While baking
chocolate chip oatmeal nostalgia cookies,
I discover that I seem to be lacking an egg.
Oh great.
This is eggsactly what I needed.

I grab the keys and
jump
into the
rusted corroded heap of dented metal
that my father semi-jokingly calls
“a car”

Unfortunately,
it seems that General Tsao and Mr. Mushu Pork
have recently borrowed my car
and returned it
sans air freshener.

Attempting to distract my nose
with rock and roll,
(I am not thinking clearly at this point)
I punch a few buttons on the stereo.

Immediately the radio begins
vomiting all over me,
blasting at several thousand decibels
some sort of trash can/synthesizer/orgasm fusion
that I never want to hear again in this life
or any other
for that matter.

I flip stations rapidly-
Jesus, Nashville, Carnegie, Jesus again…
And suddenly, I am
instructed to
have some fun
because this beat is sick.

Really, a disco stick?
That’s what you want to ride?
Maybe if you take out the "isco-st"

I change the station again.
And again.
And again.
I manage to locate
absolutely nothing
with any sort of musical merit.

Eventually I decide that eggs are no longer priority.
I must rescue myself
From the nefarious clutches of
Disco sticks and General Tsao.

I pull a quick U-turn.
Or at least I attempt to,
But I’ve forgotten the ice and-

My questionable excuse for a car
slides merrily about
Like an obese and uncoordinated ice skater.
And the last thing I remember,
The very last thing,
Is a mysteriously familiar voice
sweetly informing me
she wants to take a ride
on my disco stick.

Eggsellent.