I’ve decided that the male voice of our building’s elevators is malicious. I mean, I hardly think that it’s a good thing to hear a menacing, robotic voice telling me I’m “going down”! That just sounds like a threat to me. They should just add “Sucka” to the end of the voice recording and be done with it! Can you imagine?
You push the button with the down arrow picture on it, and the doors of the elevator open, warmly inviting you in…so you think. Then, you press the button representing your desired floor, and the doors promptly CLOSE, trapping you inside the metal box, and a robotic voice exclaims, “You’re Going Down, SUCKA!”
Actually…they really should set the elevators up like that. It’d be hilarious!
Why has nothing been invented to alter taste buds? I would love it if I could make cauliflower taste like Doritos. I would eat ALL THE CAULIFLOWER. What else? Oh! I want this taste-bud alter machine to also have texture capabilities…..anything soggy would be perceived as crunchy! YES!!!!
Someone invent this…and then give me one…for Christmas. Thanks!
Last night, I had a weird dream. I’ll spare the details, but the gist of it is this:
Shannon and I bought a pig in Asia for a pet. We brought it home. I had a whole section of our deck set up for our new, little pet, complete with a blown up vanity. (I don’t know why.) After bringing our little guy home, Shannon reads that there’s some disease that he can get, and now we have to get rid of the pig. But I argue that the article he read says that the only way the pig will catch the disease is if we feed him an incredibly large amount of cake, and as long as we just never give him cake, we’ll be fine. Shannon still doesn’t want to take that chance, and I’m all upset and trying to figure out how to keep our pig…..then I wake up.