I'll be the fucking Pho King king

I just two big racoons (aka raccoon) outside walking down the street. Two. Big. Racoons (also spelled 'raccoons'). I was surprised, because we saw one. I knew it was a racoon, but my friend thought it was a cat. But then I saw a second one, and I was positive. I know a racoon when I see one. My favorite stuffed animal when I was really little was a racoon, so I think I know the difference between a cat and a racoon. Had they been stuffed racoons walking down the street, I think I would have immediately recognized them for what they were.

I had Pho (pronounced FUCK without the 'CK' sound) for dinner from Pho Superbowl in San Gabriel. It was quite delicious, and yet ultra-cheap (though expensive by pho standards, from what I understand).

I've decided to open a Pho place. Why not? It's so good. It'll be called The Pho King. When you come, you'll get the Pho King menu. We'll have beef, chicken, lamb, etc. It'll be very well known, because it'll be the best. "That's great Pho King food." We'll have a full bar. "There's a great Pho King bar," people will say. It'll spread through word of mouth. I'll be known as that Pho King guy, too, because everyone will know I'm responsible for this. "I wanted your Pho King chicken, and your Pho King beef. But I didn't order the Pho King tofu, and yet I got the Pho King tofu. What is this? I want some Pho King chicken."

Yeah, dudes. I'll be the Pho King king.

It's just over a month when I'll be back in Hawaii, but this time actually living there. Scary! I just put my notice in the mail for my apartment this afternoon (yes, I know there's no mail on Sundays, asshole). Towards the end of next week, I put the notice in on my job. That's freaky-deaky.

I admit, though, I have the Sunday Night Jitters. I haven't been in the office since August 12th. Tomorrow is August 29th. It's been over two weeks. I've actually worked only four days at the office since July 22nd. It's going to be a shit storm tomorrow. And though I plan on leaving, I hate stepping into a shit storm without waterproof boots. Voicemails--I should have at least 30. Emails? Well over 100. Mail? I'll have to measure it in pounds; I'm thinking about six to eight.

So what if it's not funny and original?