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Where The Fudge Is It?

It’s an age old question, “Where’s the cookie jar?” but in my case, the cookie jar is proving more elusive than Waldo himself.
At first, there was just a nagging notion that it was missing, I’d already stomached several cookies and so felt no urge to scrounge. But then came the hunger and then came the crushing disappointment over an inability to locate sweetened dough. 
All this to then have Darwin Deez smugly inform me, that I’m a Radar Detector. I’m clearly not Mr. Darwin, as a glass jar, in all it’s intelligence has successfully hidden from me. Oh and people think your hair looks silly and you smell like stale wee-wee and burnt hair.
KaPow. Maybe just KaPoo, slightly less plosive.


Breathe… Out of sight, out of mind (And most definitely out of belly). Moving away from cookie ineptitude and towards more positive things my Mother will be joining me soon! It makes no difference to anyone reading this, but she’s very cute, and I am somewhat of a Mamma’s boy. Despite my outwardly manly behaviour and testosterone-fueled demeanour. Surprising I know, but you need to come to terms with this, Audience. To illustrate her cuteness, here’s a picture of her dressed as Velma with her partner dressed as Peter Pan!
I’m going to be in so much trouble for this!
(But I won’t really because I asked permission……) 

Oh and before you ask (Which nobody will). They’re not fudge cookies, it’s just a pun in the title. Idiot.

Excuse me now, whilst I find some dough to molest with my mouth.
That’s right, Cookies HATE being eaten. And you do it too, you monster.