the final piece of the puzzle

I recently found a thought-provoking diary through a review site, and read an inspirational entry therein this morning. In this said entry, Erin spoke of CostCo, an establishment that apparently sells items in bulk. "Each time I [visit CostCo I] am sorely tempted to purchase the 120 count package of Trojan condoms just so I can have the experience of belligerently slamming down an enormous box of contraceptives on a conveyor belt and witness the cashier's expression of my openly declared enjoyably wanton sexuality." However, she pushes aside this opportunity to reduce the present register biscuit to an awestruck pile of openmouthed goo, because it's hard to live down the embarrassment of throwing away 116 condoms that've passed their expiration date.

Considering we were both shucking responsibility aside and neglecting homework, Resa and I fabricated alternative methods for condom usage. Naturally, there's the ever-popular activity of using them to create flaming pseudo-slugs. That, and filling them with water and chucking them at unsuspecting individuals, preferably those who are so old they no longer remember what sex looks like. I presented the idea of wearing out condoms so they appear to have been used and then leaving them at strategic locations, like on top of picnic tables and in the tubes connected to playgrounds. Or, if enough stealth is exercised, inside of Jell-O molds served at potluck dinners. Resa suggested giving the remaining condoms as party favors. I think it'd work especially well for New Year's Eve parties, but I'm not sure whether they should replace noisemakers or New Year's kisses at midnight. For added effect, ice cubes could be placed in them and then put in punch bowls. A new concept brought to the age-old practice of spiking the punch.

Speaking of festively decorated ice, the other day I saw reusable, multicolored ice cubes you could purchase through a catalogue. That way, instead of having friends stay after to aid with cleaning dishes and picking up beer cans, you could invite sober partygoers to mingle until dawn and help you wash the ice cubes. My major concern was, what the hell happens when someone accidentally tries to eat one? Instead of designated drivers, you'd have to hire medical staff to mull around prepared to perform the Heimlich maneuver on guests who attempt to consume the synthetic ice cubes.

Before I started kindergarten, I used to jump on this one-person trampoline that my parents stored in the basement. One fateful day, I snatched a fragile glass knickknack from a nearby table and set it on the surface of the trampoline, and then began to jump. Unfortunately, due to unforeseen circumstances such as gravity, the knickknack flew off the trampoline and shattered. My mom heard the shards scatter and rushed to see what had happened, and began crying when she saw what I had done.

Another incident can serve to sufficiently explain my thoughtlessness displayed in the previous story. One morning I awoke, delirious with fatigue. Too bored to simply crawl back into bed, I began playing games on a little makeshift computer, promising myself that I could sleep once I had gotten a certain score. Much to the pity of any casual onlooker, I was unable to win any game I attempted due to my dangerously muddled state of mind. After a few hours of trying fruitlessly to succeed, Kevin rang the doorbell and was invited inside. Exhausted, I prohibited him from doing anything besides lying perfectly still. My mom found this troublesome, considering at the first movie I saw ("The Little Mermaid") I bounded to the front of the theater and danced. She took my temperature and gasped, exclaiming that I had a 105-degree fever.

That's approximately two degrees away from suffering noticeable brain damage.

The final piece of the puzzle.