Huchabara
We woke up after our first night on vacation and went down and had a cooked to order breakfast. We would later be scolded by our 4 year old for not taking them "out" to eat breakfast.
As we dressed and packed up for the days activities the girls parked themselves in front of the TV in the front room of the two room suite. They were watching Scooby-Doo and the villain of the day was a chupacabra.
Kyla ran through once or twice to tell us about the chupacabra. Then Laney came racing through the room and shouted, "Oh no a huchabara is gonna git us!"
I Think the Peacock Made me Pee my Pants!
When we arrived at the zoo we were in such a rush to get out of the car, the baby strapped into her little wearable carrier (I like to feel like Kangaroo sometimes.), and keep everyone from getting run over in the parking lot, that we forgot the camera.
We realized this when we got to the monkey cages, because you've got to take photos of monkeys. Paula decided she'd run back to the car and get it. The girls and I strolled along looking at the ducks and flamingos and then visited the alligator.
Just prior to this we had noticed a peacock roaming around the grounds, then watched him find a nice cool spot by an air conditioning unit in the shade. As we walked back from the alligator area we saw two other birds, looked like some sort of chicken, run towards the peacock's resting place. A turf war ensued but the peacock realized it was outnumbered and ran off, like an angry little kid.
We walked back towards the main gate to see if we could spot Paula. She wasn't anywhere to be seen so we turned around. Just then I noticed the beady little eyes of the peacock staring at me out of a bush just a few feet from us. I didn't want it to get scared and run out, terrifying the girls so I herded them to the bear enclosure.
The bear seemed more content to stare at us from his water hole, than actually coming over to the bars for a cracker. He looked like he was relaxing in a hot tub with the lower half of his body submerged in the water, his front legs resting on either side along the concrete, and staring back over his shoulder at us.
We walked to a shady area beneath the tree to wait. I pointed the monkeys playing in their area, out to the girls. Just then I heard a scream behind me. I turned to see my wife hopping wildly away from the bush and a terrified peacock racing the other direction.
I broke down in laughter. Her face glowed red from the noon heat, embarrassment and the wrath of the peacock. She had to laugh to and said she must have gone in 14 different directions. I told her it probably wasn't any more than 9.
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Vacation Highlights - Part 1
Sorry it's been a while since the last post. It's been hard to find the time over the past month or so, but hopefully I can keep it up during the school year.
Faster than the Speed of Light
My middle daughter is absolutely unashamed to undressed in public especially when swimming is involved. She proved that when she went skinny dipping with a boy on the 4th of July. Keep in mind she has just turned three, so this would not be nearly as funny in about 12 years. In fact instead of a blog about it you might read in the paper about a father being arrested for pulling a boys head off his shoulders by grabbing the spine and pulling it through his rear end.
When we got to the hotel, momma stepped into the bathroom for a moment. When she returned mere seconds later, both girls were out of their clothes in their swimsuits, floaties on, and goggles ready to go. It was like the scene in Tommy Boy where David Spade changes in less than a second in an airplane bathroom. That was a joke, but this actually happened.
Whistle While You Poop
If you know us you know you get a frequent potty report from my kids. They proudly announce in private and public what they have just accomplished in the bathroom, complete with a description of color, consistency and quantity. Comparisons are even made to what color shirt one of them may be wearing at the time. As in, Kyla - "My poop is green." Laney - "Yeah like my shirt." Then this is repeated out loud while walking through a restaurant.
While in the Mall of Abilene we let the girls play on the little playground. Kyla needed to go potty so momma took her while I stayed with Laney and Madisyn. When they returned Kyla went to play. A few minutes later she rushed over to us with a panicked look on her face and said, "I need to go poop."
I took her by the hand and walked her to the nearest bathroom. About halfway there her distress level went to red, and I picked her up to speed up the journey. We got there and got her on the potty.
Unfortunately it hadn't quite been fast enough. It wasn't a total loss, but we were just a few seconds late. I played the part of the good daddy and cleaned everything up the best I could. She begged me not to tell mommy, but I explained that mommy is probably going to notice the laundry.
She proceeded to do her business, and thought this a good time to whistle. She has been whistling for a while and is quite proud of it. Maybe she needed to relax a bit. It went something like this, "whistle whistle oohhhhhhhhahhhhhhhhhhhh"
We finished up in the bathroom and went to let her play for just a little bit. She kept giving me thumbs up from the playground thinking we had worked a sly deal to keep momma out of the loop on the whole potty mishap. Momma was fully aware of course.
Faster than the Speed of Light
My middle daughter is absolutely unashamed to undressed in public especially when swimming is involved. She proved that when she went skinny dipping with a boy on the 4th of July. Keep in mind she has just turned three, so this would not be nearly as funny in about 12 years. In fact instead of a blog about it you might read in the paper about a father being arrested for pulling a boys head off his shoulders by grabbing the spine and pulling it through his rear end.
When we got to the hotel, momma stepped into the bathroom for a moment. When she returned mere seconds later, both girls were out of their clothes in their swimsuits, floaties on, and goggles ready to go. It was like the scene in Tommy Boy where David Spade changes in less than a second in an airplane bathroom. That was a joke, but this actually happened.
Whistle While You Poop
If you know us you know you get a frequent potty report from my kids. They proudly announce in private and public what they have just accomplished in the bathroom, complete with a description of color, consistency and quantity. Comparisons are even made to what color shirt one of them may be wearing at the time. As in, Kyla - "My poop is green." Laney - "Yeah like my shirt." Then this is repeated out loud while walking through a restaurant.
While in the Mall of Abilene we let the girls play on the little playground. Kyla needed to go potty so momma took her while I stayed with Laney and Madisyn. When they returned Kyla went to play. A few minutes later she rushed over to us with a panicked look on her face and said, "I need to go poop."
I took her by the hand and walked her to the nearest bathroom. About halfway there her distress level went to red, and I picked her up to speed up the journey. We got there and got her on the potty.
Unfortunately it hadn't quite been fast enough. It wasn't a total loss, but we were just a few seconds late. I played the part of the good daddy and cleaned everything up the best I could. She begged me not to tell mommy, but I explained that mommy is probably going to notice the laundry.
She proceeded to do her business, and thought this a good time to whistle. She has been whistling for a while and is quite proud of it. Maybe she needed to relax a bit. It went something like this, "whistle whistle oohhhhhhhhahhhhhhhhhhhh"
We finished up in the bathroom and went to let her play for just a little bit. She kept giving me thumbs up from the playground thinking we had worked a sly deal to keep momma out of the loop on the whole potty mishap. Momma was fully aware of course.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
The Bomb Technician
After a little over a month I'm finally writing again. It was not a lack of ideas, just a lack of time. But, a great bit of inspiraiton this evening, coupled with the completion of the majority of the planning for the Matt Dutton Memorial Golf Tournament, I've finally got a free moment.
Mike wiped the sweat pouring from his brow. He had see touchy equipment. He'd been doing it for 25 years. He was getting frustrated, not a good emotion for a bomb technician. This was one of the most sensitive, and finicky things he'd ever dealt with.
"Why's this damn thing so touchy," he muttered.
He watched as the little green light on the piece of equipment he was using flashed from green to red. Nothing to panic about yet, just means I've got to start over. It was frustrating though. To think you were one step closer. Just moments away from completing this task and getting on with your life, then that damn light and that irritating voice.
"I just don't know what the problem is, he said slamming an object down beside the others. I do this all the time. It's not that hard!"
He looked around at the on-lookers. Didn't they have something else to do besides gawk. Are they just sitting there with morbid curiosity running through their little pea-brains, hoping to see a guy blow up. No, they were probably rooting for him to finish, as much as he was.
He sighed deeply as the screen froze once, more and the red light began to flash.
"Damn!"
"Hey, you're ok," said Linda. "You just have to be patient."
"It's easy for you to say," he said. "You've just got to stand by monitoring you're little screen over there, while I do all the work."
"Well, you're keeping me busy, having to undo what you keep doing."
"I swear it's this damn machine. I do this all the time and never have this much trouble."
"Yeah, it's always the equipment," chuckled Linda, walking back to her station.
