Cherry Cheese Danish

I really want to be a PI from the late 40s. I want to mope around smoking cigarettes getting the shit beat out of me and being too lethargic to give a fuck. I want to never crack a smile and put my dick in clients that hire me to get their company's documents back or their jewelery or some bullshit. Whatever. I'm having sex with rich socialites. I'm drinking black coffee. I'm driving my old Buick. I'm drinking Bourbon. Fuck I'm a mess but in a romantic kind of way.

For some reason I've always associated Cheese Danishes with being a private dick. I realize that this makes no sense at all. There is no correlation between those two things. But regardless, that's why I started eating them.

I used to work collections for this company that absolutely did not give a fuck what you did. You could call people and tell them you were going to ass fuck their wife on the front lawn or ram a knife into their cock holes and split it like a ballpark frank and it didn't matter. "I'm going to send the biggest Eastern European meathead motherfucker I know to your house and he's going to pecker-slap your daughter blind if you don't pay me some fucking monies". It didn't matter. There was this corner store near there that always, ALWAYS had Cherry Cheese Danishes. No matter what life tries to fuck me with, it was something I could always bank on.

I'll be honest, at first I hated danishes. I fucking loathed them. But I wanted to like them. I was desperate to fulfill my fantasy of being a private detective from the 40s, so I munched away and day after I would buy a cheese danish and be completely miserable about it. And then one day, as if by fucking magic, it happened; I feel in love with cheese danishes.

When I was in high school I smoked weed a bunch. The first like seven or eight times I smoked I didn't get stoned. It just didn't work. I thought it wouldn't happen to me. I knew it was good weed because my friends were getting ripped, but not me. So whatever, I'm out of cigarettes and on my way to my girlfriend (at the time)'s place and my buddies are smoking weed in this park I'm cutting through. They cut their weed with tobacco so I decided I would hook it up to get my nicotine fix. So I'm toking up and not thinking much of the possibility of getting baked and then it fucking smashes my ugly face in with a sledgehammer. I am high as fuck. I am giggling. I am sleepy. I'm a fucking mess. I pull out my dick in the middle of the soccer field and take a piss. Well at least I try to, for a while actually, until I realize that I don't actually have to piss at all (for some reason I was convinced I had to and terrified of the possibility of pissing myself) and that I've basically just exposed my dick to my friends, a bunch of children playing in the sandbox/on the monkey bars, and the construction workers fixing the roof of the hockey arena. I skate to my girlfriend's place. I get in, high out of my fucking mind, and without taking my shoes off or saying hi to anyone (her entire immediate family is in the living room, the room I've just walked into), I lie down on her couch, my face in her crotch, and proceed to drop the loudest fart ever and then fall asleep. While I'm asleep I pee a little and stain the couch.

That was like the first time that the mighty cheese danish fucking worked its sugary, dairy magic in my life. I grew fucking wings and flew up above the peasants and commoners and looked down bitches' shirts and made pipi on whatever I wanted. I flew up to the tops of mountains and high-fived some sherpas. I fucking flew into the middle of the sun and it went supernova and then the earth caught fire and you all died and then I flew so quickly that it reversed the flow of time and I landed back on earth one second before I took off. It was a forced rotational danish vortex.

This Saturday I had a cheese danish at Tim Horton's it was not as good as farting in mixed company. You should probably just go get a danish next to where I used to work.