Salad Porn

 Lucy Dog, you better go to your bed. Salad and I need to... talk.

 Oh, hey Salad. You look nice tonight. Did I tell you that already? Well, it's true.

 So fresh and crunchy. You naughty bitch.

 I see you brought out your red cabbage tonight. Rrrrrear, kinky...

 Would you mind if I just took one little taste?

 Wait, before I do that, it helps if I have something to watch-

 What? Oh. I see. You don't want me to watch anything? You want me to focus on you?

 Hmmm... this is awkward now. Because I'm supposed to be in control here, Salad. You can't tell me what to do.

 Damn it, I can't stay mad at you.

 Let me crack some fresh black pepper all over you to make it up for you. Maybe even give you a little toss, if you ask nicely....

I love you, Salad. Let's do this.

Dear Diary, Feel the burn!

I never had heartburn until I was 25. Then one day I felt this hot nastiness in the center of my chest, and I knew what it was. Before TV, I bet it was really scary to all of the sudden feel this fire burning around your sternum. I can picture it now...

(Heart Burn would be a good Halloween costume.) 

It's 1903, I'm a strapping young chap, and I just ate some Polish sausage on the boardwalk. La-de-da, what a jolly good stroll I'm hav- what the fligament?! Suddenly, a demon fire burns in my chest! Ah! Help me, please! My emotionally distant turn of the century parents never warned me about this! Someone get me a sarsaparilla- 

Ahem... What I mean to say, Diary, is that thanks to prescription drug commercials, I knew I wasn't breathing a demon fire and that a little Prevacid, Zantac, Tums, or Mylanta would make everything all better.

I love you television.