late late whatever

sometimes the brain is just itching to write something so clever it would change the world, but then the food's ready (and i don't mean a tallahassee fruit loop) so what can i do other than put aside the keyboard and reach for the food cuz i don't want hot food to get cold cuz it tastes better hot and if i didn't cook it then ignoring it is an insult to the cook and i do not like insulting cooks so by the time the taste buds have orgasmed (and the cook might come along too) whatever clever words were carried away by winds unknown (maybe a secret santa?) and the best we can do is watch half a mechanical man infer that cleaning your chimney is something dirty...

now really, how can cleaning be dirty?... perhaps if you don't do it well... anyway, it is that time of night again, time to sit back and watch craig ferguson mock everything as only a man-child going through some sort of eternal puberty can... i think there should be a contest for the guest who turns reddest while on his show...

oh canada, where art that?