God, where do I begin?

I saw 8 Mile on Friday. Fan-fuckin'-tastic stuff. My experience, while all-around delightful, was somewhat encroached on by a pudgy asian girl sitting next to me. We made it mere minutes before the movie, got great seats... I mean, something HAD to be wrong. And I was right. I sat next to the only person in the theater who decided it was absolutely necessary to raise her arms high in the air and clap every time Eminem said anything. I thought that was bad, but nothing could brace me for her head-bobbing and gang signing dance thing she did with her hands. You know what I mean. Yeah. That. Katie and I found ourselves looking over and laughing at the girl more than Eminem's wacky antics. Hooo boy.

Promptly upon my arrival at my house, I got sick. Four days later, I'm still gasping for air after having walked up one flight of stairs due to the one centimeter hole in my trachea I'm breathing through. (The rest of it is lined with deeee-lishus mucus)

I want everybody to make friendly with my new best friend, "Hormel Bacon Pieces". They aren't really pieces, though. They're bits. Bacon bits. Pieces are like those big strips you cook and eat, not little itsy portions that come packed in a jar. Anyway, while always having loved bacon bits, I never really realized how miraculous they were until recently. Now I put them on everything. Bagels... bagels... and... well, I haven't been eating much else lately. I find myself craving bacon bits at night. I eat this shit by the handful, and I'm not the least bit ashamed of it. After all, Hormel makes SPAM. Just look at how happy these people are. They have clearly just come back from the most miraculous SPAM hunt ever.

Lastly, Everyone should go here and spread the good word about this band. "I Wanna Marry Conan O'Brien" makes me weep with joy. Download it now and die. Er... OR die.

Zook.