There are toe rings, pinky rings, thumb rings, and even rings of candy,
Have you ever had a wet dream about pork sausage links or bacon-wrapped meatloaf? If so you might be like our stud Chuck Mcdonald. He is a lovely man who's dating profile says, “Country man with salt-pepper hair. Tall, dark, handsome, and weighing in at six hundred pounds.” Chuck lives at home with his mother and together they own and run a pig farm. To be honest, you can’t tell the two animals apart. His addiction isn’t heroin or any drug like that, but grease, it was his aphrodisiac. Chuck is not a jolly Saint Nick, instead he is a bitter man just looking for his next meal, who can make anyone lose their appetite and puts a new definition to the phrase, “You are what you eat.”
“Well, well, well, we meet again.”
“Thanks for letting me crash your Christmas Eve Party. Nice house you have,” I sat on the couch across from the hosts of the party and was on my third or fourth eggnog. It was ten-thirty at night and the other partygoers were long gone by this point. The same cheerful Christmas songs played over and over again.
Students sat slack-jawed, absorbing the absurdity of the professor's expectations. Pencils hit the papers with force, but erasers hit harder with attempts to hide the bullshit lines that were scribbled. All were desperate attempts to please the professor and to feel adequate.