Mike swore under his breath and went back to work. He moved quickly, hearing only a steady stream of beeps. This was good. Progress was being made.
"One more," he said. "One more."
He listened as he drew the object across the scanner. Beep! Mike's heart leapt, and then sick feeling crept into his stomach. He stared in horror.
"Item not found," came the biting tone. He watched as the light flashed from green to red, and the screen froze.
"Please wait for customer assistance!"
Mike's head drooped, he swore, and felt only hatred for the self check-out lane at Wal-Mart.
Mike wiped the sweat pouring from his brow. He had see touchy equipment. He'd been doing it for 25 years. He was getting frustrated, not a good emotion for a bomb technician. This was one of the most sensitive, and finicky things he'd ever dealt with.
"Why's this damn thing so touchy," he muttered.
He watched as the little green light on the piece of equipment he was using flashed from green to red. Nothing to panic about yet, just means I've got to start over. It was frustrating though. To think you were one step closer. Just moments away from completing this task and getting on with your life, then that damn light and that irritating voice.
"I just don't know what the problem is, he said slamming an object down beside the others. I do this all the time. It's not that hard!"
He looked around at the on-lookers. Didn't they have something else to do besides gawk. Are they just sitting there with morbid curiosity running through their little pea-brains, hoping to see a guy blow up. No, they were probably rooting for him to finish, as much as he was.
He sighed deeply as the screen froze once, more and the red light began to flash.
"Damn!"
"Hey, you're ok," said Linda. "You just have to be patient."
"It's easy for you to say," he said. "You've just got to stand by monitoring you're little screen over there, while I do all the work."
"Well, you're keeping me busy, having to undo what you keep doing."
"I swear it's this damn machine. I do this all the time and never have this much trouble."
"Yeah, it's always the equipment," chuckled Linda, walking back to her station.
Mike swore under his breath and went back to work. He moved quickly, hearing only a steady stream of beeps. This was good. Progress was being made.
"One more," he said. "One more."
He listened as he drew the object across the scanner. Beep! Mike's heart leapt, and then sick feeling crept into his stomach. He stared in horror.
"Item not found," came the biting tone. He watched as the light flashed from green to red, and the screen froze.
"Please wait for customer assistance!"
Mike's head drooped, he swore, and felt only hatred for the self check-out lane at Wal-Mart.
Friday, May 9, 2008
TV Dinners: Why do they fool me every time?
No, I did not sit down for an interview with TV dinners. I may do that in the future, but not now. I am irritated by the fact that I always fall for the delicious looking picture on the box.
A few weeks ago I was looking for a lunch for work the next day and finally decided the meatloaf looked good. I know you’re thinking, meatloaf? Well it did look good. A big plump, juicy piece of meat, gravy, mashed potatoes, corn, man it looked good.
I opened my frozen dinner about noon to find that the plump, juicy hunk of meat pictured on the box, was in fact so small that I cannot even dignify it by calling it a nugget. I thought there must have been more in there, but they had either fallen out, or if my normal pattern of luck held true, were never placed in the box at the factory.
This is not my first experience with this, which would suggest that I am an idiot. (But, you probably guessed that already.) The same has occurred with a chicken meal. It looked like a nice normal sized chicken breast. Instead of the 36DD chicken breast on the box I got the A cup. (Breast sizes are for comparison only and are not to offend anyone on either end of the spectrum or those in the middle. If I knew the mechanism for measuring the size of chicken breasts I would have used that instead.)
I think there should be a disclaimer on the box that says that, “The photo on the box is the photo of the first meal in this line prepared for the president of our company. Since you are not the president of our company, and are merely of a consumer, your actual dinner will be roughly ½ this size.” “Roughly ½ this size may mean actually ¼ of ½ of the size of the food on the box.” “When we say food on the box we mean it will look similar in nature and feel similar in texture to the food depicted on the box, but the food may not actually be meat, or vegetables.” “When we say meat, we actually mean we have no clue what this crap is. God only knows, we just get it in big barrels, put it in the mold and cook it. God be with you oh weary consumer. Our prayers are with you.”
A few weeks ago I was looking for a lunch for work the next day and finally decided the meatloaf looked good. I know you’re thinking, meatloaf? Well it did look good. A big plump, juicy piece of meat, gravy, mashed potatoes, corn, man it looked good.
I opened my frozen dinner about noon to find that the plump, juicy hunk of meat pictured on the box, was in fact so small that I cannot even dignify it by calling it a nugget. I thought there must have been more in there, but they had either fallen out, or if my normal pattern of luck held true, were never placed in the box at the factory.
This is not my first experience with this, which would suggest that I am an idiot. (But, you probably guessed that already.) The same has occurred with a chicken meal. It looked like a nice normal sized chicken breast. Instead of the 36DD chicken breast on the box I got the A cup. (Breast sizes are for comparison only and are not to offend anyone on either end of the spectrum or those in the middle. If I knew the mechanism for measuring the size of chicken breasts I would have used that instead.)
I think there should be a disclaimer on the box that says that, “The photo on the box is the photo of the first meal in this line prepared for the president of our company. Since you are not the president of our company, and are merely of a consumer, your actual dinner will be roughly ½ this size.” “Roughly ½ this size may mean actually ¼ of ½ of the size of the food on the box.” “When we say food on the box we mean it will look similar in nature and feel similar in texture to the food depicted on the box, but the food may not actually be meat, or vegetables.” “When we say meat, we actually mean we have no clue what this crap is. God only knows, we just get it in big barrels, put it in the mold and cook it. God be with you oh weary consumer. Our prayers are with you.”
I’d Rather be Eaten Quickly by a Big Dog, than Slowly by a Little Dog
One afternoon I came home from work, got out of my pick-up and headed for the front door. Just before I got there I heard a dog barking down the street. It was coming from a front yard so I stepped back to take a look.
My dog has a talent for tearing the 6 foot fence pickets down either in one piece or multiple pieces, and then getting out. The bark did not sound like Harvey’s but I wanted to make sure.
It was not Harvey, but it was a very big unpleasant looking dog. I paused and watched it barking at some neighbors down the street. It was a man and woman, getting out of their vehicle. From their body language I could tell it wasn’t their dog and they were concerned by its barking.
The man made a few motions to shoo the dog away, but it just stepped out into the street still barking. They eased towards their front door as the dog kept moving closer to their house. I waited poised to race down and come to their aid if need be. (Remember that the picture of the barking dog and the heroic neighbor rushing to the rescue was playing out in my head. In would like to believe I would have rushed down to lend a helping hand, but in all reality I may have simply wet myself and rushed inside.)
I opened the front door, and went in to drop my load of stuff. I did leave the front door open, thinking the whole time how stupid that was because one of the two mobile rug rats may have gone to the door and been attacked, or a very large, drooling, vicious dog may have entered my home. He didn’t.
I told my wife what was going on and went and grabbed one of my pocket knives. My intent was to go back outside and see if the dog had gone away, or if he was vicious or just loud. I did not plan to provoke the dog, but if he planned to attack me I intended to have something in my hand for defense. With no large sticks or rocks readily available, my knife was my only choice. (Now remember without ever have being place in one of these very intense situations, I have no frame of reference. I just basing my own potential off of those I’ve seen in the movies. But, I figure my heroism more closely resembles Napoleon Dynamite, than Die Hard’s John McClain.)
I watched the dog bark at a neighbor walking her own dogs. He never attacked, just stepped out into the street and made his presence known. Figuring that some dog owner would soon return home and put him away, I went back inside. I took the trash out to the dumpster, fending off the muddy paws and slobbering tongue of my own dog.
During this process our little min pin/dachshund mix came in the house. After a few more minutes I could still here the large dog barking out front. I decided to have another look and opened the front door. I was startled when I saw the large dog standing in the street right in front of my house. He was only a couple of feet from my driveway. I turned to make sure none of the kids were coming to the door in case he decided to eat me.
While doing this Lady slipped by me and darted out the door toward the monstrous dog. I watched, in shock, as my dog ran off, stupidly, to meet her demise. I yelled, “Lady! Lady, get back here!” I cringed waiting to hear the snarling the yelping then the silence of my dead dog clutched in the jaws of this beast.
