Look everyone I got sweets from Finland. SWEETS! From FINLAND!

One fateful morning, I found this package in my mailbox. Andreas sent me salted licorice! I squealed with glee and took my find immediately to the people who would appreciate it the most: my office mates in cubicle land.

My cubicle mate was very impressed that people on Twitter would send me licorice from Finland. My cubicle mate never seems very impressed with me in general because I never know what is on YouTube even though things have had like a million hits or whatever. I save face by telling him that the rock I live under doesn’t get wireless. Today, however, things are about to change. I told him that not ONLY have I received licorice from Finland, I have also received penguin chips from New Zealand (via @carocreature) AND pickled mango with a sexy bikini postcard from Hawaii (via @daralynnieloo). Then… he FOLLOWED me. Can you believe it?

Andreas got me the XXL Salmiak. Because that is how I roll!

When Andreas sends you licorice, he is very thorough. Not only did he sent the salted licorice I told him on Twitter I wanted to try, but he also sent a slab of regular licorice, and some lovely chocolate with licorice centers.

This is the licorice assortment I took around the office for EVERYONE to try. They all appreciated it. I can tell by the distrustful looks they gave me.

So, I assembled this very attractive platter of licorice from Finland and took it around for everyone to try. People seem to be suspicious of me in general, I have no idea why. Carrying around this licorice assortment did nothing for my credibility. However, sometimes people need me to do stuff for them. Even though I am actually paid money to sit around this place and do things for people, I guess it never hurts to humor someone and try their salted licorice.

How to get people to try your licorice

The chocolate licorice is the gateway licorice. It looks and tastes like a nice creamy chocolate until suddenly, you hit the licorice center. Then, it is too late. You are already committed. You may as well go for the next licorice encounter.

If the person isn’t gagging too much from the licorice-squirting chocolate, then you offer the traditional licorice. I assume it is the traditional licorice. People in the office compared it to ripping apart a tire. Once people successfully rip a section from the licorice slab to start chewing on, it is time for the piece de resistance (and by that I mean the piece they will resist the most)… the salted licorice.

Mmm… salted licorice. Because salt makes everything better.

I tried the salted licorice several times, because I am assuming it is an acquired taste. Let me just start out by saying this is not a candy to be taken lightly.  At first, the flavor is very intense. Then, once you chew on the candy for a while, it is even more intense. If you like being simultaneously overwhelmed by the flavors of salt and licorice, then this is the treat for you. People in the office usually bit a piece of the salted licorice in half. They would chew it for a few seconds, then start immediately looking for a trash can to accommodate the other half.

This is our candy jar at work. My cubicle mate didn’t even THANK me for filling it up. People can be really ungrateful.

I placed the rest of the candy in a lovely arrangement in our cubicle’s communal candy bowl. Only one guy really liked it, but he is from Iran. Not even that guy from Honduras who made me try those awful biscuits was a fan of the licorice. But, that does NOT mean that I am ungrateful for my care package from Finland. On the contrary, I would like to submit a formal thank you message to  @heinakroon.

Dear Andreas: Thank you so much for sending us all the licorice assortment. I’m sorry that it wasn’t received as well as I had hoped. Apparently, we aren’t used to licorice candy over here. I really can’t understand why. American licorice is just like licorice in Finland except we take out all the licorice flavor, twirl it around in a nice shape, and make it taste like strawberries. We also give it a cool name. What you call ‘Salmiak,’ we call ‘Twizzlers’. Note multiple use of the letter ‘z’. That is how you know your candy really has something if it is named with lots of z’s.

Hmmm. One of these things is not like the others.

All in all, it was lots of fun, getting people to try all the licorice. I still keep it around to put out on my desk once in awhile. I’m fairly certain it has no expiration date, and it is great because people are a little more wary in coming around to chat in a perky voice early in the morning when there is licorice handy that I might make them try. It is like a “Go Away” sign, only subtle.

Come try my licorice… For when a stranger handing out candy just isn’t creepy enough.

