Te amo burritos, pero debo ir al poker

#4
Send help. I think I just placed myself into a food coma. How did I get here, you ask? One word. 8 letters of pure deliciousness. Burritos. Sweet, juicy, homemade burritos.

I like to think I’m an alright cook. I’ve made burritos many times before, but something about what happened in my kitchen tonight was not what I know as cooking. It was something more than that. It was chemical. It was passionate. It was science.

Basically I’m saying that they were really good burritos. Moving on.

I wanted to play poker this evening, but I’m not sure if I have the willpower to lift myself off the couch anymore. I wonder if there’s some kind of scientific connection between tasty burritos and food comas. I guess I’ll have to wait until next Thursday to call Dr Karl Kruszelnicki on triple j and ask his thoughts on the matter. Or maybe I’ll Ask Jeeves?

What ever happened to Ask Jeeves? Or Wolfram Alpha? Or Bing? Although to be fair did anybody really ever use Bing?

Actually, the best thing I’ve ever seen in regards to search engines was a middle aged man who wanted to search for something. So he pulled up Google, then did a search for Yahoo, and proceeded to make his way to Yahoo to complete his initial search.

Right, I need to get off this couch.

I was contemplating taking the bus to poker tonight, but I’m pretty sure that would be a mistake at this time of night. Catching the bus is more of a gamble than the game of poker itself. You see, sometimes a bus is a beautiful, quiet place where everybody decides to use their media devices to ignore one another, rather then recognise their biological thirst for face to face social interaction. And sometimes you get one middle aged woman who either doesn’t fully understand the concept of a private mobile phone conversation, or she does and still insists on yelling into the phone in the hopes of not only informing the person on the other end of it, but everybody else on the 510 bus to Ivanhoe about how her good friend had anal fissures.

I firmly believe buses are like compilation albums. But instead of music, its a collection of the worst fucking smells known to man.

Yeah, I think I’ll take the car.

Don’t take all this as me declaring a war on buses. If anything, I adore them. By being constantly stuck in traffic, they have provided me with plenty of time to listen to two, sometimes three podcasts in a day. Sure, if my phone dies then I want to absolutely want to kill myself, but what’s life without a few gambles?

Speaking of gambling, insert poker segue here. Bye-bye!

 

 

 

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