It turns out my little dog unlike me is more John McClain than Napoleon Dynamite. My fear turned to laughter as this dog, roughly 1/20th the size of the other dog chased it away. The big dog almost fell over itself trying to turn around and run away. I would submit maybe he was afraid of the slightly overweight, pasty white guy running out of the house screaming “Lady! Lady!” (Note: “Lady!” is said not in a forlorn longing type of way, but more of a “Hey get your ass back here sort of way!”)
However, it wasn’t I that scared him. This tiny dog barking like a crazy little idiot, and if you’ve met lady you know she’s a crazy little idiot, chased the giant dog away. She stopped about two houses down the block on the other side of the street. I did not see the big dog stop, nor have I seen him since.
Note: The Matt Dutton Memorial Golf Tournament will be held on June 14, 2008, with lunch at 11:30 am and a shotgun start at 1:00 pm. If you are interested in playing please email me at klanejames@hotmail.com ASAP. I’m going to try to fill all the slots well before the tournament, so if you think I’m holding one for you or you can just contact me the week before, go ahead and email me now and make sure I’ve got your name down. If you want to donate to help the scholarship fund, send me an email and I’ll tell you where to send the money. We need participants so if you play check your calendar and come on out. The entry fee is $50/person or $150/ 3 person team.
My dog has a talent for tearing the 6 foot fence pickets down either in one piece or multiple pieces, and then getting out. The bark did not sound like Harvey’s but I wanted to make sure.
It was not Harvey, but it was a very big unpleasant looking dog. I paused and watched it barking at some neighbors down the street. It was a man and woman, getting out of their vehicle. From their body language I could tell it wasn’t their dog and they were concerned by its barking.
The man made a few motions to shoo the dog away, but it just stepped out into the street still barking. They eased towards their front door as the dog kept moving closer to their house. I waited poised to race down and come to their aid if need be. (Remember that the picture of the barking dog and the heroic neighbor rushing to the rescue was playing out in my head. In would like to believe I would have rushed down to lend a helping hand, but in all reality I may have simply wet myself and rushed inside.)
I opened the front door, and went in to drop my load of stuff. I did leave the front door open, thinking the whole time how stupid that was because one of the two mobile rug rats may have gone to the door and been attacked, or a very large, drooling, vicious dog may have entered my home. He didn’t.
I told my wife what was going on and went and grabbed one of my pocket knives. My intent was to go back outside and see if the dog had gone away, or if he was vicious or just loud. I did not plan to provoke the dog, but if he planned to attack me I intended to have something in my hand for defense. With no large sticks or rocks readily available, my knife was my only choice. (Now remember without ever have being place in one of these very intense situations, I have no frame of reference. I just basing my own potential off of those I’ve seen in the movies. But, I figure my heroism more closely resembles Napoleon Dynamite, than Die Hard’s John McClain.)
I watched the dog bark at a neighbor walking her own dogs. He never attacked, just stepped out into the street and made his presence known. Figuring that some dog owner would soon return home and put him away, I went back inside. I took the trash out to the dumpster, fending off the muddy paws and slobbering tongue of my own dog.
During this process our little min pin/dachshund mix came in the house. After a few more minutes I could still here the large dog barking out front. I decided to have another look and opened the front door. I was startled when I saw the large dog standing in the street right in front of my house. He was only a couple of feet from my driveway. I turned to make sure none of the kids were coming to the door in case he decided to eat me.
While doing this Lady slipped by me and darted out the door toward the monstrous dog. I watched, in shock, as my dog ran off, stupidly, to meet her demise. I yelled, “Lady! Lady, get back here!” I cringed waiting to hear the snarling the yelping then the silence of my dead dog clutched in the jaws of this beast.
It turns out my little dog unlike me is more John McClain than Napoleon Dynamite. My fear turned to laughter as this dog, roughly 1/20th the size of the other dog chased it away. The big dog almost fell over itself trying to turn around and run away. I would submit maybe he was afraid of the slightly overweight, pasty white guy running out of the house screaming “Lady! Lady!” (Note: “Lady!” is said not in a forlorn longing type of way, but more of a “Hey get your ass back here sort of way!”)
However, it wasn’t I that scared him. This tiny dog barking like a crazy little idiot, and if you’ve met lady you know she’s a crazy little idiot, chased the giant dog away. She stopped about two houses down the block on the other side of the street. I did not see the big dog stop, nor have I seen him since.
Note: The Matt Dutton Memorial Golf Tournament will be held on June 14, 2008, with lunch at 11:30 am and a shotgun start at 1:00 pm. If you are interested in playing please email me at klanejames@hotmail.com ASAP. I’m going to try to fill all the slots well before the tournament, so if you think I’m holding one for you or you can just contact me the week before, go ahead and email me now and make sure I’ve got your name down. If you want to donate to help the scholarship fund, send me an email and I’ll tell you where to send the money. We need participants so if you play check your calendar and come on out. The entry fee is $50/person or $150/ 3 person team.
Saturday, May 3, 2008
Mmmmm... Donuts!
On the way to church one Sunday morning we decided to stop and get some donuts. It was kind of a special treat because, well we were actually up early enough to stop and get donuts before church. Normally it would be out of the question because we would be running 5 to 30 minutes late.
Well we decided to stop and grab something for us and the kids. Part of me wanted a breakfast burrito (no not from BK), but there was also a donut place right there as well. So we asked the kids. (Yes I know in hindsight this was a stupid move.)
We pulled up to the drive-up window and began the decision process. This place has sausage and cheese kolaches. They also have really good cake donuts and... Mmmmm...Cake donuts. Oh sorry.
Anyway, we decided to go with a half dozen assorted, thinking ok surely we'll get a cake donut or two, and the kids don't care as long as it's round with a hole in the middle. (Who am I kidding, it could be green and rectangular with a hole in the upper left corner as long as it was composed of about 98% sugar.)
We ordered and were asked, "Does it matter what kinds." No we replied confidently. We were handed our donuts and we drove away. I held the box in my hands, both girls were squeal ling excitedly awaiting their sugary treat.
I opened the box, and said "Oh Crap." What was it? A half eaten donut, rodent droppings, a bug? No worse. 1 plain donut, 1 chocolate donut, 1 strawberry donut, 1 white icing donut, 1 light brown icing donut (the previous two I'm unsure of the flavors so descriptions of the colors will do), and 1 with icing and sprinkles.
Those of you without kids are wondering what the issue is here. Those of you with kids are probably as horrified as we were. We were a few blocks from church, we're dressed and ready to go, and we are about to hand our kids a sugar hand grenade that is bound to spray colored icing shrapnel all over our church clothes.
Well to sum it up, we made it without incident. My girls inherited their eating skills from their mother. I on the other hand managed to drop some sauce that shall remain nameless due to his refusal to grant me an interview to this point, on my shirt and pants just before I had to leave the house Saturday, requiring to me to make a quick change. So I hope your kids are naturally clean eaters, and always remember to specify your donut assortment when heading to church.
Well we decided to stop and grab something for us and the kids. Part of me wanted a breakfast burrito (no not from BK), but there was also a donut place right there as well. So we asked the kids. (Yes I know in hindsight this was a stupid move.)
We pulled up to the drive-up window and began the decision process. This place has sausage and cheese kolaches. They also have really good cake donuts and... Mmmmm...Cake donuts. Oh sorry.
Anyway, we decided to go with a half dozen assorted, thinking ok surely we'll get a cake donut or two, and the kids don't care as long as it's round with a hole in the middle. (Who am I kidding, it could be green and rectangular with a hole in the upper left corner as long as it was composed of about 98% sugar.)
We ordered and were asked, "Does it matter what kinds." No we replied confidently. We were handed our donuts and we drove away. I held the box in my hands, both girls were squeal ling excitedly awaiting their sugary treat.
I opened the box, and said "Oh Crap." What was it? A half eaten donut, rodent droppings, a bug? No worse. 1 plain donut, 1 chocolate donut, 1 strawberry donut, 1 white icing donut, 1 light brown icing donut (the previous two I'm unsure of the flavors so descriptions of the colors will do), and 1 with icing and sprinkles.