Because, when your hair looks great you should get credit for it. Even if it is all drizzly outside.

Here is the whole story… as long and drawn out as possible…

One day my back hurt. That kind of hurting where it feels like your muscles are attacking themselves with battery acid. The kind of hurting where you leave home from work so you can go lay on the floor in agony holding a bottle of Vicodin.

So, I did what I guess people do when they are experiencing severe pain, I made an appointment and went to the doctor. This is a big step for me, because I really HATE going to the doctor. In case you haven’t seen  the television series House, medical science is a bunch of guesswork. You go in and describe your symptoms, then the doctors order a series of tests after which they still have no clue what is wrong with you. I guess they are trying to buy time until the test results come in, hoping whatever it is wrong with you will resolve itself on its own.

The doctor enters the room and asks what the problem is. I tell the doctor that the muscles are hurting in my upper back and shoulders. She asks if I am vomiting or if I have diarrhea. I tell her, that no, as a matter of fact I am not vomiting. If I were vomiting with diarrhea, then those would most likely the very set of symptoms I would start off with. I’m not one to bury the lead.

She seems a bit disappointed about the lack of vomiting. She then suggests blood work, an EKG and a chest X-ray. I say to this doctor, “You DID hear me say that my BACK hurt… right? Is an EKG really necessary?” After some negotiation, we agree to limit the testing to the blood work. Of course, my back is still killing me. But… hey, at least I’ll get some nice blood reports later.

So, I go home and try to sleep, but then wake up in the middle of the night and can’t feel my hands. My fingers are all numb and tingly. I don’t like this because I read once on one of those medical sites that this person’s nerves were getting all compressed and she was almost paralyzed for life.

I’ve been thinking recently that I will probably die alone with cats and hoarded magazines, but I never ONCE pictured being paralyzed before I even GOT the magazines. Plus, I would hate to be paralyzed around a bunch of cats. No telling what they would do to you. I doubt they would be kind. I decide to go to the ER before I become paralyzed. That way, at least I will be paralyzed for life around medical staff instead of cats and magazines I haven’t hoarded yet.

I get to the ER, and everyone seems strangely unconcerned about the fact that my back hurts like hell and I can’t feel my hands and I will soon be paralyzed for life. They keep asking me if I am vomiting. Or, if I am having diarrhea. I am so tired of explaining the lack of vomiting.

Take this shirt with you to the ER. You will need it. Of course, if you do end up vomiting after all, you can just vomit directly on the shirt. The vomit will be readily apparent and this will save time for everyone.

The medical people at the emergency room also want to do the EKG and the chest X-rays. They even want to do a sonogram of my gallbladder. While I would love to see what my gallbladder is up to, I really don’t think it has anything to do with me not being able to feel my hands. I realize I have come to the wrong place to be saved from being eaten alive by cats.

I patiently explain that I am NOT vomiting, and I don’t need an EKG, or a chest X-ray. I especially don’t need a gallbladder sonogram. The doctor seems perplexed that anyone would blatantly refuse a perfectly good gallbladder sonogram, but finally comes to a surprising conclusion, “I guess we can just say your back hurts and let you go.”

Then I say, “My back DOES HURT! That is EXACTLY what I said when I came into this freak show.” Of course, I say this inside my mind because I notice the doctor is handing me some prescriptions. Prescriptions DIRECTLY RELATED to my back hurting. Wow. I’m stunned.

I end up leaving with steroids to bring down the swelling that was crushing my nerves and Vicodin to manage the pain. Because… my back hurt, apparently.

Turns out that I went through all of this because it is a side effect of the blood pressure medication the doctor put me on. Why do they even ASK you what medication you are on if they are just going to assume you have gallbladder failure?

I’ve been through four different kinds of this type of medication. None of them have really worked that well and all of them have had side effects. The first one made me crave pickle juice. Seriously, it did. The second one made me feel like I ate gravel and was walking around with rocks in my stomach. The third one gave me this constant cough that kept me up all night and must have been incredibly annoying to co-workers. Now this one makes my muscles feel like they are attacking themselves.

