Counting backwards from one hundred
Watching poker on TV
Listening to jazz
Reading the instruction manual that came with my remote control
Trying to pay attention to infomercials
Reading my complete friends list
Trying to come up with as many misspellings as possible of onomatopoeia
Remembering old dreams
Masturbating to infomercials
Listing everyone I've ever slept with chronologically
Listing everyone I've ever slept with alphabetically
Listing everyone I've ever slept with from best to worst
Thinking of words one could enter into a shareware program without getting porn results
Reading a week's worth of spam
Listening to poker on the radio
Watching jazz on TV
Listing every sheep I've ever pokered without getting porn results
Counting dreams backwards from spam
Rolling onomatopoeia chronologically into a shareware program
Resisting the temptation to say masturbating remote control sheep
Giggling quietly to myself
Posting nonsense to Livejournal
It's an ice cream day. A gelato day. A shaved ice day with a side of sorbet and strawberries.
I'm in the comic book store, abusing my employee discount. If you listen real close, you can hear it moaning "Harder, papi, harder. Ohhhhhhhh yea."
I turn to my not quite boss and say, "I think I'm going to get some ice cream from Harrell's, or some gelato from the new coffeehouse place."
At which point a strange (not a stranger, as I've nothing to compare him to) says "Have you tried the new place two stores down from Harrel's?"
I have not.
"I saw someone come out of there earlier with this...this...this frozen thing!"
"Thing. But like, in a good way. You know, a thang."
I subdue my urge to slap him, at least until I get more information out of him.
My boss says, "Wait, do you mean The Snackhole?"
"The what?" The what? "I mean, the what?"
"I think it's called The Snackhole."
"As in, 'baby, I want to stick my tongue in your delicious snackhole', or 'dude, I totally tapped her in the snackhole last night', or 'his snackhole is tiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeeet!' That's disgusting! Where is it? I must go."
As it turns out, the place is not called The Snackhole (though that's what I will call it forever and ever more), but is called The Food Fun Snackery; a great name, were it not for the alternative name I have already explored ad nauseum.
I will not tell you of the Willy Wonkaesque tour I was given of this small, not yet officially open Snackhole. I will just tell you that I left with a large red flower shaped bowl filled with fresh sliced kiwi, shaved ice, kiwi puree, ice milk sauce, freshly sliced kiwi, lychee sorbet, and even more freshly sliced kiwi. Snackhole never tasted so good. And I love me some snackhole.
I brought it back to the comic book store to share the Kiwi Snackholish glory with my future coworkers. But not too much. It was, after all, my snackhole they were munching on.