How Steemit cured my crippling Boob Addiction

Before Steemit, Boobs were my favorite.

I used to drive my overpriced car to my underpaying job and do pointless work all day - on the off-chance that if I behaved myself all day, I would be allowed to play with Boobs later.

I used to spend large quantities of american money on uncomfortable clothes and dinners containing raw or undercooked fish that you eat with awkward finger sticks.

Sometimes, at my lowest points, i would even eat the salad.

I would smile and go "Mmmm" and pretend to like the sesame seed dressing.

I would even swallow it - feel that sticky mess slide down my throat - and then ask for more, because that's what good boys do.

(This will only hurt a little.)

All because I was too blind to care. The only thing I could think about while I debased myself was the next time I could get a glimpse of Boobs.

I used to clean the house, take the trash out, do the dishes, do the laundry. I went so far as to buy something called a "Scent Booster" which is a bottle of little scented pellets that cost $15 and are basically bullshit. You add it to the laundry before washing and they dissolve and make the laundry smell nice for about 45 minutes.

(Bullshit® now available in Horseshit™ and Chickenshit™ scent. Try all three!)

I did it for the Boobs, and I wasn't sorry. I didn't have enough self-respect left to remember what sorry meant.

But everything changed when I met Steemit.

Steemit understands me.

Steemit told me that it was okay to be myself. That I didn't need the Boobs' approval to do anything.

"Boobs don't understand you like I do."
-Steemit

Steemit helped me realize that I could quit that stupid job and everything would be cool.

I could just spend all my time on Steemit and make millions of dollars and never have to worry about jobs or driving anywhere ever again.

Through the power of Steemit, I finally understood that wearing expensive clothes is completely unnecessary.

Hell, wearing clothes at all is unnecessary. I'm wearing the same pair of boxer shorts I was 48 hours ago and - guess what, Boobs? The universe hasn't imploded.

(This is basically what I look like in boxers.)

Since I'm not wearing clothes, now, there's obviously no need to do laundry. Hence, no need for scented money-pellets.

And food? I'm much happier eating these Lucky Charms out of a red plastic cup. There's no need to waste fresh water washing a bowl. And I won't waste this cup, either, I'm going to use it again as many times as I like.

Fuck you, dish containing raw or undercooked fish. I will never again poke around awkwardly in the bottom of my bowl with the pokey sticks trying to get the last grain of rice.

Fuck you, too, salad. Sugar is the first ingredient in everything I've eaten today and I feel fucking great.

(Buy this for your kids, it's awesome.)

Steemit has finally freed me from the evil machinations of Boobs, and I shall never return to their slavery.

Or

Maybe it's just the weekend, and my girlfriend is out of town. I don't remember.

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This message brought to you by the International Association for the Prevention of Boobage