I really don’t want to get on another set of pills so I can wait for more new and surprising side effects, but you can’t just go around with your blood pressure high. They won’t let you.

I don’t have cholesterol problems, so my arteries aren’t filled with goo. I exercise, so I’m not carrying around extra weight. Maybe I just rev higher than other people. My dad is the same way, so it must be a hereditary thing. But you aren’t allowed to rev higher because doctors will not go for this theory at all.

It is just like when I wanted to carry that human skull with me at graduation. No one else is carrying human skulls. You are NOT allowed to be different, and this INCLUDES your blood (and carrying human skulls). If you go to the dentist with high blood pressure, they will totally freak out. So will the eye doctor. Pretty soon you can’t take your blood anywhere without people freaking out about it. The ironic thing is that while the people are all getting anxious and freaky, they don’t seem to realize they are creating the VERY SITUATION that is going to make the blood pressure go even higher. No one sees irony while it is happening.

Don’t worry, everyone… as soon as I am completely healthy again, I am going to go to the doctor to get this whole thing straightened out. I don’t want to back there while I am sick. It is a recipe for fucking disaster.

@pictou suggested I fake a seizure to get out of the team building, but that is how I got out of the last one and they aren’t going to go for it every time. I’m going to have to start spacing these things out.

This year, team building was hosted by a guy in an orange jumpsuit which solicited several reactions from Twitter. @jbrown3079 asked if I was working in an oil change place, while @Aerten thought he looked like a convicted felon. @debihen confirmed that where she lives, the orange jumpsuit is standard prison wear.

Sorry this picture is blurry. I had to take it fast so the guy wouldn’t see me. I have no idea what crimes this person has committed so it is not a good idea to get on his bad side.

Later, the orange jumpsuit guy started up a bizarre conversation with me about how far a molecule has to travel to get from the center to the surface of the sun. That is how felons talk, I guess.

Each team gets assigned a cell phone. We also had a camera, which I couldn’t figure out how to operate properly because I always take pictures with my cell phone. I don’t know why they couldn’t let us take pictures with the phone. What is the point of technology if you end up carrying around a camera?

The first stop on our long team building journey is to talk to a guy with a briefcase. He had all of these strange patterns displayed out on this table in the middle of Panera Bread. At first, I thought he was going to tell me my fortune. He ended up making us play Boggle.

According to @jbrown3079, I was lucky this guy didn’t sell me a gym membership. @DragonTC seemed concerned I was going to somehow end up handcuffed to the briefcase.

Next, we had to go into Starbucks. Normally, I rather enjoy going into Starbucks. However, on this specific Starbucks occasion, our team was supposed to hold hands in a circle and hum until the person assigned to this bizarre game appeared to give us a clue.

I looked longingly at the people with their coffee typing at their laptops. However, having a nice cup of coffee and wireless access was not in the cards for me. We stood outside humming, as if we couldn’t decide between starting cult or a séance, until this person finally approached us. She then told us a story about a fish.

This woman probably thought our humming was terrible, because it seemed to take her forever to get out there. Maybe she was enjoying her coffee.

I can’t tell you how the story of the fish was relevant to our team building because I was busy taking pictures for Twitter.

This is a picture of hummus. There was beet hummus, and carrot hummus, and also the kind with the chickpeas. I didn’t get to try any of the hummus; however, because we were only in this place to look at the pictures on the walls. Honestly, I don’t know how we didn’t get thrown out. No one wants you in a place where you are looking at the walls and taking pictures of hummus and not even buying anything.

This is the place where @DragonTC said she would meet me with one of those tiny umbrellas that you put in drinks. I don’t know what they cook up in a cocktail kitchen, but I never did find out because this was not one of the places we had to go into to hum or talk to people with briefcases.

At one point in all of this, another team approaches us. Some of the members on this team are VERY enthusiastic about doing an “Inter-Team Challenge” because it would provide the optimum number of points.

