Ordering in will be my down-fall. What convenience, I call a
number, recite another number off of a piece of plastic and within half an
hour, a blank expression hands my food to me through my own front door with
another hand extended out expecting a tip. I never have to leave my home. Let
me ride this couch to the end of time! Let the crevice in the couch grow until
I can no longer stand! Delivery has made the ultimate sedentary life-style
possible.
But wait! I’ve devised a way to improve this system
further. Why do I have to get off the couch at all? I don’t want to walk across
the sauce-stained carpet and mess with pesky dead bolts to pick up my pizza. My
fingers are far too greasy to get any sort of grip on the doorknob. It’s too
hard! I’m already willing to give Jimmy John’s full access to my checking
account. Amazon saves all of the information necessary to feed from my line of
credit. Advertisements invade our homes to the point that they’re quoted more
than books over the dinner table. So what does it matter if I give Domino’s a
copy of my house key?
Walk right up to my door and step right in.
What? You say you bring me a disk of processed white
carbs drenched in preservative-laced tomato sauce and globs of milk fat? Bring
that shit over here! I’m probably watching through every season of King of the Hill on Netflix. I’ve
forgotten what “fresh air” means and my goal is to never see my knees again.
Frankly, that bendy joint does nothing useful for me anymore. This couch is it
for me, delivery boy. Slap that $5.99 feast on my belly tray and I’ll have it
in me by the end of this episode!
Don’t forget to lock the door on your way out!
No comments:
Post a Comment