Junkyard 2 week 6

"Some kind of sick joke" the caption under a Russell Stover's coconut chocolate reads. 

It's almost appetizing, something only Elle Woods eats when watching romance movies in bed. 

Or me, when my roommate walks in at 6 pm and I'm too lazy too cook, but more hungry than a Siren. It's Wednesday, so Valentine's Day chocolate isn't on sale, and in my hand lies a mix of failed dreams and sucralose, or so the package says. My roommate grabs the paradise of hell demons and baby farts, crinkling like a woman accidentally stabbing herself in the eye with liner or a wand.