cookies soothe the pain of rape

Yesterday started out innocent; yesterday started out without the rolling chill of impending doom. However, now that I think of it, I suppose lunchtime could have been a bad omen of what was to come. Instead of using text, I'll draw you a picture.

Eggs Are Organic Grenades

Hi. I'm Kate. I'm all hungry and shit.

Son of a --! All we have is a godforsaken heel! (If the lack of food were alive, he'd look like this -- a zombie in a potato sack.)

Bah. Now I'll have to make eggs. (This is the misfortune fairy.) HEE!

GAK! THE EGG BROKE IN THE CARTON! (Egg explosion!) (Some nameless folk come to chuckle at me -- namely parents and hobby-less elderly.)

Yolk drips down my fingers and face and now I have to throw the carton away and put the leftover eggs in a BAGGIE! (Airborne axe noises!) (Unfortunately, Kate's wrath ends in a casualty... I always thought Duck Hunt was better, anyway. At least the ducks sensed that the pink-clad princess of the fungi people would need to be saved every few years or so and thus wasn't worth dying repeatedly and smoking shrooms for.)

Eggs are cold-hearted traitors. And if you ever grow up to work for Nintendo, remember -- I'd rather play a game where you fix sinks and toilets and escape from shit monsters instead of rescuing a princess who may or may not win a heated debate against a damp stone and who makes me a goddamn cake after I've just raped by a turtle the size of an 18-wheeler.

Make your own NES Comic!

After that, I sat online, then watched TV. Pat came over around five, and once he was here we sat online, then watched TV. Oh, and I took a quiz. Two quizzes, actually, but the second one was lost among the myriad of windows I had open at the time. I was the French Revolution, though, because of the mass amounts of carnage.

"The girl next door, through and through! You have a kind heart and a good sense of right and wrong. Your down-to-earth nature doesn't allow yourself to become swayed by petty distractions. Your pretty face and a sweet soul draws admiration and respect from everyone around you! Do be cautious that you don't become blinded by your morals and ideals. Sometimes, to get along with others, you must be willing to compromise and offer a little understanding." Which Love Hina Girl Are You?

Somehow the usage of "kind heart" and "sweet soul" make me wonder if this person has perhaps seen the Love Hina series, because phrases like those bring back memories of seeing Naru kick Keitaro smack in the face so hard that he flew miles away and became a quivering, apologizing mess when the slightest threat of punishment ala Naru arose. The entire circle repeated at least once every episode.

Anyway, Pat had to leave earlier than usual last night given that he works double shift today from 7am to 11pm, so he left for home around 7pm last night to ensure he got plenty of sleep.

Resa and I made plans to walk up to the SA and buy a Snapple, but halfway there we changed our minds and thought treading to FuncoLand to visit Dave and Joel (another employee at the said establishment) would be a better idea.

This is where the day started rolling downhill.

Normally it's fun visiting them at work, but this time it was an hour before closing and they were stressed and angry from a long day of stocking new shipments of video games and tagging ones that had been bought back.

At one point, a man came in and tried initiating conversation repeatedly due to his obvious ignorance towards video games and seeing the stacks of N64s on the shelf. He told Dave and Joel that they were "snobby," something else about what he would've done, that he was going to talk to their manager, and then as he walked out the door he declared he'd see them in bankruptcy court.

After the door shut, Dave continued shrink-wrapping the N64 he had been attending to, and Joel proceeded with his round of Dance Dance Revolution.

Resa and I left once closing time arrived. Walking through the relatively empty parking lot towards our homes. A truck barreled by, and a guy stuck his entire upper body out the window and called out something to us after honking a few times. Resa and I have been honked at many a time during the day and often hold sarcastic conversations over how inconceivably hot we are and how we're surprised our good looks don't cause car accidents, so at the time it made sense to wave back and what-have-you as thanks for the compliment and noticing and whatnot.

However, within seconds it because obvious that these truck-driving folk were a few clowns short of the circus, and they peeled into the parking lot and sped towards us. We then realized that we were now dancing upon the fine line of being complimented and rape.

"We should run," Resa inserted.

"Yeah." We bolted to the sidewalk and further down the street, where businesses were still open and people were driving past. Our pursuers followed and yelled for us to get into the car, but when they noticed we were fleeing they backed up and headed towards us at full speed. As they drove past us on the sidewalk, they swore and screamed at us, and rounded the block once or twice more to repeat the gesture of love.

As we continued down the street, cars repeatedly honked at us, something that we would've normally found flattering, except that we had almost been raped minutes before. Even though we laughed, it was a defense mechanism to downplay our fear over what could've happened to us. A car full of boys exiting the video rental store's parking lot rolled down the window and said something in a coaxing voice to us, and Resa and I immediately stopped, following a new path that remained outside of a ten-foot radius of their car.

"Fine, fuck it," the boy replied when he saw we were extremely uninterested. I sincerely thanked him, though I think it may have confused him.

It took us a half hour to walk to Fazoli's, an Italian fast food chain where Rick was working until closing last night. We stayed there till he got off work and then begged him for a ride home so no more sick fucks wouldn't hit on us during their drug-induced state. He agreed, but had to finish attending to his workly duties for another hour before he was allowed to leave.

While Resa and I waited for Rick to finish wiping off trays and such, we seated ourselves at a table, and there sat a little ad for their "home-baked" cookies that were baked in their ovens daily. I wondered how they could be home-baked when, later in the same blurb, they said they were made daily at Fazoli's. Regardless, since the ad was directly in front of me, I couldn't help but read it several times and stare at the depicted cookies.

I wanted a fucking cookie. Unfortunately, since closing time was drawing near, there weren't any to be had at Fazoli's.

So, instead of going directly home, we swung by a Subway whose closing time wasn't for another hour. I think the guy behind the counter became immensely and utterly confused when I skipped the entire bar of food and paced straight to the register. He asked if he could help me, and I told him all I wanted was a cookie. As he approached the register, another man came out of the kitchen saying he would handle things.

"So, you think you deserve a cookie?" he asked me.

"I think I do," I replied, deciding against announcing that Resa and I had almost been raped.

"Well, which one do you want?" he queried, gesturing towards the case full of different kinds of saran-wrapped cookies.

"This one."

"M&M and chocolate chip?"

"That would be the one."

"You can get three of them for $1.27."

"Sure!" Fazoli's sells one cookie for about that much, and Resa said hers wasn't completely cooked and dough oozed from the cracks when poked.

I handed Resa a cookie, but Rick didn't want one.

I had them with milk once I got home.