Me Likey

Not that you care, but I like:

Breakfast tacos. This is a no-brainer in my book. Eggs, cheese, and bacon all wrapped up in a warm tortilla, served in aluminum foil. No silverware needed. You are served best with black coffee.

Black coffee. Oh how you make my mornings go. You are the "do it" juice that my body simply refuses to manufacture on its own. You rule me before 11am. I do not look forward to the headaches you will toss my way once I start experimenting with the idea of severing our morning rendezvous. You are served best with aluminum-wrapped breakfast tacos.

Halloween. I love you for the simple fact that Hallmark has tried, but honestly failed to hijack you, my fondest of pagan holidays. When else can one dress like a Optimus Prime? I LOVE Optimus Prime. Now there's a real leader.

Optimus Prime. That fuckin' guy, robot, whatever, is the total shit. When he transforms from truck to antennae-eared leader of energon cube-wrangling Autobots, his trailer magically disappears. NO ONE else can claim that. Who is badass? O.P. is, that's who.

Jogger's high. Yeah, I know, it is actually Runner's High. But fuck it. My run is a fast walking-kinda-trotting-don't-fuck-up-the-knees type of jog. I'm no Bruce freakin' Jenner, and neither are you. The high feels better than a KB toke followed by a split-case of PBR with your best friend. Now that is high.

Heavy watches. Good heft in a timepiece says: I like sexy time. Drop that featherweight G-Shock and get laid (if by no one but yourself).

Vibrate. I've never heard what my cell phone sounds like, and I don't care to. Whenever I hear other people's phones, my arm makes an involuntary "stabbing" motion. Besides, it brightens my day when you call and it massages my right nut.

Saying “later”. So much better than “good bye”. Do you never plan to see each other again or what? I will see your ass “later”, and we’re both cool with that. “Good bye” is the salutation of a dead man.

Festival beer. I don’t have to carry a heavy-ass igloo to the park. Beer-tickets help me forget that getting drunk costs real money. Getting tanked in public, in the sun, and riding rusty rides manned by two-toothed loons with family trees that don’t branch is more fun than sky diving with the Dali Lama. There’s special dirt in every Solo cup.

Later, likes.