Those of you without kids are wondering what the issue is here. Those of you with kids are probably as horrified as we were. We were a few blocks from church, we're dressed and ready to go, and we are about to hand our kids a sugar hand grenade that is bound to spray colored icing shrapnel all over our church clothes.
Well to sum it up, we made it without incident. My girls inherited their eating skills from their mother. I on the other hand managed to drop some sauce that shall remain nameless due to his refusal to grant me an interview to this point, on my shirt and pants just before I had to leave the house Saturday, requiring to me to make a quick change. So I hope your kids are naturally clean eaters, and always remember to specify your donut assortment when heading to church.
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Hollywood Condimential Readers Request Special Edition: Diet Dr. Pepper - Dessert or Diet Drink Deserter
Kyle James (KJ) – Hi. Today I get the honor of sitting down with my personal favorite diet drink: Diet Dr. Pepper. Mr. Pepper thank you for sitting down with me.
Diet Dr. Pepper (DDP – not to be confused with the former wrestler) - Mr. Pepper, is my father. Please, I’m just plain ol’ Diet.
KJ – Doesn’t that get confusing when you’re around other diet drinks.
DDP – Why would I be around other diet drinks?
KJ – I just assumed that… You know that you would be hanging around with the diet drink crowd. Do you hang around with other drinks as well?
DDP – Why would I be with those bitter tasting diet drinks? I don’t limit myself to soda’s either. I am wrongfully classified as a “diet drink” when I am in fact a dessert. Ever since birth I have known I was more than a diet drink. I’ve always had this feeling, like I was something else.
KJ – What kind of feeling?
DDP – I just didn’t fit in with the other diet drinks. I always hung out with the desserts. I seemed to identify with them more. On the outside I am a diet drink, but in my heart I am a dessert.
KJ – So is that why you appear in the ads acting like a dessert?
DDP – Acting! I’m not acting. I am a dessert. Who are you to say I’m not?
KJ – Well you are a diet drink. You are liquid, you’re made with artificial sweetener, you have zero calories, and people who want a diet drink, drink you. That pretty much defines you as a diet drink, does it not?
DDP – I am a dessert! This is my life and who are you to define me! Don’t define me based on your what's on the outside. I know who I am inside.
KJ – What does Dr. Pepper think about this?
DDP – He’s not thrilled with it of course. He’s beholden to the soft drink industry so he doesn’t agree with my decision?
KJ – The decision to hang out with desserts?
DDP – The decision to become a dessert.
KJ – Are you saying you plan to undergo a full category change operation?
DDP – I’m tired of living life as something I’m not. Yes, everything about me says diet drink, and I was born a diet drink. But in a few weeks I’ll be a dessert.
KJ – What do other desserts think about this? Are they supportive, like we see in the ads?
DDP – A lot of that is acting. It’s still a controversial issue, and I know I’m not going to be accepted by the mainstream. But, there are some that are supportive of me.
KJ - What dessert has lent you the most support? Are you at liberty to say?
DDP - Yes, Rice Cake has been my biggest supporter.
KJ - Rice Cake. Is he really a dessert? I thought he was more of a diet fling food, or a alternative packing material.
(There was a pause in the interview at this point, as I tried to calm DDP and get him to continue with the rest of the interview. After a few minutes he agreed to continue.)
KJ – So tell us a little about this operation. What is actually involved with a procedure of this nature?
DDP – I don’t know.
KJ – You don’t know what’s involved.
DDP – Yeah, that’s right.
KJ – But, you still plan to go through with this. Where are you having this done?
DDP – There was this guy named Larry, who has an office downtown. He said for $1000 bucks he could do everything necessary to make me a dessert, but he needed the cash up front. I paid him and we’re scheduled to go through with it in two weeks.
KJ – Larry, downtown? And this is a medical doctor.
DDP – I assume so.
KJ – You mean you don’t even know if he’s a real doctor. Where was his office?
DDP – Wally’s Storage.
KJ – His office was a storage unit.
DDP – A really nice storage unit. Everything seemed on the level. He had a white coat, a table and one of those stethoscopes, but his seemed to be homemade. That's why I figured he had to be good, since he could make his own. He said his medical diploma and letter of commendation from the President were having their frames redone.
KJ – Diet I think you’ve been scammed.
DDP – No, this guy had to be legit. I helped him load his truck, because he was going to do a procedure up in Canada and stop in to visit his brother the Secretary of Candianisity. He’s supposed to be back in two weeks.
KJ – You gave a guy named Larry, with an "office" in a storage unit, $1000 and he went to Canada and said he would be back in two weeks after visiting his brother the Secretary of "Canadianisity" and then perform a very complex category change operation.
DDP – Well when you say it like that... Maybe I got ripped off.
KJ – Yeah it sounds like you got ripped, big time.
DDP – So you don’t think the guy’s a real doctor.
KJ – Dude. Seriously, you can’t be that stupid. I know you want to be a dessert and all, but you are a diet soda. You’re the best damn diet soda out there. Embrace it.
DDP – I just wanted to be on a dessert menu. I wanted to be served with ice cream and chocolate syrup.
KJ – You still can. People who go on diets are always looking for ways to cheat. They reason out eating a hot fudge sundae because they're drinking a Diet Dr. Pepper. That’s what I do anyway.
DDP – So I’d kind of be an addition to the dessert.
KJ – Dude you’re a compliment to the whole meal. I can drink three Diet Dr. Pepper’s and eat the super giagantous cheeseburger, then have the hot fudge sundae because the calories from the drink are zero.
DDP – Really!
KJ – No I usually drink water. They charge too much for soda. And, if I skip the soda I can afford dessert.
DDP – Awwwwww Man!
Diet Dr. Pepper (DDP – not to be confused with the former wrestler) - Mr. Pepper, is my father. Please, I’m just plain ol’ Diet.
KJ – Doesn’t that get confusing when you’re around other diet drinks.
DDP – Why would I be around other diet drinks?
KJ – I just assumed that… You know that you would be hanging around with the diet drink crowd. Do you hang around with other drinks as well?
DDP – Why would I be with those bitter tasting diet drinks? I don’t limit myself to soda’s either. I am wrongfully classified as a “diet drink” when I am in fact a dessert. Ever since birth I have known I was more than a diet drink. I’ve always had this feeling, like I was something else.
KJ – What kind of feeling?
DDP – I just didn’t fit in with the other diet drinks. I always hung out with the desserts. I seemed to identify with them more. On the outside I am a diet drink, but in my heart I am a dessert.
KJ – So is that why you appear in the ads acting like a dessert?
DDP – Acting! I’m not acting. I am a dessert. Who are you to say I’m not?
KJ – Well you are a diet drink. You are liquid, you’re made with artificial sweetener, you have zero calories, and people who want a diet drink, drink you. That pretty much defines you as a diet drink, does it not?
DDP – I am a dessert! This is my life and who are you to define me! Don’t define me based on your what's on the outside. I know who I am inside.
KJ – What does Dr. Pepper think about this?
DDP – He’s not thrilled with it of course. He’s beholden to the soft drink industry so he doesn’t agree with my decision?
KJ – The decision to hang out with desserts?
DDP – The decision to become a dessert.
KJ – Are you saying you plan to undergo a full category change operation?
DDP – I’m tired of living life as something I’m not. Yes, everything about me says diet drink, and I was born a diet drink. But in a few weeks I’ll be a dessert.
KJ – What do other desserts think about this? Are they supportive, like we see in the ads?
DDP – A lot of that is acting. It’s still a controversial issue, and I know I’m not going to be accepted by the mainstream. But, there are some that are supportive of me.
KJ - What dessert has lent you the most support? Are you at liberty to say?
DDP - Yes, Rice Cake has been my biggest supporter.
KJ - Rice Cake. Is he really a dessert? I thought he was more of a diet fling food, or a alternative packing material.
(There was a pause in the interview at this point, as I tried to calm DDP and get him to continue with the rest of the interview. After a few minutes he agreed to continue.)
KJ – So tell us a little about this operation. What is actually involved with a procedure of this nature?
DDP – I don’t know.
KJ – You don’t know what’s involved.
DDP – Yeah, that’s right.
KJ – But, you still plan to go through with this. Where are you having this done?
