You know what would be almost as tasty as my favorite taco truck? A song dedicated to me, with girls, tacos, more girls, a little bit of Logan, and my very own video game. . . Bob.

Too bad it's only a fantasy.

¥: "If it was real, I think we'd be riding all of those girls as smoothly as our comic sales were going~ Heheh." My pervy yellow-boxed voice commented, cackling just as perversely, to which I nodded, a dirty smirk on my face.

ÜÜ: "Forget about the girls, how many taco trucks could we buy with all that dough?! Over ten million!!... Probably." My white (male privillaged) voice box countered, wiping the dirty smirk off my face, and instead replacing it with a bit of drool.

"Speaking of which I'm kind of hungry you guys, mind laying low?" I asked, just as a low rumble reverberated my healing hernia-prone-intestines.

¥: "We can't lay low you idiot! We're up stairs in your head!"

ÜÜ: "I'll try, but it might not work Wade- Oh! And dont forget to eat up, we dont want ¥ellow over here to be hangry anymore than the dog in heat already is!"

"Yes ma'am~" I chided sarcastically, to which ¥ellow was going off on ÜÜhite. I just chuckled a little, not really understanding why I was in such a good mood. Usually the two voices would annoy me with their non-stop commentary and bickering, but lately its been pretty hilarious.... Maybe I've been on my period for the last couple of years- gasp! Does that mean I've been bleeding out nonstop all this time?!

I immediately halted, looking down quickly, and pulling down my busted up jeans, along with my beginning to rip boxers, sighing in relief.

"I repeat, the juice crew is OK! The juice crew is OK!" I chanted out like that one guy, y'know, in that one movie.

"Good thing too. . . The ladies aren't too into strawberry milk."

¥: "Haha! Nice one Wade!!"

I fastend my jeans up, careful of the cargo, stripping myself of my grease and sweat stained shirt, ignoring the ruckus laughter in my head.

Who knew taco bell and the gym were two places that mixed well?

I looked in the mirror at my scared body. Lately I've been forcing myself to think positively of it, but that didnt mean I didnt expose anyone to my horrid, angry-fucked-avacado-mug. I kept all my shit on lockdown! Like the scared and scarred pussy I was! At least, though, now in my private time I can look at myself and think: 'Weeeell, it ain't no Michael Tatum, and it doesn't look like it'd sound like a Wham song, but at least I dont look like that fucking toad of a woman that lives a few doors down.' Now that would be a horror of a nursery rhyme.

My stomach growled again, shaving the swirling block of useless-shit-thoughts down, out of my head.

Food, Wilson, food.

Turning away from the mirror I looked around, picking up various articles of clothing and taking part of the 'smell-check'. Once finding a pair of pants, socks and a shirt that didnt smell like shit, I threw 'em on and grabbed my hat, petting my beer-can made dog- (named Bertha by the way), before shutting my door.

I got the rummblies that only one of my many chimichanga combos can quench. Specifically the steak, A1, shrimp, curly fry, four cheese, tomato, bacon, onion, garlic, hot pepper, taco sauce, mole, guacamole, chimmi-- Coming to Stores Near You- changa.

Ga ah!! Dammit, I'm doing it again, sh-shsh, shush! ... Food!

With a particularly loud slam of my door, and an angry, saggy ass, mole clustered, wrinkly, yell from my beautifully, easily annoyed neighbor, I was walking on sunshine.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I apologize for the shortened update, I'll make sure to add me bit more spice to the next chapter!

Also white box has a double Ü wink, wonk.