I remember once, when we were both significantly younger, I was playing at Christina's house. We were probably doing dress-up, or maybe we were past that at this point and we were just sitting around. Anyways, I was screwing around with the stuff on Christina's desk, and I picked up a box. I think it was wooden. I started to open it, but she promptly intervened and told me not to, because the box was full of bad dreams and if I opened it, they would escape. Ever since then I've been significantly more considerate of people's personal spaces. Also, I've always been a little worried about minor supernatural occurrences, but that's probably rooted more deeply in my psyche.
On Sunday morning one of my co-workers told me about his college roommate who worked in the Emory hospital. Apparently this guy always had great stories, and apparently if you rupture the connection between your spinal cord and your brain in the back of your neck, the fluid will seep into the back of your mouth and you'll taste something sweet and creamy and then you'll die. Great. One more damn thing to worry about.
Also on Sunday, I received a mysterious text message from "Pimp BO" advising me to have a "HAPPYFATHERSDAY".
Apples to Apples will never die. Long live the King of Games.
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