YOUR ROOM — Your buddy, Private First Class William Jenkins, is frantically pounding on your door, yelling something about a piss test first thing this morning.

"I heard from Spc. Jones who overheard Staff Sgt. Sweeney tell Sgt. Jensen to be on hand for meat-gazing this morning," he huffed. "Man, that Easter grass was such a bad idea!"

You, too, immediately regret blazing up on the highest of holy holidays, and are apparently struggling to expel all evidence of your extracurricular activities during the past 72 hours. Sources also confirmed that Staff Sgt. Sweeney still has your Whizzinator from the last urinalysis after you've already torn apart your room in vain looking for it.