Sunday, June 10, 2012


Imagine the ooey, gooey chocolatey loveliness that is a Devil's Food cake still in the mixing bowl filled with promise... Now imagine that same batter strewn across the floor. Some is in your shoes, on random furniture, even on you, as if it had exploded... Now imagine that it really doesn't smell at all like chocolate... Wake up, May B., it's not one of your bizarre dreams. All that ooey, gooey, chocolatey loveliness just came from your dog's rear end. And you complain about your dreams!

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