Disgusting.

There is a guy called Marco, not 'lying Marco' or the even more despicable 'slimy Marco', but just regular Marco, no quotes. He is my ex girlfriend's brother, and for most of the year, he lives and works in New York as a soccer coach. He recently obtained a New Yorkian girlfriend called Amanda (and by 'obtained,' I obviously mean 'won the heart of', as opposed to 'purchased at Wal-Mart'), who is very lovely and sent me a giant box of Oreos as a pre-birthday gift. I like Oreos. A lot. Almost as much as robots and Sarah Michelle Gellar. It’s very hard to get Oreos over here, since shops seem to stock them sporadically, and when they do have them, they hide them in the children's clothing aisle, or the fish counter.

I recently discovered that Oreos that arrive in the Philippines come from China, whereas the American Oreos are manufactured inside the continental United States. This may go someway to explaining the slight difference in taste; what it does not explain is why, after eating any number of Oreos in a day, from one upwards, turns my poo the exact same color as an Oreo. I even did a dietary experiment to make sure it was the Oreos and not a coincidence. It’s the Oreos. I can only hope that my poo doesn't have a creamy center as well.

Gosh, I wish I hadn't typed that.