> operation epic failure: the angler

Saw an Asian mom at the 7-Eleven who was right on the edge. Head turned one way: woman who could make me want a haircut. Head turned the other: suddenly I'm asking if she's seen my mother, who is also a disaster but at least not a stranger in the slushie aisle.

It was the head thing. Like an angler fish but with hair and a phone case. She wasn't giving me signs. She was giving me lighting hazards.

I stood there holding a Hot Pocket and two packets of gum like a feral bachelor, and my brain concluded the correct answer was that I would still lick her butthole. Beggars can't be choosers. More like: I wasn't a beggar. I was the bowl.

She left. I ate the Hot Pocket in the parking lot.