tongue tales

I've seen some pretty low (or great, depending) things in my life; trent toppling the table at the Michigan @ house (& the gum incident), burbs on our living room floor, colleen and nob passed out at Roland's.. the list goes on. This is not to say I have no lows: I think I could top all of them, today not being an exception.
I enter the library and scuddle up to my small kingdom on the third floor. Draw bridge up and guards at the ready, I pull out my delicious booty; cool, creamy rice putting. Yes, it is small, but the glory is big. I open it and nearly weep at its mushy white beauty, letting the aroma fill my lungs and mind with tantilizing images of what lies ahead. Those images quickly wisp away as I realize I have but my hands to move the booty from its cell to my mouth. This aggression will not stand, I think. I realize I must improv, and do the next logical thing; remove the cap from the Juhayna juice bottle and morph it from circular green cap to circular green spoon. In it dives to the creamy greatness, scoring big payback with a giant delievery of greatness to my watering mouth...

It is hard to lick out the remnants from the bottom of the cap. There's a word for it, but I can't remember it.
And on that note, other improvs include cereal out of a frying pan and noodles cooked in a tea pot. It would appear our landlord lacks any sense of urgency in his acquirement of basic household goods.