There are no bad owners, only bad dogs


Don't order this.

I thought I had asked for a chicken salad sandwich (chik sal san in waitress-speak), but apparently I must have said "I'd like a mayonnaise sandwich, please" instead (goop sal san). It was still a better choice than the haggis. Yes, the crapeteria really served haggis today (which, as I understand it, is made from stuff that can't be used for hot dogs: hooves, horns, bits of fur, eyelids, gums, etc.). I saw some in the grocery store the other day, in this sort of plastic sausage-y tube-y contraption (like how you can buy pre-made polenta if you're too cuisine-ally challenged to stir cornmeal). One thing I will not miss about the UK: Looking at food products and wondering "What the fuck is that?" And I come from the land of chorizo.

Other things I won't miss:

The maintenance dude brought three space heaters in yesterday, bringing our total number of space heaters in the office up to four. I'm currently sitting on one while I'm typing.

I want to get one of these when I get home, because then I'll never have to run an errand again. There will be bloody fist fights about who gets to go to the liquor store (can't send the monkey for that) or to the gas station to get a new dog.

That mayo-wich is not sitting well. It's all churny in there.

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