DDP – There was this guy named Larry, who has an office downtown. He said for $1000 bucks he could do everything necessary to make me a dessert, but he needed the cash up front. I paid him and we’re scheduled to go through with it in two weeks.
KJ – Larry, downtown? And this is a medical doctor.
DDP – I assume so.
KJ – You mean you don’t even know if he’s a real doctor. Where was his office?
DDP – Wally’s Storage.
KJ – His office was a storage unit.
DDP – A really nice storage unit. Everything seemed on the level. He had a white coat, a table and one of those stethoscopes, but his seemed to be homemade. That's why I figured he had to be good, since he could make his own. He said his medical diploma and letter of commendation from the President were having their frames redone.
KJ – Diet I think you’ve been scammed.
DDP – No, this guy had to be legit. I helped him load his truck, because he was going to do a procedure up in Canada and stop in to visit his brother the Secretary of Candianisity. He’s supposed to be back in two weeks.
KJ – You gave a guy named Larry, with an "office" in a storage unit, $1000 and he went to Canada and said he would be back in two weeks after visiting his brother the Secretary of "Canadianisity" and then perform a very complex category change operation.
DDP – Well when you say it like that... Maybe I got ripped off.
KJ – Yeah it sounds like you got ripped, big time.
DDP – So you don’t think the guy’s a real doctor.
KJ – Dude. Seriously, you can’t be that stupid. I know you want to be a dessert and all, but you are a diet soda. You’re the best damn diet soda out there. Embrace it.
DDP – I just wanted to be on a dessert menu. I wanted to be served with ice cream and chocolate syrup.
KJ – You still can. People who go on diets are always looking for ways to cheat. They reason out eating a hot fudge sundae because they're drinking a Diet Dr. Pepper. That’s what I do anyway.
DDP – So I’d kind of be an addition to the dessert.
KJ – Dude you’re a compliment to the whole meal. I can drink three Diet Dr. Pepper’s and eat the super giagantous cheeseburger, then have the hot fudge sundae because the calories from the drink are zero.
DDP – Really!
KJ – No I usually drink water. They charge too much for soda. And, if I skip the soda I can afford dessert.
DDP – Awwwwww Man!
Monday, April 21, 2008
In Honor of Earth Day...
i've updated my blog to appear green. Apparently that's all you need to do to truly combat global warming. Check out NBC. Heck I know Google is probably green today. Watch all the commercials you can. You'll see more green than on St. Patrick's Day. We will unite behind the color green, and we will win. (Means absolutely nothing, but there are enough loons out there to buy off on it.) Yeah GREEN! GREEN, GREEN GREEN! Look at me I'm GREEN! Wow I do feel good, but anyway.
On Earth Day, don't just plant a tree. Hug a tree. Kiss it if your feeling up to it. Then when you see all the commercials and news stories tomorrow, about how we're killing the Earth and the bleeding heart liberals are doing everything they can to save it by singing in the park, playing hacky sack and burning sweet sacrifices at the feet of a golden statue of their savior ALGORE, you can sit back and smile because you made a difference in the life of that tree, a difference that just might save your life. (Sure, now there's an awkward sexual tension when you walk past, but hey no big deal.)
How might this save my life you ask. Because, the great prophet ALGORE has sayethed unto us that we art killing the Earth. Well, he's wrong. We won't kill the Earth. The Earth will likely kill us.
Survival of the fittest won't matter when the tree people rise from the ground to defend the planet against our polluting ways. Loggers will run screaming as the towering giants they dropped with chainsaws now chase them. Our cities will, be overrun with armies of trees. (Lubbock should hold out for quite a while. Colorado will probably have to send a garrison of pines down to finish us off, and then New Mexico will have to send some after we wipe those out, it could go on for a while.)
You can prevent this from happening though. No not by driving a hybrid, or buying carbon offsets or watching An Inconvenient Truth in your boxer shorts while eating Cheetos from the bag. No, all you have to do is hug a tree. Show it some love, some compassion, that you truly care about it. Then when the army of pines comes into town it can say, "No boys, he's (or she's) with me." (That is of course if your tree friend hasn't been slaughtered in the man/tree war at that point.)
So on April 22, 2008, go out and hug a tree, it may literally save your life. Turning your website green, or running "green" commercials won't work. Trees don't use the internet or watch TV, and no your ficus can't vouch for you. A ficus is looked down upon in the larger tree community.
On Earth Day, don't just plant a tree. Hug a tree. Kiss it if your feeling up to it. Then when you see all the commercials and news stories tomorrow, about how we're killing the Earth and the bleeding heart liberals are doing everything they can to save it by singing in the park, playing hacky sack and burning sweet sacrifices at the feet of a golden statue of their savior ALGORE, you can sit back and smile because you made a difference in the life of that tree, a difference that just might save your life. (Sure, now there's an awkward sexual tension when you walk past, but hey no big deal.)
How might this save my life you ask. Because, the great prophet ALGORE has sayethed unto us that we art killing the Earth. Well, he's wrong. We won't kill the Earth. The Earth will likely kill us.
Survival of the fittest won't matter when the tree people rise from the ground to defend the planet against our polluting ways. Loggers will run screaming as the towering giants they dropped with chainsaws now chase them. Our cities will, be overrun with armies of trees. (Lubbock should hold out for quite a while. Colorado will probably have to send a garrison of pines down to finish us off, and then New Mexico will have to send some after we wipe those out, it could go on for a while.)
You can prevent this from happening though. No not by driving a hybrid, or buying carbon offsets or watching An Inconvenient Truth in your boxer shorts while eating Cheetos from the bag. No, all you have to do is hug a tree. Show it some love, some compassion, that you truly care about it. Then when the army of pines comes into town it can say, "No boys, he's (or she's) with me." (That is of course if your tree friend hasn't been slaughtered in the man/tree war at that point.)
So on April 22, 2008, go out and hug a tree, it may literally save your life. Turning your website green, or running "green" commercials won't work. Trees don't use the internet or watch TV, and no your ficus can't vouch for you. A ficus is looked down upon in the larger tree community.
Friday, April 18, 2008
The Epic Battle of Lucy and the Ninja Squirrel
(This story is true. The names and places have been changed so significantly it should be impossible to determine who the story is about.)
Lucy Curr walked out of her office. It had been a long day and she was ready to get home and see her husband, Juff Curr. She looked at the high mountains surrounding her home in Dunver, Culurado.
As she walked across the parking lot she noticed some movement out of the corner of her eye. She stopped and looked closer but nothing was there. She dug in her purse for her keys.
After a few moments of searching she located them and hit the button on the remote unlock the doors. She pushed one more time, and again, harder. The car sat quiet. The familiar click of the locks was absent.
She continued across the parking lot, keeping her attention focused to her left and right. Again she saw movement. She stopped once more and stared in the direction it had come from. She squinted but saw nothing.
“This is crazy,” she thought. “It’s just my mind playing tricks on me.”
She continued, but at a more hurried pace. She got to her vehicle and stuck the key into the door. As she turned it a cold chill rippled down her spine. She felt the beady eyes of her foe, staring at her. She slowly turned to face her attacker.
“So Mrs. Curr, we meet at last,” said the ninja squirrel.
“I guess we do,” Lucy replied, leaving her keys in the door, and readying her bag for the battle.
In a flash the two clashed there in the parking lot. Wild kicks and chops came from the ninja squirrel, but they were blocked with each swing of Lucy’s bag. The two battled for what seemed like an eternity.
The two combatants paused after a series of furious exchanges to catch there breath. Each stood sweaty, tired and frustrated that they were unable to mount a solid offense against the other.
“You are stronger than I anticipated, Mrs. Curr. But you will not last much longer. Your skills are not yet ready to vanquish, the ninja squirrel.”
Lucy only grinned and they returned to battle. The ninja squirrel flew into the air. He screamed wildly and came down with fists flaling, a fury unseen by most men.
Lucy did not waiver. She brought her bag up and matched the squirrel blow for blow. They fought longer still. Lucy swung her bag with such might, it startled the squirrel, but undeterred he fought with extra vigor and zeal. They parted, both barely able to stand.
The squirrel was visibly shaken, stunned that his foe still stood across from him unvanquished.