Apparently, we would all need to participate in something called a “Dance-Off.” My only response to all this was that I don’t give a damn how many points are on the line, I am NOT doing a dance off. Luckily, our phone wouldn’t let us participate because we were right in the middle of the fish-lady task. However, all of this got me thinking the type of person I should be, or maybe could be, in contrast to the type of person I actually am.

My current attitude towards team building

Is there something wrong with me because I don’t care how many points our team will get if we participate in a Dance-Off? If I change the way I look at the world around me, would I be happier?

My potential attitude towards team building

Maybe instead of taking random pictures of places I would rather be, I could actually participate in the task at hand. I could enjoy the moment. I could bask in the humorous camaraderie of looking ridiculous outside a Starbucks. Can you change who you are by changing the way you look at things? That is exact moment when…… I saw they were handing out DRINK TICKETS.

Oh, wait…. drink tickets!!!

This is me living happily ever after with my glass of wine.

Once you have a large glass of wine, you no longer have to worry about being an entirely different person for the sake of team building. You can pretty much just relax and drink your wine.

Okay, so forget all that other stuff from before about looking at the world in a different perspective. The moral of this story is that if you are ever stuck in a team building, or end up in prison, you can depend on your Twitter friends to help you out.

@debihen will visit you in the big house to check up on your prison tats.

@DragonTC will send you cigarettes to use as currency and a cake that may or may not have a file in it.

@recordpaul will be of no use whatsoever. He will only ask, “Why are you in jail?” Sometimes, you don’t know WHY you are in jail, Paul. You just end up there. The least you can do is quit asking questions and send me cigarettes and some designs for my prison tats.

@edrafalko will point out how many ‘i’s are in random words like ‘wine’ and ‘antisocial.’ This makes a lot more sense within the context that I am not going to provide.

@jbrown3079 will wisely suggest that a vodka bar would be a more practical way of getting people to participate in any type of dance demonstration.

Most importantly of all, remember this: No matter who you are, or what people in real life may put you through, in the words of @DragonTC, “You are (twitter) loved.”

Today, I saw the jeep pull into a parking space. The man exiting the jeep looked, disappointingly, nothing like Indiana Jones. He wasn’t rugged, with tan skin weathered from the sun and wind. He was thin and pale. He had glasses and a suit. He had no leather hat. He looked, in fact, like he had never been outdoors a day in his life. I walked into the building reflecting on how disillusioned I was with the driver of this jeep.

Then… I started wondering if people are disappointed with me arriving in my Honda Civic. Who drives a Honda Civic, anyway? Maybe they are expecting a polite Asian man, and here I come out of the car all sarcastic and glaring. I feel like my car is a good fit for me though. I’m a terrible driver because I am essentially bad at aiming at things. This car is small enough to limit the damage of my carelessness and bad aim. Every time I miss something by inches, I am grateful not to be driving some mammoth SUV.

Then… I started thinking about those bumper stickers people put on their cars about their other car being something else. Wait, let me see if I can find an example.

This seems close enough.

Then… I started thinking about how you could apply this to t-shirts. This is what I came up with…

Get it? Because, you are trying to impress people, but really you make them think that you only have two shirts. HILARIOUS… right?

Fine. Give me a break. It’s Monday.

Oh… what? It’s Friday? Damn.

Near Death Experience Number One: Immediate and Total Kidney Failure

My back hurt the other day, and so naturally I assumed that something was wrong with both my kidneys because I read somewhere that they are located near your lower back and sometimes people just think they have back pain when both their kidneys are actually failing. So, the safe thing to assume when you have a pain in your lower back is that both your kidneys are failing. Since the pain was only on one side, I thought I might have a chance of still having one kidney, but I don’t like to take unnecessary chances, so I decided to go to the doctor. Of course, I hate dealing with people, talking to people, and having people touch areas where my kidneys may or may not be failing, so by ‘go to the doctor’ I mean ‘type symptoms into Google.’

