If You Eat Beef, Mister, I’ll Eat Pork

Sitting for two hours* waiting to get my Ohio car inspected for use in New Jersey is not my idea of a great afternoon. Getting a job or at least doing a nice drawing or writing a cute song would be good things to do. But no, I had to watch the guy who looked and sounded like Peter from Family Guy (a show I don’t really like all that much) talk to himself when he wasn’t lecturing me or chatting up the bleach blond slag behind me in line. And then it rained more.

* In the rain, I might add.