“This is not the end, Lucy. You have fought valiantly, but you will not be so lucky the next time we meet.”
“That’s Mrs. Curr,” she stated defiantly eyeing the squirrel, ready to attack.
There eyes stayed lock for a few moments then the squirrel, retreat into a tree and was gone. Lucy breathed a sigh of relief, opened the car door and went home.
To other onlookers this epic battle may have only appeared to be a grown woman watching a squirrel, then swinging her bag violently to defend herself against the squirrel that she thought jumped out of the tree to attack her, but in reality had just been a leaf. They did not see the true beauty of these two noble combatants battling for victory.
Lucy made it home, the squirrel was safe in the tree. Unfortunately the leaf that fluttered to Earth, startling Lucy and unwittingly bringing an onslaught of furious blows from a bag upon itself did not fair as well. Rest in peace little leaf. We hardly knew thee.
Lucy Curr walked out of her office. It had been a long day and she was ready to get home and see her husband, Juff Curr. She looked at the high mountains surrounding her home in Dunver, Culurado.
As she walked across the parking lot she noticed some movement out of the corner of her eye. She stopped and looked closer but nothing was there. She dug in her purse for her keys.
After a few moments of searching she located them and hit the button on the remote unlock the doors. She pushed one more time, and again, harder. The car sat quiet. The familiar click of the locks was absent.
She continued across the parking lot, keeping her attention focused to her left and right. Again she saw movement. She stopped once more and stared in the direction it had come from. She squinted but saw nothing.
“This is crazy,” she thought. “It’s just my mind playing tricks on me.”
She continued, but at a more hurried pace. She got to her vehicle and stuck the key into the door. As she turned it a cold chill rippled down her spine. She felt the beady eyes of her foe, staring at her. She slowly turned to face her attacker.
“So Mrs. Curr, we meet at last,” said the ninja squirrel.
“I guess we do,” Lucy replied, leaving her keys in the door, and readying her bag for the battle.
In a flash the two clashed there in the parking lot. Wild kicks and chops came from the ninja squirrel, but they were blocked with each swing of Lucy’s bag. The two battled for what seemed like an eternity.
The two combatants paused after a series of furious exchanges to catch there breath. Each stood sweaty, tired and frustrated that they were unable to mount a solid offense against the other.
“You are stronger than I anticipated, Mrs. Curr. But you will not last much longer. Your skills are not yet ready to vanquish, the ninja squirrel.”
Lucy only grinned and they returned to battle. The ninja squirrel flew into the air. He screamed wildly and came down with fists flaling, a fury unseen by most men.
Lucy did not waiver. She brought her bag up and matched the squirrel blow for blow. They fought longer still. Lucy swung her bag with such might, it startled the squirrel, but undeterred he fought with extra vigor and zeal. They parted, both barely able to stand.
The squirrel was visibly shaken, stunned that his foe still stood across from him unvanquished.
“This is not the end, Lucy. You have fought valiantly, but you will not be so lucky the next time we meet.”
“That’s Mrs. Curr,” she stated defiantly eyeing the squirrel, ready to attack.
There eyes stayed lock for a few moments then the squirrel, retreat into a tree and was gone. Lucy breathed a sigh of relief, opened the car door and went home.
To other onlookers this epic battle may have only appeared to be a grown woman watching a squirrel, then swinging her bag violently to defend herself against the squirrel that she thought jumped out of the tree to attack her, but in reality had just been a leaf. They did not see the true beauty of these two noble combatants battling for victory.
Lucy made it home, the squirrel was safe in the tree. Unfortunately the leaf that fluttered to Earth, startling Lucy and unwittingly bringing an onslaught of furious blows from a bag upon itself did not fair as well. Rest in peace little leaf. We hardly knew thee.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Chipmunks: HA HA HA HA HA
(This is a blog you must actively participate in, otherwise it won't be that funny. If you don't have access to You Tube right now, wait until you do. Otherwise it won't be that funny, unless you hear things in chipmunk voices anyway, in which case Bravo!)
I don't know what it is about super high voices. Not just people who speak in a high voice, but super high voices like the chipmunks. SCRUBS has made a fun character with a super high voice that's a plentiful well of comedy.
If I did podcasts instead of blogs and just altered my voice up several octaves I wouldn't have to think as hard to come up with material. (Huh, not a bad idea.) But, I barely have enough time to type out my stupidity much less record, edit, upload, yeah too much trouble.
Well, I say this because we finally got an internet service provider that can actually provide a consistently fast speed. So I can finally watch You Tube videos, at a normal rate.
Rhianna has a song called Umbrella. If you have heard it it actually brings a smile to your face because it itself is laughable. The line "you can stand under my um-barella ella ella ella A A A" repeated over and over is hilarious. (And sad that it sells millions of copies while the rest of us work 40+ hours a week to pay the bills.
If you haven't heard it, go to You Tube, search and play it. Just listen to about half of it. I don't want you to hate me or anything. Here's a link. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lVUMzW4dAQQ I'll wait. (By the way if you love the song. Well you are entitled to your opinion, but you're wrong. It's your right. But just understand you are wrong.)
Now, if you're done you may proceed. If not, go listen to it. You have to have at least heard the song once. Once you're done, proceed to the next link. Now the chipmunk voice is enough to make you laugh. You can say anything in a chipmunk voice and it would be funny. You could due the broadcast of the Hindenburg crash in a chipmunk and it would be funny. Horribly wrong, but funny. (I'm laughing while thinking about it. I am so going to hell.)
OK, here's the link. If you've laughed so far, I'll take the credit. (Rhianna gets a bit.) But from here on I'll have to give credit to the creators of this video. Thanks also go to Rhianna for singing such a stupid song, but the chipmunk version does have a redemptive quality to it, don't you think. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WpQWWq9SUuQ&feature=related
I don't know what it is about super high voices. Not just people who speak in a high voice, but super high voices like the chipmunks. SCRUBS has made a fun character with a super high voice that's a plentiful well of comedy.
If I did podcasts instead of blogs and just altered my voice up several octaves I wouldn't have to think as hard to come up with material. (Huh, not a bad idea.) But, I barely have enough time to type out my stupidity much less record, edit, upload, yeah too much trouble.
Well, I say this because we finally got an internet service provider that can actually provide a consistently fast speed. So I can finally watch You Tube videos, at a normal rate.
Rhianna has a song called Umbrella. If you have heard it it actually brings a smile to your face because it itself is laughable. The line "you can stand under my um-barella ella ella ella A A A" repeated over and over is hilarious. (And sad that it sells millions of copies while the rest of us work 40+ hours a week to pay the bills.
If you haven't heard it, go to You Tube, search and play it. Just listen to about half of it. I don't want you to hate me or anything. Here's a link. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lVUMzW4dAQQ I'll wait. (By the way if you love the song. Well you are entitled to your opinion, but you're wrong. It's your right. But just understand you are wrong.)
Now, if you're done you may proceed. If not, go listen to it. You have to have at least heard the song once. Once you're done, proceed to the next link. Now the chipmunk voice is enough to make you laugh. You can say anything in a chipmunk voice and it would be funny. You could due the broadcast of the Hindenburg crash in a chipmunk and it would be funny. Horribly wrong, but funny. (I'm laughing while thinking about it. I am so going to hell.)
OK, here's the link. If you've laughed so far, I'll take the credit. (Rhianna gets a bit.) But from here on I'll have to give credit to the creators of this video. Thanks also go to Rhianna for singing such a stupid song, but the chipmunk version does have a redemptive quality to it, don't you think. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WpQWWq9SUuQ&feature=related
Monday, April 7, 2008
The Breakfast of the Future: It's a Frickin' Burrito!
In case you haven't noticed new ads have been running for BK. They're set in the future and the King is no longer a frightening plastic masked guy. He's now a frightening plastic suited, floating robot thing.
His latest adventure finds him hocking his new breakfast item: the BK Breakfast Wrap. It has eggs, bacon, and hash browns all rolled together in a tortilla. It is presented as something new, futuristic, unseen by the world.
