So, Rose just remembered she might have left some frozen ham and cheese Hot Pockets (she's such a wonderful Jew) in my trunk. We went to look. We found them. And some margarine. We went shopping like a week ago. I'm tempted to open up the packages and see what happens when you leave perishable items in the trunk of a car for a week. In August. But I don't feel like having my nostrils raped. I doubt my neighbors would appreciate having vomit and explosively bad rotten food all over the driveway. Then again, I bet rotten Hot Pockets would make great bombs. If only I was irate at somebody right now.
I must have no sense of smell if I didn't notice that I was driving around with death in my trunk for a week. I don't even smell the gasoline any more (I hope the couscous doesn't taste like it... the ramen was bad enough).
On another note, "Parental Controls" is a wonderful show. Shut up. I have the best taste in TV shows ever.
