Hot Pockets and the New Year! Hot Pockets and the New Year! Yay!

I spent the waking hours of 2007 just like I do every year. In bed. And just like every year I turn on the TV and do 2 things. First, I turn it to the radar channel and look at the new date. "January 1, 2007". It always kind of wierds me out seeing it for the first time. It will probably take me till around March to finally stop writing "2006" on fax cover sheets, etc. Second, I turn it to the Cotton Bowl and check the score. It's the first bowl game of the new year, and it's always on so early I don't seem to give a shit about it. Then I got up and took a shower. The first shower of 2007. I was so unbelievably hungover, I dropped the soap and was too sickenly depressed to bend over and pick it up, so I just stood there under the showerhead for about 15 minutes staring into space. Then I finally picked it up, finished showering, turned off the shower and almost dripped dry before I opened the shower door. So yes, this is my new year's ritual, and I will perform it faithfully for the rest of my life... so there that is.
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Is it possible to make a Hot Pocket, and then not burn the shit out of yourself while trying to eat it? I've tried everything, to cutting it in half and then blowing into it for 20 minutes. I've put it in the freezer. Some friends of mine the other day suggested just eating it frozen, right out of the package. But that would not be a Hot Pocket. It would be a Cold, Frozen Pocket... which is not nearly as appealing. Anyways, that gooey and melted cheese is like fucking napalm. It never seems to fail, that I'll bite into my delicious Hot Pocket and then immediately regret it, blowing air out of my lips trying to quell the skin searing inferno, while also trying not to lose any of the yummy and satisfying pizza-esque cheesy ham and/or anything else that could be in this blessed blend of spice and bread. It's like a flavor pinata. A pinata that yields fire and lava, but as well as the best tasting substance on earth. I love to hate and love you, Hot Pocket. It's like the blending of heaven and hell. I offer up the sacrifice of all the skin from the roof of my mouth, but then you reward me with the scrumtious gift of taste. Seems like a fair trade to me.
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