Well, fuck! I came thisclose to dying this morning. Since this was obviously very traumatic for me, I'll tell you all about it. But first, some background information:

This morning, I found my fagbracelet. It looks something like the bracelet below.

Naturally, I put on my beloved bracelet, which I've come to cherish over the years months. As some of you already know, I also cherish cooking.

The scene unfolded something like this: I'm in the kitchen browning ground beef over the open flame of my gas stove (which I loathe). My wrist is adorned with my beloved fagbracelet, which hangs loosely from my arm. Somehow, I manage to drop my hand close enough to the flame that my wispy little fagbracelet catches on fire! This isn't just a wimpy little candlelight-sized flame; It's an outburst of fire the size of your computer's mouse. With my jaw dropped and my eyes wide, I let out a valley girl-ish shriek and shake my arm for all it's worth. With my miniscule heart racing, I stare at my now unlit bracelet, astonished. "How could you betray me like this?!" I'm thinking. After that daunting experience, I learned a few things: Coffee is pointless. Simply get yourself a string bracelet, set it on fire each morning and see how much more awake you feel! Bracelets, no matter how innocent-looking, are evil.

[Note: Though traumatized, my skin is unscathed. Even my fagbracelet shows no signs of the dastardly event.]