Light Hawaiian Punch will give you diabeetes. Apparently.

Before I launch into my story of irratibility, here is a fancy whiteboard presentation I have set up just for you.

 

You can't see it, but that Hawaiian Punch is far over halfway filled.

 

This is not my coke bottle. I have not had coke in... About a month.

 

That Pikachu wasn't drawn by me, but it was drawn just for me. And now for you, too.

I think my math is a bit off...

 

Fucker seriously leaned in just to tell me this little "secret."

NOW FOR THE STORY.

As I have previously mentioned, I work for minimum wage in a retail environment. Because I am a wage slave human employee, I had to fight fo my right just to keep my Hawaiian Punch out. I am also the one checking out every single customer, and answering the phones, and dealing with other customers' problems whilst I have a sore throat and a pretty dysmal cough.

So I took a sip of my Hawaiian Punch because my manager person started fussing at me for not answering the phone, because HEAVEN FORBID MY THROAT DRIES UP TOO.  Because of this sip (though it's hard to "sip" out of a gigantic jug larger than my head), the customer I was checking out leaned in close to me.

Customer: "Can I tell you a little secret?"

me: "Uh... Sure?"

Jackass: "You know something with that many grams of sugar in it will lead to early onset of Diabeetes."

me: ".... Thanks."

Fork-Rapee: "Just wanted you to know."

I have issues with my image, and my grandmother had diabeetes. Also, I am a stubborn person, and just because of what this guy said, I plan to eat sugar cubes in front of him next time while crying out "I can't avoid it anyway, might as well get it over with now."

And now for proof that I am not the blob:

 

I am protecting that TV box, because damnit I'm moving soon.

I am damn well sexy, even when being a bear.

Pen Tablet

About once a week, I manage to loose the pen to my tablet.

 

It must be under the blanket!

It stays lost for a month or so. But when I go to draw something, realization hits me. Something must be holding all my drawing utensils hostage. I search for clues to find the culprit.

 

I don't know what on earth this is, but I must consider it a suspect.

For a long while I am depressed. By depressed I mean "mildly upset that I can't draw." It has been weeks and not even a ransom note has appeared on my doorstep. Well, it might have arrived in the mail, but the damn mailman doesn't give anyone the right mail.

Either way, there has been no follow-up that I know of.

Because getting a whole new tablet is NOT an overreaction to loosing a pen.

I wonder if it's worth the money to get a new pen, or worth the heartache to get a tablet where the pen is attached. But it wouldn't be the same. My old pen was special, and had a name... It's name was Bep. Nothing could replace Bep. So I decided to draw using permanent marker. And continue my search for Bep.

 

Right after I get to a save point, I'll scour the couch cushons to see if he's there.