Doom Pie


Some say wisdom is a product of time.  But I say it comes from eating pie.  It wasn’t a dark and stormy night, it wasn’t a rainy day in New York.  It was a typical day at the office and then she walked in.  My nemesis.  My creamy tan skinned, soft in the cuddly places, hard in the rest, dreamy eyed brainiac with a voice that made me want to whisper.  My type.  Only my internal history book was flipping madly through pages to try and remind me that this was just a cruel deja vu.  Fact is, I already had a someone else and it wasn’t her.  Besides, I wasn’t her type.  Or was I?  STOP!  That’s what I’m talking about.  The winds of fortune had emptied the pantry and assembled another round of ingredients for “Stupid Decision” Doom Pie.

Now scratch that.  Fast Forward.  That went down about…

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