Even More Horrendously Escalating Bad News

First, my cat dies and the Weedwacker works and the air is let out of my chef's hat and Popeye's bye-bye and a turban's AWOL and the broccoli's cockamamie and a sex scandal looms and "wash me" and Damon's a deadbeat and the snap's shot and no news is bad news.

Now, my sneakers are deceased.


Donna's booting my tennies to the dump.

I've never seen a woman so perturbed over one little scuff mark.


Continued: "Footnote"