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Strange Cravings before/after I have been having cravings lately that have been staying with me for days on end until I satisfy them. It started with reeses peanut butter cups. That faded after I ate a few. Then milky way. Then a general caramel craving. I'm not a big fan of sweets. A grape soda wave hit me, and has stayed until I capitulated yesterday. The final sin is beef ravioli. Fucking beef raviloi. Chef Boyardee. This is a particular blight, because I am becoming aware, although I have not pulled it off, that the supermarket, the right supermarket, is a fine place to meet girls. I want to pick up a girl at the grocery store. It makes sense, because you give a lot of info out at the market place, whether you intend to or not. Specifically, your healthy eating traits and availability status. I give a fuck about healthy eating traits, but availability is key. If a girl is cruising around with a cart full of food and kitty litter, its a safe bet she's got something at home. But if she's looking at frozen dinners, or preparing what looks to be a small solo meal, ah, there's a prospect. However, a man gets no love when he has Chef Boyardee Beef Ravioli with Meat Sauce in his basket. None at all. I made eye contact with this girl, and sized her up rather quickly. She looked...okay. No real attraction for me. Not that tug that says, 'You must talk to this girl'. She saw me. Her eyes lit a little, and she seemed interested. So I turned away and ducked down an aisle to be swallowed by the siren song of the Chef Boyardee's Beef Ravioli and Meat Sauce. I couldn't help myself, and before I knew it, I was putting a can in my basket. At that moment, she stepped into my aisle, and saw what I was doing. I felt like a pedophile who'd just been caught in the middle of his inexplicably horrible deeds. She saw the ravioli, sniffed, turned her head up at me and walked away. Chef Boyardee's Beef Ravioli with Meat Sauce Boy Gets No Love. Wish I knew where these cravings were coming from. Maybe I'm pregnant. Which is a surprise, as I have no vagina. I am glad I don't have a vagina, because I think I wouldn't like being penetrated. I don't like being penetrated now, as is, in any way, shape or form. And the thought of someone clamboring on top of me to stick something in me, huffing and puffing, sweating and grunting would likely make me laugh, and then repulse me. The unfortunate aspect of all of this, is that if I am pregnant, I will have to squeeze said baby out my urethra, and that will not be pleasant at all. It will split my cock like an overripe tomato. Likely I'll hold it against the kid. I'm sure we'd all like to bathe in the glory of parenthood, and the seemingly saintly feelings that this engenders, but I have to say, brother, if I squeeze a watermelon out of my penis, I'm going to be one sour son-of-a-bitch.
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