It was bound to happen—I've got too much sugar in my diet. And the Sahara is a little sandy. The funny thing is, I'm supposed to give up milk and juice, but no one said anything about candy. And don't eat too much fruit they tell me. Then the nurse says something to the effect of, "I don't think that will be a problem for you."
So I reported her to the Italian Dairyman's Association and they stuck a box of decapitated cheese cows under her pillow.
I went to the Mount Horeb Fall Festival in search of Norske sweets anyway, and just as my cousin (pictured above) called and asked between groans (she was listening to the Badger game) if I'd seen any llamas and I asked her if she'd been drinking (a safe bet for anyone who shares our bloodline) there they were. The weed face below is named Kiwi. Is there no escaping the evil grasp of fruit?
I was too depleted from the lack of sucrose and 86 degree October weather to continue my search for Norwegian sugar, but to celebrate the new diet I traded in my bag of Craisens for a bag of gummy body parts from Walgreens. They're nasty and taste of citrus (again with the fruit). I've had a nose and a few eyeballs that look like this photo, but I haven't been able to take any pictures of my own—laziness, a life laced with a little too much crazy, I and won't talk about my hillbilly neighbor who daily hoses off her balcony and ruined photos I was trying to shoot. Let's call her Britney. Coincidentally her "K-Fed" "moved out" recently, although he's not above the four day weekend booty call. You didn't hear it from me.
And speaking of gummy body parts, a quick search brings up a Sour Patch Chewy Candy Tongue—which now I must have—mango Crazy Hair, and a game called "Eyeball Splat." Maybe I can have some Crazy Hair if I don't drink my milk.