An Ode to Door Dash

I can craft a meal in the kitchen. I can cook chicken and wild rice that have the panties down in two seconds. But, why go through that bullshit my friend when DoorDash is a true friend indeed.

In the morning, I order some IHOP double decker pancakes from my bed. No pants required. No fucks given.

It arrives at my door my deliever has my shit and says a friendly”Good morning, Sir.” And “enjoy your meal.”

Hot damn!

I don’t get that much respect from half my bosses at work that give me the evil eye because my mask isn’t covering my whole fucking face. Motherfuckers trying to push me to the breaking point. They might find my foot breaking in their collective asses.


I been there done that. I got the bullet wound and middle finger up to that bitch fate.


Doordash. Morning, noon and night. My steady friend. My one true reliable source of comfort. Civil unrest is at my door. Crept keeper Joe is on the war path try to please the demons’ whispering in his head. Trouble is the phantom with two 45s. in the room.

Doordash. Oh sweet Doordash. If a warm meal wasn’t enough you also provide Krispy cream dounuts two dozen and more at my desired request.

Hot damn. Bitterness of life and sweetness of sugar induced delight. My god what a country. Hot damn! What a time to be alive.

Warm Regards,


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