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Sloth
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Ah, Sloth. My old friend. A little shallow introspection brought on the obvious realization that yes, I am indeed a slave to Sloth. But Sloth is the happiest of the Seven Deadly Sins. Like gambling and prostitution, it's a victimless crime. Just ask a gambling addict or your favorite prostitute. I can't remember what Sloth looked like in Faust, but in my mind, it's somewhere between a happy little kitten in sleepy dreamland and my boyfriend passed out on the couch in a food-stained wife-beater and dirty underwear. Followers of the Cult of Sloth tend to be annoyingly hyper when they're not asleep. This is usually late at night, when those afflicted with lust are busy and those afflicted with the other five sins are fast asleep. Sloth is why I've been wearing the same underwear and pajamas for the last three days. Sloth is why Rate the Superhunks and The Celebrity Breast Jumble are still in the planning stage. Sloth is why I never followed through with a lawyer to get my $700 deposit back from my charming former landlords (Marceline and Jeryl Hart of 5909 Paseo del Toro, Austin, Texas, 78731, 512-450-0773). Sloth is why I have huge piles of paper stacked up around my life. Sloth is why there are mountains of crumpled Kleenex surrounding me right now. The beauty of Sloth is that you always have an acceptable excuse: "I was too busy." Being busy is always Sloth's alibi, and Sloth's followers always have it on the tips of their tongues. And since slothful people spend a great deal of time alone in their homes, there's never anyone to disprove them. Are you slothful? Take this handy quiz to find out:
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| ©1996 - 2004 Disgruntled
Housewife and Nikol
Lohr. All rights reserved. Disgruntled Housewife - PO Box 9052 - Austin, TX 78766-9052 |
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