When you go to a friend’s house to stay the night and get stuck with the scratchy blanket.
You know the one.
It’s made of wool.
It has satiny trim that tries to deceive you into thinking this will be a nice blanket experience.
But it’s not.
Every house has one.
It’s buried deep in the bowels of the linen closet, under some afghans and a comforter with the down coming out of it, but make no mistake.
The scratchy blanket is there.
And it waits.
You sit at the restaurant with your young son, he says he is hungry. You agree to get him dinner. You open up to the kids menu, your child is far to young for adult food. Chicken nugger stares at you from the page. You don’t understand. Your palms get sweaty and your son complains. He says he is hungry. Your mind strains, searching for an answer in a world of sweer potato and french fried. You try to order the chicken nugger, but you cannot. The words cannot escape your lips. Your son is hungry, he complains. The waitress stares at you, her head a spinning chicken nugger, her arms swinging french fried. Your son cries the tears of a chicken nugger-less child. In your mind you scream. It is raining sweer potato now, you have french fried engraved on your left temple and you do not understand. Your son weeps in the corner, he is starving. Starving for the chicken nugger.
track 1: all star - smash mouth
track 2: all star - smash mouth
track 3: all star - smash mouth
track 4: all star - smash mouth
track 5: all star - smash mouth
track 6: all star - smash mouth
track 7: all star - smash mouth
track 8: all star - smash mouth
track 9: all star - smash mouth
track 10: all star - smash mouth
track 11: all star - smash mouth
track 12: all star - smash mouth
the moon is kind of a creep the sun is polite and leaves when it’s night time meanwhile during the day sometimes you can see the moon just