My search results on Google told me that since the pain was dull and corresponded with movement, rather than being constant and sharp, that it was probably a muscle hurting rather than my kidneys getting ready to bail on me. Also, I wasn’t running a fever. I forgot what the other symptoms were. After I confirmed my kidneys weren’t falling out, the back pain kind of went away on its own.

Near Death Experience Number Two: Slow and Fatal Heart Attack

Then, as if the kidney failure issue wasn’t enough to deal with… yesterday afternoon… my hand goes numb. Not my entire hand, but the side of it. Well, not the entire side of it, more like the edge. The edge of my left hand and the side of my left pinkie went numb.

My first step in diagnosing any serious medical condition is to wait and see if it goes away. The next step is to jump to the worst case scenario. By midnight last night, the numbness had not gone away. Therefore, I assumed I was having a heart attack and I began contemplating whether I would die immediately or become a comatose vegetable.

Other serious medical questions came to mind in the middle of the night:  Are heart attacks immediate? Is this one already done, or looming? Maybe this is one of those slow heart attacks. Are those a thing? Should I take a baby aspirin? Sometimes they tell you to take a baby aspirin. Maybe it is a stroke. I wonder if I will lose use of my left side if this is a stroke. Which side do you lose use of where you can’t speak? Can I still speak? There is no one to talk to right now. Maybe I should call someone to see if I can still speak.

Finally, I made myself look up symptoms on Google. I was a bit worried that Google would tell me something was seriously wrong,  I really don’t want to rush around at midnight to an emergency room announcing that my hand feels funny. That would be the worst. If I have to go get medical help for something, I want to be bleeding profusely. I want it to be freaking obvious that I need medical attention, not walking around with my hand being half numb.

The Google results told me that since I am right handed and the numbness was in my left pinkie/ring finger area, and since I constantly sit at my desk like a slouchy person, that I was NOT having a heart attack. Apparently there is some sort of nerve in your arm that runs amuck if you sit around leaning on your elbow too much. I don’t know much about that because I pretty much lost interest once I found out I wasn’t having a heart attack.

Now that I have recovered from my serious health issues, I can begin contemplating the fact that I might be a hypochondriac. If not that, I have had this cough for over a week that I am pretty sure is the bird flu. Maybe I’ll type my symptoms into Google.

For Further Research:

Cure your heart attack with simple arm exercises and by not being slouchy:

http://www.ehow.com/how_5199086_relieve-fingers-left-hand-right.html
Okay, fine… they call it ulnar nerve compression… heart attack is more dramatic and much easier to spell.

I was in charge of this milk. ALL of it!

Because I am NOT a celebrity, all I got to touch was boxes of milk that don’t need to be refrigerated. Did you have ANY idea that there is milk that comes in boxes? I must live a terribly sheltered life, because apparently this is a thing.

Jesse Metcalfe holding tomato juice

This is a photo of Jesse Metcalfe holding tomato juice. At first, I didn’t recognize him because they said he was currently on the remake of Dallas. But then, someone told me that he was the guy who mowed the lawns on Desperate Housewives. That is when it all clicked together. Instead of holding tomato juice, imagine this person shirtless with a lawn mower. I met a CELEBRITY! Yea, me!

Look… this is Jesse Metcalfe’s tomato juice!

Of course, by ‘meet’ a celebrity, what I mean is touch the tomato juice of a celebrity with my boxes of non-refrigerated milk. But that STILL COUNTS!

Here I am packing milk into boxes and taking pictures at the same time. I’m a multi-tasker.

Non refrigerated milk is a lot harder to pack than it looks like. See how streamlined these boxes are? This is an arduous task. Plus, everyone got mad at me when I kept falling behind because I stopped to take pictures. I have a BLOG TO WRITE, PEOPLE!

Random picture I felt compelled to take. I’m an ARTIST. I have VISION.

