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COVID-19 has claimed Wendy's chili. Woe! It wasn't the best chili in the world, but it was hot and filling and a cheap source of protein for a broke-ass cripple with the coordination of a heroin-raddled dancing monkey and the cooking skills of a fossilized turnip. I will miss it, and with its absence, I doubt Wendy's will be a regular stop on my culinary itinerary.
I need a new wall unit. I was going to try to hold out until the pandemic was over, but there's no end in sight, and it's already climbing into the eighties with 100% humidity indoors. If it's this stifling now, it will be murderous by July. So, come Wednesday, we'll be scouting for suitable replacements. If they offered home installation help when ordering online, I'd just do it that way, but I don't see an option for it anywhere.
While we're out, we might look at smart TVs. We have every streaming service under the sun, but staring at a laptop screen for twelve hours a day is playing havoc with my eyes. They burn at night. I know it's not the best time, but with the government sitting around with its wilting dick in its hand and the doctors and scientists trying to work miracles with Dixie cups, a nickel, and some Cheez-Whiz canisters and Saran Wrap, the goalposts keep shifting. Two weeks. Six weeks. Six months. A year. Eighteen months. Three years. Ah, hell, you'll see it. So, off we go. Early in the morning in the middle of the week, and hopefully, we can get in and out with minimal contact. I wish I weren't so paranoid about it breaking in shipping, or I'd just order it from Walmart or Newegg and have it delivered.
I need a new wall unit. I was going to try to hold out until the pandemic was over, but there's no end in sight, and it's already climbing into the eighties with 100% humidity indoors. If it's this stifling now, it will be murderous by July. So, come Wednesday, we'll be scouting for suitable replacements. If they offered home installation help when ordering online, I'd just do it that way, but I don't see an option for it anywhere.
While we're out, we might look at smart TVs. We have every streaming service under the sun, but staring at a laptop screen for twelve hours a day is playing havoc with my eyes. They burn at night. I know it's not the best time, but with the government sitting around with its wilting dick in its hand and the doctors and scientists trying to work miracles with Dixie cups, a nickel, and some Cheez-Whiz canisters and Saran Wrap, the goalposts keep shifting. Two weeks. Six weeks. Six months. A year. Eighteen months. Three years. Ah, hell, you'll see it. So, off we go. Early in the morning in the middle of the week, and hopefully, we can get in and out with minimal contact. I wish I weren't so paranoid about it breaking in shipping, or I'd just order it from Walmart or Newegg and have it delivered.
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