Mixing of the cultures...only with food.

I am not dead! Rejoice with me!

Say "Halle-fucking-lujah, Rachel!" with me 20 times!

Is this blasphemous?

I come to you today with a story of lunch. A lunch long since past, like maybe 5 minutes ago:

"Once upon a normal noon where clouds were saying, "fuck you, too", I noticed it was time for lunch, and with haste, set my paperwork down in an array of fuck. I traversed to the office fridge, battling the cool A/C and random wine boxes (and for you adventurers there was much blood to be had). I dueled with the fridge handle for merely a moment and finally laid eyes upon my home-packed lunch. I could see with disdain that the Boyfriend had been there first, stealing my precious Frito Lays and leaving me with the Nacho Doritos. I muttered a curse to his name, his future children, and his dog, before hauling my find off to my cluttered desk. What was I to do with a measly PB&J and serving size bag of Doritos? I pondered as I sent out an e-mail and my brain churned with all types of fervor. Aha! I proclaimed. I know what to do. I poured the chips in the sandwich and made something new! How clever was I? How utterly wise? To make a new sandwich that no one would dare criticize. And so I settled down to eat, hoping my sandwich would make me complete. And oh it did! I swear! I vow! I loved my sandwich, don't wonder how. And yes, I ate that whole damn thing while others watched...some with disdain."

 Fuck yes, motherfucker! Eat all the shit! All of it!

On another note:

This. Fucking this right fucking here:

That is all. Seriously.