The Apocalypse is upon us.
I have heard the noise of thunder, and I have seen the pale horse…
Raising Cane’s Chicken Fingers has raised its prices.
You might want to make your peace with God — now.
You all know I am a lover of fried anything, and it just so happens that Cane’s has been a staple in my diet going on four years now.
There was a span of three months during my freshman year when I dined at Cane’s a total of 53 times.
I love Cane’s.
“Box combo. Cut the slaw. Extra toast with a Dr. Pepper.”
That’s basically my life philosophy.
But, the best thing about Cane’s WAS a box combo cost you an even six bucks.
When you were poor and hungry, you always knew if you could get your hands on six bucks you were golden.
Six bucks. That’s only 24 quarters.
And, usually you can manage to swing at least two bills, so that cuts the quarter count down to 16.
Now, a box combo will cost you six dollars and 53 cents.
53 cents? What the hell?
Needless to say, I’m a bit distraught.
Anywho, it’s dead week, and I think I know why it’s referred to as “dead” week. Because you’d rather be shot in the face than finish everything before the last day of classes.
Maybe it’s just my extreme procrastination kicking me in the ass, but trying to fit an entire semester’s worth of reading in five days sucks.
So cage dancers are pretty cool. Twelve feet of leg and Katy’s stomach. At least that’s what they’re calling the performance.
So, I’ve seen six feet of the legs, but I have yet to meet Katy or her stomach, which rumor has is worth the price of the ticket.
I’ve been hanging from my knees for about 454 minutes now, and I’m starting to feel a bit heavy headed.
I’m doing this because my friend Mark F. Bonner said it would help to stay awake and attentive during “hell week.”
Next time I’ll just try an adderall.
Kids, I’m just joking. Drugs are bad. Real bad. Real bad!
Aw, who am I kidding?
Next week I’m going to visit my Guru in the Painted Desert to trip on peyote. Just kidding, Mom.
Have fun kids … a lot of fun.
Seriously though, what makes us think that a winner of a talent competition makes you an American Idol?
Janis Joplin was an American Idol.
Elvis was an American Idol.
Kelly Clarkson is a pretty girl, but come on people … you have to be addicted to and die from some sort of drug to be an American Idol.
Now Clay Aiken, he’s on the smack.