Mo just made chocolate brownies. Gluten-free, lactose-free, cadmium-free. So I can eat all I want without getting sick or dying of a paint overdose.

They are sitting on top of the stove. She is going to bed and asked me to put them in the fridge after they’ve cooled off so we can eat them tomorrow.

I’m sure this is how Scott Weiland felt when his friends would ask him, “Would you mind watching my heroin while I run out for some smokes?”

I’m rooting through the running boxes trying to find enough old chocolate Power Bars to make fake brownie replacements. Might work, no?

On the bright side, if I must die, let it be of a brownie overdose. I just switched to “Interstate Love Song” on the Spotify. Scott and I are going down together …

You don't have to be Irish to celebrate St. Patrick's Day. You just have to be happy. I think the dad may be holding brownies.