I went in to check on the dinner, and found a potholder merrily blazing away. Stunk, too. You know you're weird, when you buy boxed fish sticks, but you make homemade creamed corn with fresh corn on the cob and peppers and onions, and real cream, and your old man prepares an artichoke and you make your own tartar sauce. Hell, why didn't we just bread our own (or the ones our neighbor gives us) fish and fry it? Well, at least we had bourbon.
Life is hard. Death is easy.