My chili is awesome
Seriously. My chili is so fucking great. It’s one of the best things I make. Ok, it’s one of the only things I make. My mom used to tell me that her meatloaf was the best in the world. She’s got meatloaf; I’ve got chili. Which is fine by me because meatloaf is essentially meat puked up in a loaf pan and served hot. Sometimes with ketchup. Maybe that’s why my mom hates me... cause I hate her meatloaf. I could definitely see hating someone if they didn’t like my chili. Cause they deserve it. Sure, it’s kind of bratty. But that’s sort of what my mom has said she hates about me. And fuck yeah, I’m a brat. Like today I went shopping and found a shirt I really liked, but not in my size. I asked the worker lady if she had a smaller size in back. She went and checked. When she came back out and told me, "No", I began pouting. I dragged my feet into the fitting room to try on the shirt, knowing full well it’d be too big. And after trying it on and seeing what a shirt is not supposed to look like on a person, I threw the too big shirt on the floor, put my own shirt back on while making a series of loud huffy noises, and stormed out of the store. Why? Cause girls have what’s called estrogen. Surely it’s what the fucking devil is made of, if he exists, because estrogen is the most fucked up shit on earth. And it is what makes women intolerably nuts at least once a month. And if you don’t believe me, hang out with a woman for a month and fucking find out, asshole.
But on my way back from the store, I picked up the ingredients to make chili. The end. Why am I still writing here?