Are you supposed to smell the meat? I can never remember.  I mean, I feel pretty stupid smelling this. It's wrapped in plastic, so it's not like I'm going to smell anything anyways. But still, there's this nagging voice inside my head that's telling me that I'm supposed to smell the meat.

All the good liquor is locked behind the cabinet. That sucks. If you want to be a serious drunk, you have to make your intentions known to the seventeen-year old stock boy with the key.  And he's so serious when he unlocks it.  Like it's his dad's stash and he doesn't want to get caught.

You know, if you just look at the picture on the can, Vienna sausages don't look half bad.

This guy is singing along to the Muzak.  How sad. Oh wait, it's a Billy Joel tune. OK, i  understand that.

Why do I feel so much pressure picking out lemons?  There lemons for a pencil's sake!  They all seem the same to me, yet I see people sorting through the entire pile, searching for the right one.  But they"re just lemons. I'm going to slice one up, and drop it in my gin. Why all this pressure?

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