Ain't Reality A Bitch

Thank the lord almighty those ladies on Survivor finally figured out how to play the game!

Just when I was beginning to think that it was hopeless to believe that the women would ever come to their senses, and start voting those smug, cocky little boys off their island, they finally got it together and did just that.

I couldn't help myself. I had to do a dance of joy, right there in the middle of my living room, as I hopped around screeching my exaltations. A picture is worth a thousand words, and between the two, Burton and Jon looked like sulky little boys whose hands had just been caught red handed in the cookie jar.

"Stinkin rats!" I yelled with glee, happy again for the very first time since Rupert was dubiously done in. "Pack your bags Johnny boy. You're going to be the next to go." I shouted, reaching for the clicker to shut the tele off, in order to go scrape something up for a late night dinner.

Unfortunately for me, PB & J was the only thing I could find in my incredibly bare cupboards. Still as far as dinners go, it was pretty sad. 2 slices of bread thinly coated with peanut butter, and squeeze bottle jelly of the purple and tasteless kind, with a side of nothing at all, not even the tiniest drop of milk to wash it all down.

I guess it's beyond time I went shopping and stopped trying to conserve money for Christmas. It wouldn't do me much good anymore anyway. Word came down the wire that my beloved -said with a heavy dose of sarcasm - company has opted not to hand over the Christmas bonuses this year. I'm going to refrain from calling them a bunch of tightfisted bastards as it is the holiday season.

Ahh ... If only I was related to a Griswald.