Thursday was supposed to be my last day at work, BUT  I have wearily agreed to stay an extra couple of days (i know, I’m a sucker!). Since leaving early on Thursday for the three day weekend, I have tried to pretend that my hiatus has already started. Therefore, I have been semi-celebrating.

I wish I could go full force and celebrate without the doom of Monday looming over me, but alas, I am a terrible liar. Then again, this excruciating turn of events has given me TWO, count em TWO, opportunities for gluttonous merrymaking.

In this first installment, I have held back from riotous, public displays of abandon, and instead opted for private caveman style gorging. For the last two days, I have mainly subsisted on fried chicken, candy, and wine. This heady combination of animal fat, sugar, and grown up grape juice has left me with several deep thoughts:

1. The FDA, CDC, TABC, DEA, and ATF should all investigate Frenchy’s Fried Chicken for injecting vodka marinated heroin into their glorious, crunchy birds. Because, although I’ve never taken a ride on the powdery white horse, I can only imagine the journey is a good as sinking your teeth into a piece of Frenchy’s crunchy, salty, spicy little pieces of heaven. I have this image of a SWAT team breaking down the back door to Frenchy’s and revealing a gang of tatted out chickens with bandannas juicing up with said concoction. The ring leader of which, attempts to bribe the (insert acronym here) government official with a  member of his brethren and a promise to never crisp up in this neighborhood again.
2. Black licorice makes a great palate cleanser and really helps bring out the subtle nuances between sour gummy worms, sour ribbons, and sour patch kids.
3. My spelling is more deplorable than normal after a vat of wine and a sugar crash.
4. My capacity to lapse into a nauseous chicken fried coma and then wake up craving it in it’s cold, day-old state is disturbing. Will I EVER tire of it?

Read the next post Gluttonous Merrymaking, Part Deux