I’m not gettin’ any younger

Day Three: Is that pizza? Smells like pizza. Hello? You know, sometimes these guys are all over me like nobody’s business, random people show up and hold me like I’m a football, this one guy thinks he’s God’s gift to James Taylor. Other times they wrap me up like a mummy and stick me in this basket and away I go, to hang out with the other prisoners. But this is the worst! They’re having pizza, but I’ll tell you right now that no one, and I mean no one will offer me a slice. Hey Ava, how about some more of that white goopy stuff? Yeah, sure, that’s exactly what I want. You really love your baby? Get me some Italian Beef, Daddy-o.


2014-04-08 17.34.31
Don’t think about pizza. Don’t think about pizza.  Don’t think about pizza. 

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: