My chopstick theory on love has been stolen. Right from underneath my feet. The carpet, under my feet, has been whisked out from under me and sold to the gypsies. Not that gypsies are unable to afford solid carpet for their gypsy homes. That's not what I'm getting at here. What I'm getting at, is that someone, somewhere, has had the same thoughts as I. And what do I think about this? Does it mean that we could possibly be soulmates, with our chordae tendineae so carefully and preciously intertwined? Is it possible, that this man, is the one for me?

I think not.
I think he is a heartless, idea stealing, pepper nose. Because nobody likes pepper in their nose. Try to keep up.

I need to sleep more. I'm pretty sure I pulled up next to Morgan Freeman this afternoon.