get all involved. He wanted to know who sat on a tomato? and when? and where? And what I used to clean it up with. (Uhhh. Can you say "micro-managing"?) Fortunately, he didn't ask why.

If you must know, it was because I was too busy laughing and reading this.

Fine. So you never sat on a tomato, at least, not on purpose. You probably think I'm dense, or forgetful, or just plain stupid. Oh yeah? Well, never fear, my pretties. Your time will come.

At least what I sat on? Was soft.


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