And of course I have no will power . . . none.
Hell if I had that, I wouldn't be a fatty in the first place.
But at any rate . . . Drunk Dillhole (formerly known as Puddin) brings me home the nuggets and the Dr. Pepper and the McDonalds French Fries . . . and at 135 in the freakin morning I eat them!
Drunk dillhole offers to put away the trash from our middle of the freakin night fat fest . . . so I just turn over in all my hog-like glory and go back to sleep.
I wake up this morning (with a fat hangover) to get ready to go to work, and promptly step on one of those square packets of sweet and sour sauce that promptly bursts and makes a mess of the carpet and the edge of my comfortor.
Drunk Dillhole slept through the action, the reaction and my LOUD cursing!
So I slapped him.
Bas*%rd slept through that too.