Another advantage of volunteering at a food bank is that you can get pictures of celebrities holding random food items that you can then send to The Bloggess.

I have ALWAYS wanted to send a picture of a celebrity holding a random item to The Bloggess, because in return, you get a picture of… Wil Wheaton Collating Paper. Which I did, and which made  me FURIOUSLY HAPPY.

So… here are some helpful t-shirts for those of you who will be volunteering at food banks in the near future…

I can’t guarantee this shirt will get you near the tomato juice, but it’s worth a shot.

This will help explain why you are continually taking pictures of random things while you are supposed to be packing milk into boxes.

Also… one last picture. I would hate to feel like I held up the line taking all these pictures for no reason.

The final box of food. It’s important to get all the pictures of food while you have the chance.

Because this post is dedicated to (and partially lifted from) Amy’s book, Out of True, those of you who DID NOT read the book will be totally confused. That is what you get for not buying and reading a perfectly good book.

Actually, I’m not even sticking to the same poem. I picked random parts from the book and tossed them in with absolutely no forethought or logic. Therefore those of you that DID read the book will be totally confused. That is what you get for buying and reading books.

At any rate… here you go… happy alienation…

Running out of True

There is magic somewhere in the hush of an early pink morning, but we cycle through days never noticing. We hurry underneath the magic of wispy clouds moving across the sky, lit by early morning sun. Children will be late for school if we look at clouds. Somewhere there is magic in five quiet saints frozen in time, but the world would surely crumble if we took the time to listen to their hushed voices. Frozen saints talk very slow, most likely.

Frozen saints are way too quiet to get my attention. The radio blasts loud in my car as it races along its path to work. Always heading to some other place to be, there is limited time available to notice the edge of a woman’s skirt dragging in the grass.

The moon and the sun keep spinning, just missing each other in their long distance romance. Their dance of unfulfilled yearning is what marks my days. Just as the moon leaves its note for the sun, I wake up to an alarm, check the weather on my iPhone, and drop a frozen waffle in a toaster. Somewhere, there are angels scraping stars from their shoes. They must be far from here. I look up to see scattered stars, but there is only a clock ticking down the minutes until I am late and failing. Must move faster.

One day, when the time seems right, Amy will give back her icy saints. Shivering, one of them will raise a hand to speak. Most likely we will rush right past them, eager to embrace the futility of another day.

Or… maybe things will be different. Amy will catch the angels dancing on ink and box up the scattered stars from their shoes. The moon and sun will find a way to be together and get a nice house in the suburbs. The saints will warm their hands in the spring sun and tell their secrets. Your heart can quit lurching forward. You can rest.

Other people posting random things about Amy’s work:

travelling with Out of True as it was intended – LAHIKMAJOE

Magpie heart – Heinakroon.com

That is what you get for writing a book, Amy.

This all started when the person I share a cubicle with at work asked me, “Do you know Bon Qui Qui?” To which I said, “I dunno. Does she work here?” This happens a lot actually. Because I am not watching YouTube, apparently I have no idea what is going on in the world. So, he directs me to this rather amusing video and we all have a nice laugh.

Bon Qui Qui at King Burger
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jZkdcYlOn5M

I particularly like the part how the dude at the end states he is no longer under house arrest. I don’t know about you, but that is how I pick my men.

So, later on in the week, this same individual asks if I have seen, Here Comes Honey Boo Boo. “No,” I innocently reply. So… a brief Google search reveals what people are watching on television these days:

Here is the TLC Promo Trailer:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=11T59SdqguQ

That was only the trailer. If you look a little below this paragraph, you will notice another YouTube link. This will fully explain the whole disturbing thing. DON’T click it yet! Before you proceed, I must warn you that once you watch this on YouTube, you can never un-see it. Never. Remember that time  you were reading heinakroon.com and suddenly people’s torsos were burning up and you were looking at a bunch of legs sitting there? This is EXACTLY like that. Only with a strange little child that can’t enunciate. And no one spontaneously catches on fire.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=endscreen&NR=1&v=CGM_ANQsQ74
“A dollar make me holler, BABY.” Really? You are going to train your kid to say that and then send her out on stage with a halter top and a pair of daisy dukes? Also, is a dollar even a respectful price point for hollering? You’d think it would be more than that.

