Pizza Day

Today is Pizza Day. By that I mean that I'm eating Pizza Hut pizza for lunch, leftover from last night. It's funny, as soon as I chose the URL for this blog, I basically ceased eating pretzels. Perhaps it's only seasonal. I may be eating pretzels again tomorrow, for all I know. It's not really up to me.

Aside from being Pizza Day, today is also Gruesome Mail Day. I received two brimming bins of mail to sort, stamp, and staple. I've stacked it into three piles: regular sized envelopes, large envelopes, and evil.

Evil is, of course, the pile for express envelopes. If I weren't entirely convinced that one day machines will rule the world (a la Terminator or the Matrix), I would place my bet on express envelopes for total domination. Those sinister pull tabs. Those glossy carboard exteriors. Pure evil, I tell you, that's what they are. They represent all the bad things in the world, including the odor of the water at Splashwater Kingdom.

I am one of a select few people who can claim to have ridden the Comet in a thunderstorm. It was without a doubt the greatest theme park experience of my life, greater than riding Dueling Dragons six times in a row, greater than riding the last Superman train of the night, greater even than winning Spider-Man from a crane game and taking him on Dr. Doom's Fear Ascension after fast-passing the ride without passes.

Ah, that's a good story. We had fast passes (they're not actually called that at Universal Studios, but it's the same same (as opposed to the same difference, which makes no sense)) for Jurassic Park, whilst several of our companions instead got passes for Dr. Doom's Fear Ascension. We got in the fast pass line anyway, for goodness knows what reason. In order to reach our companions in line, we would have had to budge several other guests. Upon attempting to do this, we were scolded by a park attendant and told to wait while the would-be budgees got on the ride ahead of us. However, this worked to our advantage, because when the attendant did let us on the ride, he failed to collect our non-existant passes, apparently just assuming that we had them.

Holy cow, there's a lot of mail here. Before it eats me, I'm going to start clearing it out. You're going down, express envelopes. I'm the mail equivalent of John Connor. Take that.

Goodness, I can't imagine what it must be like to have never seen the Terminator, and thus completely miss all these references.