I think my chicken nuggets are talking to me. They are telling me to kill. I don't want to kill, I just want to taste the sweetness of the sour sauce spread across my chicken's nugget like a line of coke on Lindsay Lohan's mirror. Now they are teasing me. They laugh at me and spit on me and call me stupid and say I can't read good. I am now consumed by a holy war with my chicken nuggets, and they are emerging victorious. There will be no treaty. No surrender. No mercy. This year will mark the beginning of the end, the start of a tyrannical rule by force and deliciousness and unavoidable cholesterol, all accompanied by a vast selection of sauces to drown our misery. Damn you dirty nuggets, damn you all to hell.
I think I have too much time on hands.
I never gave up trying, I did everything for you.