The other night at work I found myself stocking that delicacy of the single man also known to Steve as his dinner and to his friends as the "drunkenman dinners." Those dinners are the frozen microwave meals that Steve used to dress up with hot sauce and a 12 pack chaser that was "Hmmm, hmmmm bitch!" delicious. It was an ironic twist to a messed up summer for me. I could not help but laugh at this karmatic punch to the balls that had been delivered to me via a frozen turkey and dressing dinner with a small slab of chocolate cake.
I recognized most of the dinners because they had taken up space in my freezer at some point and time during mine and Steve's coexistence and they look as bad while you are stocking them as they do when they are staring at you from the freezer. Steve had so many of those things in my freezer that all that was left in there when he move was a single toaster strudel. I should have bought one of the drunkenman dinners in honor of Steve but I knew that I wasn't going to be eating it. No amount of hot sauce or beer could dress those up enough.
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