How is this dinner, and not dessert? Not that I'm complaining, but come now, Jews. You're pulling my leg, right?
Where did I leave off? Oh, right, with an aborted attempt at blintz casserole and my gradual descent into the gaping maw of madness. I'm back to my standard non-psychotic level of insanity, and that can only mean one thing: I can stop throwing dozens of hours of my life away watching Olympic beach volleyball in a drug-induced stupor.* Also, baked cheese.
*Although I did like how they played the cock rock in between serves, to make ...