Dear Diary : My ass is an end table.

Dear Diary,
I was looking in the mirror as I passed my reflection this afternoon and I was AGHAST.  Almost as aghast as when DBD takes baths.  <-- not right.  Just .. not.  right.

When did my ass become a shelf?  When did this happen?
while I was eating LIttle Debbie's on the couch?
No. That's a  TOTAL OUTRIGHT  lie I just told.

I don't allow food in the living room.

Back to my ass.

I could put coasters, a vase and some cokes on it.

OH MY FREAKIN GOD...   ya'll

MY ASS .. is an end table!!!

* mouth agape*

 It's a cruel cruel world when you have end table ass.  And  the day you REALIZE you have end table ass is even crueler.

There's no bathing suit , suited and cut and stretched for END TABLE ASS.  No miracle suit for that shit.

True dat'.