How I got to smell like peanut butter and other tales from hermitude

First of all, I smell like peanut butter. Again, this is not a complaint, merely a statement of fact. I’ve been subsisting on bread and peanut butter for the past two days. Not because there’s no other food here, but only because Sister #4 brought over all this great bread for dinner the other night and left it here. And well, if you warm it up a bit in the micro and then spread some peanut butter on it, it’s truly divine. There’s just one occupational hazard, melty peanut butter that could spill on your shirt and leave you smelling of peanut butter.

So anyway, I didn’t come here to tell you about peanut butter. Instead I was going to tell you about how I think I’m in love with Richard Lange‘s Dead Boys. But then I got totally waylaid into reading all about what a scam Kinoki foot pads are and now I’ve lost my train of thought. You just can’t jump from toxin-removing foot pads to a thoughtful piece about a short story collection. It goes against the laws of nature.

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