I Smell Ice-Cream

I've decided to become an ice-cream man. This decision came quite easily when I figured out how to make a lot of money doing it. I'm going to be the Midnight Ice-Cream Man. I'll come driving down the street in the middle of the night in my awesome black ice-cream truck with flames on the side and sad love songs blaring out into the street. See, I figure that little kids are a decent demographic as they love ice-cream, but little kids don't have disposable income (this is excluding the money that they may have made shamefully "working" for their Uncle Cleetus). People who do have money to spend are the adults who are at home alone in the middle of the night depressed to all hell over the lonely pit of despair and monotony their life has become. They promised themselves they'd stop eating after 7 p.m., but once they hear Foreigner's" I wanna know what love is...I want you to show me..." coming from the streets, their eyes will fill with tears, their heart will fill with sorrow, so their stomach must be filled with some delicious Marble Fudge. It'll be a varitable cornucopia of bathrobes and hair curlers crowded in the streets waiting at my "Make the Bad Feelings Go Away Machine." The name's a little wordy, but it gets the point across.

Today was a good day. I saw a toddler hurt itself, so all is right in the world. I'm positive Jesus loves me.

Interesting thought of the day:
Contrary to popular belief, you are not what you eat--otherwise, I'd be seven homeless men and a pitbull fetus.