Andy the Rat, Thieving Monkeys, and Manky Thieves

In the spirit of love and lovers and the mysterious Saint Valentine, whose day we most recently memorialized by depositing superfluous amounts of money directly into Hallmarks bank account (actually those singing cards that play songs like 'Let's get it on' and other erotic love ballads when you open them are kind of awesome), I will begin with a poem that I wish to send to a special some one I met on Valentine's Day:

A Promise to You on Valentine's Day

"Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
Because you robbed me on Valentine's Day,
I'm going to murder you."

Striking in it's brevity I think. But yes, it is true - I got robbed. I guess I sort of set myself up for it when I made a solemn promise before I left that there was "no way I will get anything stolen in Spain." That officially makes me a jackass. But before I get into the now, I will reflect upon what has happened in the last week...

On the subject of food: as of late, Marisol's cooking has gotten increasingly less healthy - this trend reached an apex earlier today. Let me give you the run down on what was on the menu for lunch.

1. Three hot dogs plain - two of which were wrapped in bacon
2. A giant plate of deep fried french fries
3. A fried egg

It wouldn't be so obvious that she's trying to kill us off slowly if it wasn't for the bacon - maybe if she encapsulated each hot dog in a shell of butter, then coated it in Crisco, and then attached fatback (from her own body), it could be worse. Anyways, after suffering through a few seizures and cardiac arrest immediately after the meal, I managed to crawl back to the room, curl up in a ball, and dry heave for an hour before heading to class. In all honesty, the food was actually pretty good but I did some research to verify the legends and wive tales about the origin of hot dog meat because I didn't want to just gloryhole these dogs mindlessly. I came to find out a hot dog is actually just a "moist sausage of soft, even, texture and flavor." So the next time you're shoving another soft, moist meat stick down your throat, keep in mind that there really aren't any cow penis' or pig balls fused into the sausage shaft resting flaccid inside it's bun home. So go ahead and stuff your face like an ill-bred glutton and drink in the soft, even texture of America's second greatest past time - the all mighty hot dog. (apologies for any inappropriate innuendos you may have derived from those last few sentences - I just watched MILK).

And now, time for...

Aventuras con Marisol

Dear Kitty,
"Tonight at the dinner table, I was eating quietly when Marisol snapped. She turned to me and yelled "RATON!" and proceeded to slap me in the face. It felt like the hand of a giant de-clawed Grizzly bear who hadn't eaten in days. Or maybe more like a 200 pound chimpanzee mauling me in the face. Through a cascade of tears I managed to ask why she hit me and she told me it's because I stole the left over bread from the last meal - like a rat. David stepped up and admitted it was actually him that had taken the bread and I remembered him stuffing a piece into his front jeans pocket after lunch. We had retreated to our ghetto (nickname for the room) after wards and sat huddled in the corner, breaking off crumbs until it was finished. To be quite Frank, I just wish this war (figuratively) would end; then maybe we could just be rid of all this Anneimosity and reach some sort of...final solution. About the supposed discoveries of Marisol's bi-sexuality and wealth I had mentioned last week, one of them seems to be true while the other not so much. I found out she does own a flat on the beach, how ever she doesn't have a car. I'm not even sure if they make models here in Spain to accommodate a person of her immense proportions, but it's still telling of her economic status. The bi-sexuality thing is starting to pan out though. She's always talking about 'gays' (same word in Spanish), all her friends are gays, and here's the kicker - she uses Men's cologne. How do I know this? Well before I left on Valentine Days night she told me she used Men's cologne, then offered me some, to which I accepted mostly out of fear, and then she barraged me with 8 or 9 shots of it right in the chest - CLACK CLACK CLACK. Either way, things are getting pretty interesting around here - I'm gonna check the kitchen for a stash of cucumbers and get back to you next week..."

Still updating but I'll publish anyways.

-BRAVO OUT-

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