So I've been a bit blue with no place to go to and I'm always stuck at the place where fashion sits. Alas, I have not been putting on the ritz. Seriously, I have been a bit glum lately, but several events of today just turned my frown right upside down with choirs of angels singing:
The microwave, the microwave, the microwave's on fire
We don't need no water let the motherfucker burn
Burn, MC Nickels, burn.
At least I was close to seeing one of my dreams come to fruition today- seeing that place burn and go straight back to hell where it belongs. Unfortunately, it was only a small microwave fire contained in the Chick Fil A wrapper and the enclosed sandwich. I'm sure it could have spread into a glorious sight, but my manager, who I will now refer to as Smokey the Bear (killjoy), just had to walk through the break room while the little flame that could was still growing. Amazingly, 'twas not I who was the thiiiis close arsonist, but I really wish I would have thought of that earlier- "What? You mean I can't put this drawer of silverware in the microwave? And I shouldn't have had those bins of lighter fluid right next to it? Oooops."
Then, as if a burning microwave wasn't enough of a sign from God that MC Nickels should prepare for the end, the children's department was flooded without warning or at least a suggestion to gather a couple pets and build an ark. Don't worry, big man in the sky, I'm paying attention to your signs and am eagerly awaiting the plague of locusts.
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