Open Letter To: The Cookie and Cream Pop Tart's In My Pantry!!!

Dear Cookie and Cream Pop Tarts In My Pantry,

Pop Tarts we need to talk. I heard you calling my name last night while I was trying to relax in front of the boob tube. And yes, once you even tempted me into the pantry to grab your package, but I resisted the urge. Although before leaving the pantry out of the corner of my eye I discovered a lone Pop Tart laying on the shelf in a zip lock baggie. Probably a left over from my sons breakfast. I looked at the Pop Tarts rectangular body through the baggie and my stomach started to over rule my mind. To me you looked like a fine, yet delicious, piece of art Pop Tart. The way your white creamy inside is framed by the chocolate outer edge is a master piece. And just knowing that creamy filling is made from chemicals that I could never pronounce, let alone spell, makes eating you all the more titillating my beautiful Pop Tart. In the end, I couldn't resists your advances and gave in to temptation. If I only could have been half good and eaten your single brother in the baggie. No, I had to go for a package of my own and a glass of chocolate milk to wash your Pop Tart goodness down. Pop Tart you were worth every empty calorie, or so I thought.

During my easy recovery run this morning it seemed you were still with me my dear Pop Tart. My legs felt weighed down by your chemical make up. The chemicals were also not sitting so well in the stomach area that desired you so much last night. In fact my stomach was on the verge of rejecting you about half way through the run. Luckily we made it back to the house without incident, keeping my soon to be two year record intact.

This is hard to say Pop Tart, but I think the thing we had is over. Let's call it one night of pleasure that at least I'll never forget. The minutes of gratification was not worth the pain that I dealt with the next morning. So, I guess it's goodbye sweet Pop Tart. On second thought, maybe it was the frickin chocolate milk's fault. Peace Out!!!

(D.O.A.) Unofficial Definition of "Humidity"!!!

Before I give my definition of Humidity, I would like to say that many of the words printed below may not be found in the Dictionary and the definition I give for Humidity is based clearly on my observations while running. My last name is not Webster for Fuck Sake!!!

Humidity is a word that can best be defined by breaking down the 8 letters that make it up. Let's have a looksy, shall we???

H: The H stands for heat. I think just everybody has probably heard the phrase, " It's not the heat it's the humidity". Well I'm here to tell you that is a bunch of bullshit. It's not the humidity at all. It's the hotness of the heat.

U: The U stands for unfuckinbearable. Example: The hotness of this heat is unfuckinbearable.

M: The M stands for mother-unfuckinbearable. Mother-unfuckinbearable is the point during the run when your brain tells your body to stop running or bad things will start to happen such as cramping, dehydration, death or worse of all loss of all bodily functions. Yes, I consider losing control of my bodily functions worse than death.

I: The I stands for irate. Irate is how most become during a humid run, it's also a way to judge how hot it is during your run. Example: Irate the heat during today's run a 9 out of 10 for hotness.

D: D stands for death. Although not many people actually die due to running in the humidity. You probably have a better chance dying if say you marry Drew Peterson, or something along those lines.

I: The second stands for is. As in "is" this very humid run, and this stupid definition blog almost over.

T: The T is for temperature. FYI, the temperature for humidity is right between boiling and hell in most of the sources I checked.

Y: Last, but not least the Y. Y is for you. You made it to the end of this blog and also finished another mother-unfuckinbearable run. Congratulations, and here's to more rememorable runs to come. Peace Out!!!