I think I have a fat ass.
I could be wrong, but I think I have a fat ass.
I’ve noticed recently that my futon is not as happy fun comfortable as say, last month. I thought maybe it was ‘cuz the foamy cushiony layer of the futon was not as foamy cushiony as it should be. Remembering that I still had an extra foamy cushiony thing left over from when Jacob and Darya still lived here, I decided to locate it and put it to use. I felt quite smart. It seemed like it just might work out; I mean, come on, two foamy cushiony things? How could it go wrong?
Little did I know that this simple, seemingly innocuous act would lead to his imminent death. (What? What? Hey! HELLOOO! What? Why? Why MY death? HELLO? Excuse me? WHEN?)
I mean, little did I know that in fact I just have a fat ass.
When I went to bed last night, I couldn’t help but notice I had little choice in where I settled on the futon. In fact, when I attempted to investigate the matter further it seemed there was a slight indentation, a depression if you will, in the actual futon. It’s not like it’s the Grand Canyon of anything, one could call it a lovely little nest. I just think it means I have a fat ass. I’d be upset about it if I didn’t find it so damn funny! Seriously! I still need a belt to hold up most of my pants but there’s a depression in my futon?! How could you NOT laugh?
So yeah.
I think I have a fat ass.