Murder/Suicide

So one morning, after maybe my fourth night shift, I decide it's a good ideas to boil some eggs before going to bed. I put them to boil on high and figure they'll cook while I catch up on one of my tv shows. Well, about halfway through the show, I realize I'm just too tired and need to go to bed. Do I remember I'm boiling eggs? Of course not. Well, about three hours later, something wakes me up. I still can't tell you what it was. I get out of bed and head towards the kitchen. At the first sign of smoke, I remember the frickin' eggs! And I can tell you for damn sure it wasn't the smoke alarm that woke up up. Despite smoke filling the kitchen and dining room, the smoke alarm is just making a clicking sound that wasn't doing nothing for nobody. I stumble into my kitchen like a zombie. My pot is completely charred. And does anyone know what happens to eggs when they boil that long and for temperature's that high? I'll tell you. They explode. They fucking explode. I enter that kitchen and it looks like fucking Humpty Dumpty's entire family has been murdered. Mind you, I was cooking four eggs. One and a half are left in the pot. The rest are splattered on just about every goddamn surface in my kitchen. Not cool. I clean up what I can, open all the windows (despite it being 18 degrees outside) and just take my ass back to bed. I force myself to ignore the scent of smoke clinging to me, as I had to go back to work that night.

And that's the story of how I almost killed myself via smoke inhalation and murdered a family of eggs.

I Made It!!

Yes! Went three months without shaving my legs! And yes, it was as unattractive as you can imagine it was.