Worst of all, this is on TLC…. The LEARNING Channel! At least, I think TLC still stands for The Learning Channel. What am I supposed to be learning from all of this? Granted, it is almost a reference guide for turning a six-year-old into a stripper, but I don’t think this is anything I need to know. I don’t even have a little girl, much less one that I want to train to be a stripper. I’m sure I could start some sort of outreach program or something, but I really don’t have time for all that. So, let’s just say I DON’T want to start a stripper training outreach program for six-year olds. Thank you anyway, TLC. Maybe next time you can have a show about how to get started with the meth labs, because THAT is something worth looking into.

A shirt for all the self-respecting six-year-olds. I tried to make it into a halter top but the words wouldn’t fit.

All you have to do to be an expert is talk a lot and eventually someone will believe something you say. For example, Amy (AKA Lucy’s Football), once went on a tour with this tour guide who knew absolutely NOTHING about the history from the historical tour. If you ever find yourself in this situation, all you have to do is ask rhetorical questions about miniscule beds and strange wallpaper. Done.

So… who is ready for an elaborate critique of New Zealand snack food?*

*Don’t answer that, Amy. It is RHETORICAL.

First, I would like to thank @sleepsinhats for the generous donation of New Zealand snack foods which she mailed from New Zealand to my house. Unfortunately, I forgot that everyone on Twitter is an assassin. Wait… is EVERYONE on Twitter an assassin, or just @lahikmajoe? I need to ask Amy to clarify that with her dad.

The selection of treats that will most likely cause my untimely demise.

Now that @sleepsinhats has my address, she can drop by and kill me at any time. However, she will have to come all the way from New Zealand first. And, she will also need a place to stay, so she will probably ask if she can crash on my sofa before she kills me, and then I will be totally on to her. So, if anyone else would like to send me snack food from foreign places and then kill me, that would be great. Just make sure I get the snack food items first. I would hate to be killed for no reason.

Wait… what was it I supposed to be writing here? –death by assassin? -strange wallpaper? oh… yeah… New Zealand snack food.

First, let’s start with the peanut butter chocolate. This stuff is to die for. If you have to be killed for snacks, this one is the way to go… literally the creamiest chocolate thing I have ever had. If you are having New Zealand assassins mail you snacks anyway, I highly recommend the peanut butter chocolate.

Next, chocolate covered kiwi. I would classify this treat as green goo encased in a chocolate shell. They remind me of chocolate covered cherries, except with kiwi. I assume there is actually kiwi in there someplace. I had three of these, and it was difficult to locate the kiwi. I may have to step up the research.

The next snack food item is the chicken chips. This was actually the main point of the entire endeavor as I needed strange chip bags to display at work. What else do people do at work besides collect chip bags?

Notice the bag states the chips are chicken flavored, but they are clearly made of penguin. Look… the penguin is RIGHT THERE on the potato chip. Of course, he is a lot less killed and ground up in the picture than he is while settling in on your crisps, but you get the point.

I tried the chicken chips, and they aren’t bad. They actually taste a bit like you are eating potato chips and chicken soup all at the same time. I wonder if people could eat these chips if they have a cold. It might be easier than having an entire bowl of chicken soup. You could actually market these chips in the cold and flu aisle, right next to the TheraFlu and the echinacea. Of course, you would have to take the penguin off. No one ever heard of eating penguin soup when you are under the weather.

As a special thanks to @sleepsinhats for the New Zealand snack food items, I am creating this special t-shirt. You can wear it when you come to visit so I will recognize you.

On further reflection, if you are on Twitter at all you should be wearing this t-shirt. We all might be assassins. Don’t think you aren’t just because you haven’t assassinated anyone yet. It is only Tuesday.