I’ll try being nicer if you try being smarter!

I now have a vending machine in my office. Not like, a little hotel sized ‘here, buy yourself a mini toothbrush cuz we know you forgot yours, you ass-monkey’ vending machine. No. A big, huge, fake glow, humming loudly, motherfucking vending machine. Full of fun things. Chips, chocolate bars, cookies, Ritz crackers with bloody cheese. They are now going to stare at me all day. I’m going to become obese. The reason it is in my office is unimportant, all you need to know is that it just is.

The warm glow is too much. The humming is everpresent, calling to me. The scene of a tropical beach right next to the Coca-Cola logo is too compelling. It’s so easy. It’s so close. I’ve resigned to a life of waddling and floral muumuu’s already. Type II diabetes? Bring it on. It’s so worth the Miss Vickie’s Sea Salt & Vinegar chips every day. I’m a salty snack girl, so those will probably be my demise. Oh, goodbye waist. Goodbye ability to see my own feet. I’ll have to start saving now to buy myself one of those mini cranes to hoist my completely Oreo-padded arse out of bed.

There might be a freedom to all of that though. I mean, once I reach like, 300 lbs or so, I probably won’t give a shit anymore. I’ll leave the house, all chocolate covered and scream ‘What??’ as crumbs of god knows what fly out of my mouth at the children who stare and point. Then they’ll cry and hide behind the defined knees of their mommies. But, I won’t care. I’ll mumble something and waddle over to the nearest mmmmmmuffins and buy myself a half-dozen of the super mega triple chocolate chunk brownie, filled with cream kind. I can wear flip flops, day-in and day-out, cuz my fat feet won’t be confined by shoes.

On the other hand, maybe I won’t become an obese monster. Maybe, I’ll just become this kind of monster (I’m gonna be the one in blue):

I’m all: “Give me the cookies, bitch!”  

She’s all: “For God’s sake Talea! You’ve already eaten them all! All I have left is my small creepy child, and you’ve freaked him out so much he’s muttering ‘RedRum’ all day! You need help! I HAVE NO MORE COOKIES!”

 Clearly, this vending machine in my office will only lead to bad places.

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Comments on: "Well, now I’m screwed OR I’m about to become evil Cookie Monster" (1)

  1. greenmetropolis said:

    You may become as fat as you want, and I will still love you. As long as you don’t wear gargantuan hoop earrings with your hair pulled back tight enough to give your face a cheap lift and carry Babyphat purses.

    And as long as you stay the fuck off my bus.

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