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I didn't feel like posting yesterday, even though I've got a bunch of little things that I've been wanting to write and plenty of time on my hands. I'm not particularly keen on writing today either, but I figure it's the best way to distract myself.
This weekend, Wonfuzius and I came up with a new random phrase to add on to the end of sentences. It goes: "...and I wasn't even thinking about black people at all." You kind of have to pause slightly for effect after the word "people". You can say it after lots of stuff. With time, I hope that it will become the new "yeah, that's what your mom said last night." Cross your fingers...
Remember when I told y'all about how Papa Schmidt somehow got the idea in his head that I like to drink dishwashing liquid? As slightly disturbing as that was, I didn't have too much of a problem dealing with it, since Papa Schmidt seems to be the only person with this idea of me in his head.
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What kinda freaks me out more are all the people who subtly (and not so subtly) imply that I am addicted to crack. For the life of me, I can't remember how this got started and even admitting my inability to remember probably would just add more fuel to the fire. All I know, is that people keep telling me, "This is not for crack" or "That is not for crack either" or "Hey Raven, put down that crack pipe, it's not for crack." Whether it's a 50 cent piece with the words "Not for crack" written in marker on it or the lovely wooden box that I got for my birthday that I'm not supposed to use for storing crack, people seem to think that this is something that I constantly need to be reminded of.
By the way, I'm no expert or anything, but I don't even think that 50 cents could even purchase that much crack.
That said, 50 cents will allow you to purchase a bag of Krack Nuggets from the vending machines in the Altona S-Bahn station. As you can see, Krack Nuggets are peanuts in a batter-type shell. Even better, they've been around since freakin 1920. As I stood transfixed in front of the machine, I couldn't help but think back to that day in Dresden (2 years ago) when Wonfuzius patted me on the head and said, "Could you mail this postcard for me? Here's 50 cents...and don't spend it on crack."
I dug around in my pocket for some change and, sure enough, the requisite amount was there. Even if this particular coin had had the words "Not for crack" written on it -- which it didn't -- at the very least, it would have had to have the word "crack" spelled with a "k" and, at the most, the words "Not for Krack Nuggets".
As there were no words on the coin...I went ahead and scored me some krack... nuggets.
They are quite the delectable little treat. Much more so than the likewise questionably-named (and packaged) candy known as Spunk -- which just tastes all nasty and licorice-y.
Spunk is just a funny name for an otherwise pretty lame product. Krack Nuggets, on the other hand, are where it's at. It's called krack and it kinda looks like crack. And was apparently around for some 60 odd years before the actual crack epidemic.
It's like they had some kinda psychic working for them.
Negrodamus, perhaps?
Just kidding.
I wasn't even thinking of black people...at all.
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