*Note: So, I couldn’t think of anything to write about. Then I turned to the reliable MySpace bulletin board and read a survey from a friend whom I’ve never met. I copied it, answered it, and converted it to story form. The result is even more random than I usually am.*

I am ready. I knew it as soon as I got in the shower and washed my feet. As I put on my red hoodie, I realize that I would never kiss the last person I kissed again. I really don’t plan my outfits, I just tend to put on whatever I feel like wearing at the time. But right now I’m feeling cold, while I feel myself shivering. As I look at my can of Coca-Cola, I realize that it is the nearest red thing to me. It makes me think of my last dream, where I was slapping my middle-school principal upside the head.

But all of this gives me a weird craving for the taste of hamburgers. It’s a shame I don’t floss regularly. My grandma comes to mind when I think of cabbage, but that’s now how I like to imagine her. I’m an emotional sack of crap, but I would gladly dance to the taco song. I’d try to count to a thousand, but my friend will probably immaturely giggle at 69.

My ice cream, though, is melting quickly. As I hurry lick it up, I notice that I’m content with myself, even though I’ve never met a celebrity. My one redeeming quality is that I like cottage cheese very much, especially with pepper and pineapples. That alone reinforces my decision to listen to The Port Huron Statement on my iPod. I’ve never visited a foreign country, but my parents aren’t strict. They know that I would gladly throw a potato at George W. Bush.

I don’t rent movies often, and I’ve once voted on American Idol, and I wish I knew the name of the girl who sits behind me in math class. I don’t like brown eggs, but does that make me racist? I mean, I truly am judging them purely on their color.

I regret that the first CD I ever bought was Good Charlotte, but I’ve since learned that I’m too forgiving. I will never pass this one, but none of that matters… as long as I love cream puffs.