I tried these Eggo Minis, which are supposed to be smaller, bite-sized versions of the regular Eggo Waffles. But, as with most American promises, this one fell short. The Minis taste different than the big ones. It's not a drastic taste difference, but everybody 'round the office agrees that there is a noticeable difference.
The American General Sanchez amuses me. He hates it when I walk over to the cage we keep him in and give him noogies (called Falazalahas here in Iraq) and call him Dirty Sanchez. So fun, so fun.
I think there are still American troops afoot in the neighborhood. Somebody keyed my fucking Tiburon last week. Savages.
What's worse is that it happened in the parking lot of a porno theatre downtown. I was in there getting a BJ from a stranger through something called a "glory hole." Could've been a man for all I know, though the absence of a moustache tells me otherwise. Not many Iraqi men have bare upper lips. I don't, but like I've said before, I lost it in a poker game. Anyway, after discharging my climax fluids in the stranger's mouth, I felt such a tremendous amount of shame. I went in there because my wife is just, I don't know, like a complete stranger now. She's never home, and when she is, she hardly touches me. Normally when I commit adultery, it's in the context of one of Uday's orgies, in plain view, but this time, sneaking around, it just felt dirty. So I'm walking to my car, feeling the lowest I've felt in a long time, even contemplating hanging myself when I got home, and there's this long gorge taken out of my car's paint, from front to rear all along the left side. Ugh. Such a shitty night.
Oh, I'm feeling better now, I'm not going to kill myself. I remember growing up the mullahs told me that if you kill yourself, you still go to paradise, and there are still 72 virgins, but they're really prude and won't do anything cool like threesomes or anal. As far as I'm concerned, that's not paradise at all.