How's it poppin'?

Whoever came up with the idea to send Pop Rocks to the troops -- you deserve some kind of medal, or a free hooker, or something. Because Pop Rocks are the BEST, and I never would have thought of asking for them.

There is a party in my mouth!

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Today was my LAST DAY of extra duty -- extra doody, as I fondly and maturely call it -- and if I ever have to sweep a rubber floor again, whether it be in this life or the next, it will be waaaaaay too soon.

Seriously, though -- if I were ever to possess a rubber floor, and it needed to be cleaned on a daily basis, the last implement I would choose for the job would be a push-broom with the handle removed.

For that is what I have been using. And it doesn't really work too well, especially if you're using the translation of "too well" which means "at all."

But fun times, fun times -- today Gym Sergeant Number Two asked to see one of my famous interpretive dances. That is, my interpretation of The Lawnmower Dance and The Microwave Dance.

He then proclaimed me to be the "whitest white girl who ever was white," or something to that effect. I trusted his judgment, as he is a very reputable man of color-other-than-white. We devised a plan wherein we would walk around together, he shouting "White Power!" and me shouting "Black Power!" until we made someone's brain explode in confusion.

(By the way, have I ever mentioned that I am deeply infatuated with the word "explode"? I mean, who wouldn't be?? It's a great word! Explode explode explode. Go ask Pork. He knows.)

But, yeah, anyway, no more extra doody. Anger Management classes will be starting at some yet-to-be-determined point in the near future, though -- the light at the end of the What The Fuck Should I Write About Today tunnel!

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Man, one bag of Pop Rocks lasts FOREVER! This is GREAT! But my tummy kinda hurts. Maybe it's the Dr Pepper ...

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Last night I had a grand ol' time reading all of Christine's reasons for hating her husband.

Christine, if you're reading this post: you are the shizz-nit. And I mean that. Continue to rock the heezy, for sheezy.

What? Did you, like, miss the "whitest white girl who ever was white" comment from approximately two scrolls up?

Gorsh. Don't hate.

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I've discovered that pouring the Pop Rocks into a spoon and sucking them out of the spoon little by little is really, really, really better than getting my hands all sticky. Plus you get sugar shock.

And strange looks, too! Can't forget the passersby with the strange looks. Man, I love Pop Rocks.

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I'm sending out prayers to all the unfortunates in N'Awlins this week -- keep your heads up, folks! And, um, learn to tread water?

That wasn't funny, was it? Damn. Well, you guys know I'd send 'em some dryness if I could, right? Right?? I mean, we've got enough of it. If they want, they can have our sandstorms instead ...

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Dang! The Pop Rocks are gone. Time to go find some downers.