It in fact appears to be what tradition says was invented by a man named Juan Mendez around the early 1900's, known as a BURRITO! (Credit that to Wikipedia, so it may be a load of donkey crap) The word burrito means "little donkey" so since this is a small part of the blog it could be burrito crap or "little donkey crap" but donkey crap is donkey crap no matter what size it is.
Seriously, has the fast food industry got so bad that, the ones I joke about behind the counter have worked their way up the ranks to the point of product marketing and advertising. Your selling a burrito as a futuristic food. It's been around since before BK, or that stupid King.
When you start selling the little pill that they had on the Jetson's I'll be impressed and run buy one. I know the American attention span isn't that long, but my kids recognize a burrito when they see it.
This is just another unintended consequence of political correctness. Why you ask. Political correctness is simply saying the same thing, but using different terminology. We've become so accustomed to that way of thinking it's spilling over into the world of food and that's unacceptable. Just because we change the name it doesn't make it so.
Don't call a burrito a BK Breakfast Wrap and expect me to buy it as something all new. I like burritos. Everyone sells burritos. Call it a burrito and say it's better than the other guys burrito because... and you fill in the blank.
Now because of this stupid marketing campaign, this conversation may be occuring as we speak.
"Hey I didn't know BK had burrito's."
"They don't, this is a BK Breakfast Wrap."
"Oh. Well it looks like a burrito."
"No this is an egg, bacon and hash browns wrapped up in a tortilla. It's the breakfast of the future."
"How's that not a burrito."
"It's not called a burrito."
"Again. Why is it not called a burrito."
"Becasue the King said it's not ok! Because the King said so! Have you seen him. My God! Before he was scary, and now he's all robotic and flying. Do you want to wake up with that thing staring at you. I sure as hell don't, so if he says it's a BK Breakfast Wrap, it's a BK Breakfast Wrap. If your going to question the King you bring that hell upon yourself and leave me out of it."
"Ok. BK Breakfast Wrap it is."
His latest adventure finds him hocking his new breakfast item: the BK Breakfast Wrap. It has eggs, bacon, and hash browns all rolled together in a tortilla. It is presented as something new, futuristic, unseen by the world.
It in fact appears to be what tradition says was invented by a man named Juan Mendez around the early 1900's, known as a BURRITO! (Credit that to Wikipedia, so it may be a load of donkey crap) The word burrito means "little donkey" so since this is a small part of the blog it could be burrito crap or "little donkey crap" but donkey crap is donkey crap no matter what size it is.
Seriously, has the fast food industry got so bad that, the ones I joke about behind the counter have worked their way up the ranks to the point of product marketing and advertising. Your selling a burrito as a futuristic food. It's been around since before BK, or that stupid King.
When you start selling the little pill that they had on the Jetson's I'll be impressed and run buy one. I know the American attention span isn't that long, but my kids recognize a burrito when they see it.
This is just another unintended consequence of political correctness. Why you ask. Political correctness is simply saying the same thing, but using different terminology. We've become so accustomed to that way of thinking it's spilling over into the world of food and that's unacceptable. Just because we change the name it doesn't make it so.
Don't call a burrito a BK Breakfast Wrap and expect me to buy it as something all new. I like burritos. Everyone sells burritos. Call it a burrito and say it's better than the other guys burrito because... and you fill in the blank.
Now because of this stupid marketing campaign, this conversation may be occuring as we speak.
"Hey I didn't know BK had burrito's."
"They don't, this is a BK Breakfast Wrap."
"Oh. Well it looks like a burrito."
"No this is an egg, bacon and hash browns wrapped up in a tortilla. It's the breakfast of the future."
"How's that not a burrito."
"It's not called a burrito."
"Again. Why is it not called a burrito."
"Becasue the King said it's not ok! Because the King said so! Have you seen him. My God! Before he was scary, and now he's all robotic and flying. Do you want to wake up with that thing staring at you. I sure as hell don't, so if he says it's a BK Breakfast Wrap, it's a BK Breakfast Wrap. If your going to question the King you bring that hell upon yourself and leave me out of it."
"Ok. BK Breakfast Wrap it is."
Friday, April 4, 2008
The Simple Mind is Calling You!
The most difficult part of my blog and in any writing I have ever done is thinking up topics. Sometimes something inspires me, sometimes I eat fast food, but sometimes I draw a blank. My hope was to post at least twice a week. I have yet to accomplish that goal. So my call to you is: Send me a topic. Send me many topics.
Yes! Anyone who reads this blog, my challenge to you is to send me a topic. What topics do I want? I don't care. It's up to you. I like the challenge. Want to start a story and see where I take it? Go for it. Want to send me an obscure word and see if I can blog on it in a funny way? Go ahead. It's up to you. Send me the mundane, and I'll try to work with it. It's totally up to you.
There's no limit on the amount of topics you can send. I'll file them away and get to them as I get to them. I'll still post my own topical blogs based on what kind of inspiration or stories come my way, but I'll use your ideas to fill the gaps. So come on. Throw me a bone here. Send your topics to klanejames@hotmail.com.
Hollywood Condimential: Mustard on the Record
Unable to garner and interview with BBQ Sauce, I decided a great conversation could be had with Mustard. He’s best known for his work with hamburgers and hot dogs. He has worked with Honey to create Honey Mustard. Readers probably didn’t know that they were actually married, but have since divorced. So enjoy the second in the Hollywood Condimential Series.
Kyle James (KJ) – Mr. Mustard, I appreciate you sitting down with me today. I know your very busy and I just want to let you know how grateful I am that you would taker time to talk with me.
Mustard (M) – Not a problem Kyle and feel free to just call me Mustard.
KJ – I actually almost called you Col. Mustard. Do you ever get that?
M – Oh all the time. I get asked if there is any relation, but it’s just a coincidence. Col. Mustard is one of the nicest game pieces around. He really is a delight to visit with.
KJ – Well if I ever venture out and begin interviewing game pieces I’ll make sure to put him on the list. Now, Mustard I had a sit down a few weeks ago with Tomato Ketchup, Fancy Ketchup and Catsup.
M – All great individuals.
KJ – Yes they were great to talk to, and they all had great things to say about you. How did you first meet them, or did you meet them separately? Tell us a little about that.
M – Well we all first met at the academy. We all hit it off really well, and were able to collaborate with our most popular work being the hamburger. Really any combination works well. I stayed in touch with Catsup over the years, and we all still get together now and again to swap stories just hang out.
KJ – They also mentioned your prowess on the tennis court.
M – I’ve won a match or two.
KJ – How did you match with BBQ Sauce go, or has that taken place yet?
M – We actually play next week, so you’ll have to ask him about it if you can pin him down long enough.
KJ – There seemed to bee some animosity between Tomato Ketchup and BBQ Sauce. Do you have any insights on that our might want to know about?
M – Well it’s not a hard situation to figure out. BBQ Sauce is a product of Ketchup. Any of them. BBQ Sauce is essentially a collaboration between Ketchup and WorcestershireWorcestershire Sauce. There can be other things involved but that’s basically it. I can be a component which is popular in some areas but, the Ketchup/Worcestershire style is the most prominent.
KJ – So I guess the animosity arises because BBQ Sauce has become so popular when he is not really a stand alone product.
M – Well in part. You always want to see a collaboration succeed. You just don’t want it to become a pompous jerk that forgets where he came from. That’s the root of the problem with BBQ Sauce and Ketchup.
KJ – Have you experienced anything like that with Honey Mustard?
M – No not at all. Honey Mustard has done very well. He’s had success as a dip and a dressing. He’s gone from chicken, to pizza, to just about anything you can think of. He’s always respectful and remembers he’s part of a greater group.
KJ – How is your relationship with Honey?
M – Well as you know, we did finalize the divorce. We tried to make things work, but it was just too difficult to overcome.
KJ – Have you heard the rumors about a relationship developing between her and BBQ Sauce?
M – Yes, and there not rumors. They are seeing each other now. They’ve worked together before on Honey BBQ Sauce, and that had a lot of success. We’re not together anymore. We’re both free to see who we like. In the world of condiments the choices for consumer are varied but in dating for us, it’s not as broad. So it’s to be expected that we may each end up seeing condiments that are close friends with our ex. It’s just how it works.
KJ – So it doesn’t put a strain on your relationship with BBQ Sauce?
