WE NEED MORE BEANS.

These are the thoughts that repeat over and over

despite my girlfriend reminding me

we have a ten-pound bag of beans.

But what if there are no more beans, sweetie?!?!??!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!

What if this is the end of beans?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?

I’ve touched my face nine hundred thousand times.

In the name of conservation, I’ve eaten leftovers that will likely send me to the hospital

which is all kinds of stupid, but the leftovers have beans in them

and I’m not wasting any goddamn beans.

This is why everyone is hoarding toilet paper…

Bad beans.

**

I’ve just realized that there’s a little emoji robot

analyzing my tone and presenting me with an AI mood ring glimpse into my day.

(Just installed Grammarly)

It says my tone is

Disapproving

Sad

and Confused.

Touche, robot.

**

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to make a quarantini*

and start an indoor bean farm.

*  a quarantini is a regular martini but served with black olives because all you thought to buy at the store were black olives and now there are no more olives.

Oh God, we need more olives.