My microwave died.
Who would have thought that spending my last ill-gotten $50 in 2010, six years gone, would have enabled this Santa Claus paunch? Well, Saint Nick was the patron saint of whores—ho, ho, ho—and those Cambodian slave laborers, working under Malaysian overseers, for Chinese managers, used to be sex slaves before they were worn out by the German tourist trade, so maybe there is a silver lining around this small, boxy cloud.
In any case, my microwave is dead.
What to do with the tortilla chips and nacho spices in the shaker canister?
Who needs melted cheese, I say? Larry just got in some discount parmesan cheese. What is even better is there are more of that most valuable mineral—sodium—in dry powdered cheeses, equating to more taste for my buds and requiring less calorie-laden cheese. Also, not heating the fresh sliced garlic will preserve more of the vampire-fighting qualities for which I eat it—I’ll be eating healthier—and stealthier—in no time.
They actually tasted quite good though the cheese lacks traction, so apply hot sauce to the chip first to aid in cheese adhesion.
When Your Job Sucks
The Ghetto Grocer Kindle Edition
Dude, i am beginning to think you need a intervention. Buy or steal a goddamn microwave!