- i love hot pockets. not those pastry rolls stuffed with all kinds of processed goodness**, but the warm spots you make in your bed because of your massive amount of fat. here, let me explain:

- they feel secure and safe. if i've been scared about something (for example, evil aliens following me around to capture me and harvest me, as was my fear after viewing signs), and then i crawl (or leap, as the case so often is) into bed, i suddenly feel better. the world is a less threatening place in the hot pockets.

- not only that, but it's always quiet and empty in the hot pockets. this leaves lots of time open for making loud armpit farts to fill the void pondering the meaning of the occurrences of that day. i get a lot of things figured out (and new things messed up) lying in my hot pocket.

- most of all, they're plain ol' comfortable. there's something about your own body heat that puts you at ease - kind of like your mother's cooking. no matter how nice someone else's is (or someone else's mother's is), you still like your own better. i'm not one to nap easily, but you could give me five minutes in my bed to make a hot pocket, and you better believe i'd be asleep.

- so.. yeah. power to the hot pockets.


**not that i have anything against those pastry rolls stuffed with all kinds of processed goodness. cause i don't.