You know when you take a shit and it’s sort of gray and perfectly cylindrical? Like Shit From The Future? Ha ha yeah me neither. Yeah.

I eat lunch by (this is an unrelated story by the way OR IS IT) as I was saying I eat lunch by this marina and today as I walked on over to the garbage can — singing a ditty* — I saw, on the ground: cigarette butts, plastic bottle of vodka (empty), an assortment of beer bottle caps, a 40 oz (half-filled with pee or pee-colored liquid), a couple of smashed light bulbs (?), and a used condom. And then I did the Shawshank where you reach toward the heavens and just flat-out exult in the majesty that is life.

This is all backstory to show you how I take real life and store it away for future use, because later on I’m in a meeting and it goes:

“You know what, I like this new coffee they’ve got in the kitchen now.”

And I’m all: “I don’t drink coffee.”

“You don’t drink coffee.”

“Yeah no.”

“What about tea.”

“No, and I’ve had this conversation around 90 kajillion times.”

“Then what do you drink.”

“I like private label vodka, like in a plastic jug? Something with a handle.”

Private label meaning store-brand. I hope I’m not being condescending adding this explanation but I want these quotations to be accurate (for my biographer) (who right now is an imaginary fat kid named Marty who’s doing an extra-credit project but will hopefully someday be somebody non-fictional and maybe at least a little leggy) and I sure didn’t know what private label meant until recently. THE ENDING.

*”Tonight / I’ll be your naughty girl / I’m callin all my girls / We’re gonna turn this puppy [sic] out”