Is There a Call Girl Service Called Flesh Direct Or Did I Just invent It?

Roseanne (in checkout line): "Hey, look at what this guy is buying. Vodka, malomars, and a TV Guide. I’m guessing, single and staying that way."

I've always loved grocery shopping. The miles of food surrounding you, the colors, the choices, the piling it all into a cart, your own little world of food in a moving vehicle. There's probably something you could say here like "you can tell a lot about a person frmo what's in their shopping cart," but I don't give a shit about anyone else. I always liked mine.

When I was in college I started doing this thing where I would go to Harris Teeter and completely stuff the cart full of stuff. Complete shit I would drool over - all the frozen shit you're not supposed to eat, piles of biscuits, enough ground beef to make the cart sag with a groan. And then when I couldn't lay anything else on top...I would walk out. Leave. A dick thing to do, somebody had to eventually come put the shit back. I don't really know what possessed me to to it. I literally felt as if pulled by some force. "Okay. You're done. Great job. Ooooh, cameltoe, 9 o'clock! Leave."

So Fresh Direct is perfect for me - I can do all my fantasy shopping, get to the very end, get ready to "pay," and then...goodbye. Click. Gone. I shop as if money is no object, I have a a warehouse for a fridge and people to share it all with. Or as if I think a nuclear bomb will hit us in two days and I'm in my fallout shelter.

Now, for all I know there's some dude monitoring this shit online as it's happening, and he's rubbing his paws together, ecstatic about the "Big Fish" he's reeling in. Maybe there is, maybe there isn't I don't know. But it's my slice.

To the right are Tonight's Picks. $15K? Not bad. I've done better.