Grits, Grits, Grits

Given yesterday's blog, I haven't been able to get out of my head the possibility of actually kissing grits. I explained to Chris and Ben yesterday the non sequitur which made me think of grits in the first place.

Listening to "Too Much Time on My Hands":
"Styx are still cool. They are Timeless...I don't have enough time on my hands to enjoy Styx."
"What do people in the mid-west listen to these days? I mean, what is the future of classic rock? Is it Good Charlotte?"
People in my highschool who wore jean jackets and T-shirts with Iron Maiden on them were known as "grits." Grits in Jason's highschool were known as dirtheads.
"Kiss my grits."
What would it feel like to really kiss grits?
What about french kissing grits?

I think when my thought process leads me to grits, it is generally a dead end...there's no where else to go. So, today I woke up with the thought in my head that I would head down to the cafeteria this morning and buy some grits and kiss them. I think that the warm glutanous texture would feel very nice against my lips...especially since the temperature is so cold these days...I need a moment alone.