Assuming the IRS doesn’t reject my tax return, I owe the founder of Turbo Tax a blow job* or some other equally rare and wonderfully pleasurable treat.
In other news, I finally tackled the colossal dirty laundry blob that was overtaking my life. It was so big, Paquita climbed on top and looked me in the eye. I’m 5’10” tall. She’s a tiny dog. It cost $5.50 and 1.5 hours of my life. Was that so bad? I suddenly feel like I have a whole new wardrobe and I won’t be ashamed to have my heirs (HA!) dig through my things in the event of my sudden death. What a great feeling! I owe myself a blow job**.
I still haven’t sold my car due to my immeasurable laziness at facing a daunting task. If I sold it, I would save myself $600 a month. Don’t you think that’s reason enough to take selling it seriously? I’m a self-defeating ass.
* Mom, “blow job” is what kids these days are calling ice cream cones. No worries.
** Again, Mom, think “ice cream cones”.