I’ve been seriously considering melting a ‘Peanut Butter Kit Kat Chunky’ onto a slice of toast with a side of fries for about five hours now. No, I’m not one of those assholes that insists they’re on a detox as soon as January hits and then proceeds to do nothing but talk about food until they finally give in and binge on a cocktail of pizza and brioche bread. I’m just an asshole.
This realisation came to me today when the term “YOLO” slipped out of my mouth mid-conversation. I should have known I was on a downwards spiral after my overuse of the wink emoticon in 2012: the next thing you know I’ll be doing a Zac Efron and getting it tattooed. I can only blame myself, I’ve been willingly corrupted by Rihanna and the Tumblr generation and have lost all control of my faculties: it’s the only explanation!
If anyone out there knows the cure for such a disease, please do not hesitate to contact me. I’ll be in the corner reading a dictionary and hoping for a miracle. ROFL.