Well, world, it's been nice knowing you. I'm on my way to the grave due to Diane's willingness to help out one of our neighbors with her son's wedding reception. How did I meet my untimely demise, you might ask? Not from a collapsed lung (THAT would be ironic), not from the swine flu, not even from getting hit in the head with a solid gold revolver. No, none of those things. It was Brazilian cheese balls. That stink. And I had to help deliver them. TWICE. Once I'm completely gone (I'm still gasping for my last few breaths), please note in my will that I leave my Star Wars toys to Jeff and my video games to Aaron. Hopefully the permeating cheese ball smell will not be entrenched too deeply. Farewell.
Yes, I would rather smell my own B.O.
My only question is, "Why couldn't we have made THESE instead?"