Christ On A Cracker, Jesus On A Melody

I'm popping my blogspot cherry with pizazz as I jam out to Stevie Ray Vaughn in the kitchen of my hometown.
It smells like bell beppers and steak marinade.
My sister sips wine disgusted. She says it doesn't have enough alcohol in it.
I fucking love my family.
I'm emotionally hungover. Do they make some magic elixer for that?
Get back to me- I'm being called to a kebab and corn dinner.
Jealous?