I have never been caught with my hand in the cookie jar. Would have, but do not have such a jar. If I want cookies, by God...! The other kind, the kind you generate by visiting this page, are infinitely sweeter. Those web cookies help the Amazon Primers and Vulgar Grads in digital Silicon Valleys all over the world to know, without a doubt, that I thought about pickup trucks for 1 minute 32 seconds yesterday. And that I want a black one. Not 4WD.
Wicker chairs too. A lot wicker. And teak oil. Which contracts to T'oil.
So, we all leave this trail of desire called 'Cookies.' And the cookie monsters aka Al Gore rhythms in stuffy dig it all closet cubicles seek quasi benignly to grant our outermost wishes. Sex, not love. Recipes AND meals. The presents, not the pasts. New arms and legs, and no head.
I am told it's all about followers. And heaven help us when they actually catch us!
More sugar! doh!
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