I sing my song to the wide open spaces

As I am still stranded in Mexico, I thought a guest blog might tide you over until we return to Bozeman tomorrow night.

Due to content, and the fact that this was an email, said guest-blogger's identity will be kept top-secret:

Hey, wanna hear something sorta disgusting and TMI, but kinda funny? Okay, so I ordered this lab work from an independent lab that tests for gluten intolerance via genetic testing and stool sampling. They send you the test kit, which I figured was going to be a couple of fancy Q-tips for the cheek swab (it was) and maybe some kind of dipstick for the other thing (it wasn't). The "other thing" testing consisted of the lab equivalent of a Cool Whip container. Yeah, they wanted a whole shitload, shall we say, for the testing.

So I follow the specific instructions for all this, which consists of making the deposit, of course, then taping said glorified Cool Whip container, placing it in a ziplock bag, and freezing it. Then packing it in a UPS lab pack and putting the whole shitteree in the same cardboard box it came in and slapping the prepaid UPS Next Day Air label on it to go back to the lab.

So I do all this and drive to the UPS Store and hand over the box. He looks at the label and says, "Prepaid, okay, you're good to go."

As I am walking back to my car I'm thinking to myself, "Dude, I so just handed you a box of shit."