Thanks, Forrest! Now run the fuck away!

I’ve been thinking.  Yes, it is a highly dangerous past time of mine that I delve into quite frequently.  I realize you’re shocked, but deal with it and move on.

Moved on?  Good.

So, my great epiphany?  Life really is just like a box of chocolates because, you know what, you don’t know just what you’re gonna get.  Especially if it’s a box of chocolates given to you by your ex-wife who you cheated on three times and the chick you got pregnant decided you needed to pay child support but instead of actually telling you to pay child support she decided to accidentally bump into your wife at the hair salon and throw a fit about how she’s been trying to steal her man and that she’s gots a baby to support, bitch, and she ain’t gonna let some stupid-weave-wearing-bimbo-slut steal her baby’s college education or her man!***

Yeah, if that chick gave you a box of chocolates, that would be exactly what life was like: filled with rat poison, razor blades, cyanide, arsenic, exlax, lye, ricin, belladonna, tetrodotoxin, hemlock, strychnine, and, of course, poo.

I guess that was the box of chocolates I opened this year.

***Note: I do not know this from experience.  Really, I swear, my best friend’s sister’s boyfriend’s brother’s girlfriend heard from this guy who knows this kid who’s going with the girl who saw something like this happen at a hair salon my cousin’s uncle’s mother’s nephew’s male-lover applied at once.

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