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Sweet lord baby Jesus and Blessed Mother

There’s a cockroach in my chicken. My little agnostic self needs all the divine intervention I can get. Y’all I moved to this one horse town and the fried chicken was a treat for us. I can’t eat the McDonald’s here because of let’s say “severe gastric upset” but Golden Chick was always good. The Consort thinks the roach might’ve come from us and crawled in when we weren’t looking. BUT I’ve never seen as much as a baby roach much less a granddaddy (in my food) in the house. Either way I’m done eating out in this town.

Or the fact that no where can get me order right (I’m talking no pickles) or that Walmart is the grocery store or that said Walmart locks up the condoms and pregnancy test so I have to hunt somebody down and wait for them to find the manager to give me a goddamn pregnancy test. (More for the Consorts peace of mind than anything else) I swear y’all this must love this man cause I am no friggin country mouse.

*I am fully aware that small town life is not for everyone just like city life would drive some people bonker

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