M – It’s not like our relationship was that great to begin with, so I guess it doesn’t have much of an affect. Look I get along ok with BBQ Sauce. We play tennis on occasion and that’s mainly because we’re both competitive. We’re not going to ride together to the court or anything like that, but we’re both grown ups and we can go play a match against each other.
KJ – So will Honey be in attendance?
M – Look, I have no idea. We’re divorced. Get that straight right now. What she does is her business, what I do is my business. If we’re going to keep going with the BBQ Sauce and Honey questions, I’ve said all I’m going to say and we can stop right here.
KJ – I’m not trying to dig for anything, I’m just asking the questions the readers might want to know. Let's turn this in a different direction. Does the comparison of a young baby's poop to you bother you in anyway?
M - Excuse me?
KJ - You know when they say hey that poop looks like mustard, or it's mustard colored. Does that bother you?
M - I understood the question. I just don't know why it would be appropriate. I thought this was going to be a more professional interview than this.
KJ - What would have given you that impression?
M - You said it would be a professional interview.
KJ - Ahhh. Good point. Well in that case let me move on. Who does Mustard hang out with? Who are your close friends?
M – Like I said I keep in touch with Catsup pretty often and then we all get together on occasion. Worcestershire and I play tennis on occasion. I do play tennis with BBQ Sauce as we’ve discussed but that’s about the extent of that relationship.
KJ – Mustard or Mayonnaise?
M – What?
KJ - Mustard or Mayonnaise? We get that question all the time. What's your answer?
M - Are you serious? Are you for freakin' real man. Don't you come in here and start talking about mayonnaise to me. That no good, flavorless, white trash, rotting in the sun... I mean are you seriously asking me that question? Mustard or Mayonnaise! What kind of stupid question is that?
KJ – So I take it you don’t hang out with him?
M – No I don’t usually buddy around with my number one competitor in the marketplace. Look the Ketchups, Worcestershire, and I compete but not like Mayonnaise. It’s a do or die thing with us. He dominates the sandwich market, I’ve got burgers and hot dogs. If that balance is upset, one of us is screwed. So no, we don’t hang around much. You know I'm not big on killing my career. Got any other brilliant questions.
KJ – No I don't think so.
M – Great thanks, it was a real peach. (Gets up and storms out of the room)
KJ – Next time, I hope to have secured an interview with BBQ Sauce. Coming up as well is a talk with Worcestershire Sauce and a day at sea with Mayonnaise on his yacht.
Kyle James (KJ) – Mr. Mustard, I appreciate you sitting down with me today. I know your very busy and I just want to let you know how grateful I am that you would taker time to talk with me.
Mustard (M) – Not a problem Kyle and feel free to just call me Mustard.
KJ – I actually almost called you Col. Mustard. Do you ever get that?
M – Oh all the time. I get asked if there is any relation, but it’s just a coincidence. Col. Mustard is one of the nicest game pieces around. He really is a delight to visit with.
KJ – Well if I ever venture out and begin interviewing game pieces I’ll make sure to put him on the list. Now, Mustard I had a sit down a few weeks ago with Tomato Ketchup, Fancy Ketchup and Catsup.
M – All great individuals.
KJ – Yes they were great to talk to, and they all had great things to say about you. How did you first meet them, or did you meet them separately? Tell us a little about that.
M – Well we all first met at the academy. We all hit it off really well, and were able to collaborate with our most popular work being the hamburger. Really any combination works well. I stayed in touch with Catsup over the years, and we all still get together now and again to swap stories just hang out.
KJ – They also mentioned your prowess on the tennis court.
M – I’ve won a match or two.
KJ – How did you match with BBQ Sauce go, or has that taken place yet?
M – We actually play next week, so you’ll have to ask him about it if you can pin him down long enough.
KJ – There seemed to bee some animosity between Tomato Ketchup and BBQ Sauce. Do you have any insights on that our might want to know about?
M – Well it’s not a hard situation to figure out. BBQ Sauce is a product of Ketchup. Any of them. BBQ Sauce is essentially a collaboration between Ketchup and WorcestershireWorcestershire Sauce. There can be other things involved but that’s basically it. I can be a component which is popular in some areas but, the Ketchup/Worcestershire style is the most prominent.
KJ – So I guess the animosity arises because BBQ Sauce has become so popular when he is not really a stand alone product.
M – Well in part. You always want to see a collaboration succeed. You just don’t want it to become a pompous jerk that forgets where he came from. That’s the root of the problem with BBQ Sauce and Ketchup.
KJ – Have you experienced anything like that with Honey Mustard?
M – No not at all. Honey Mustard has done very well. He’s had success as a dip and a dressing. He’s gone from chicken, to pizza, to just about anything you can think of. He’s always respectful and remembers he’s part of a greater group.
KJ – How is your relationship with Honey?
M – Well as you know, we did finalize the divorce. We tried to make things work, but it was just too difficult to overcome.
KJ – Have you heard the rumors about a relationship developing between her and BBQ Sauce?
M – Yes, and there not rumors. They are seeing each other now. They’ve worked together before on Honey BBQ Sauce, and that had a lot of success. We’re not together anymore. We’re both free to see who we like. In the world of condiments the choices for consumer are varied but in dating for us, it’s not as broad. So it’s to be expected that we may each end up seeing condiments that are close friends with our ex. It’s just how it works.
KJ – So it doesn’t put a strain on your relationship with BBQ Sauce?
M – It’s not like our relationship was that great to begin with, so I guess it doesn’t have much of an affect. Look I get along ok with BBQ Sauce. We play tennis on occasion and that’s mainly because we’re both competitive. We’re not going to ride together to the court or anything like that, but we’re both grown ups and we can go play a match against each other.
KJ – So will Honey be in attendance?
M – Look, I have no idea. We’re divorced. Get that straight right now. What she does is her business, what I do is my business. If we’re going to keep going with the BBQ Sauce and Honey questions, I’ve said all I’m going to say and we can stop right here.
KJ – I’m not trying to dig for anything, I’m just asking the questions the readers might want to know. Let's turn this in a different direction. Does the comparison of a young baby's poop to you bother you in anyway?
M - Excuse me?
KJ - You know when they say hey that poop looks like mustard, or it's mustard colored. Does that bother you?
M - I understood the question. I just don't know why it would be appropriate. I thought this was going to be a more professional interview than this.
KJ - What would have given you that impression?
M - You said it would be a professional interview.
KJ - Ahhh. Good point. Well in that case let me move on. Who does Mustard hang out with? Who are your close friends?
M – Like I said I keep in touch with Catsup pretty often and then we all get together on occasion. Worcestershire and I play tennis on occasion. I do play tennis with BBQ Sauce as we’ve discussed but that’s about the extent of that relationship.
KJ – Mustard or Mayonnaise?
M – What?
KJ - Mustard or Mayonnaise? We get that question all the time. What's your answer?
M - Are you serious? Are you for freakin' real man. Don't you come in here and start talking about mayonnaise to me. That no good, flavorless, white trash, rotting in the sun... I mean are you seriously asking me that question? Mustard or Mayonnaise! What kind of stupid question is that?
KJ – So I take it you don’t hang out with him?
M – No I don’t usually buddy around with my number one competitor in the marketplace. Look the Ketchups, Worcestershire, and I compete but not like Mayonnaise. It’s a do or die thing with us. He dominates the sandwich market, I’ve got burgers and hot dogs. If that balance is upset, one of us is screwed. So no, we don’t hang around much. You know I'm not big on killing my career. Got any other brilliant questions.
KJ – No I don't think so.
M – Great thanks, it was a real peach. (Gets up and storms out of the room)
KJ – Next time, I hope to have secured an interview with BBQ Sauce. Coming up as well is a talk with Worcestershire Sauce and a day at sea with Mayonnaise on his yacht.
Monday, March 24, 2008
Do Fish Have Nipples?
Do fish have nipples? This and many others are the types of question you’re faced with daily as a parent. My two year old was sitting with her mother having the nipple discussion that occurs rather frequently. We’ve established conclusively that mommy has nipples because we have a nursing little one in this house this subject has been covered.
Of course a two year olds mind works like that of a CSI detective. One answer is not sufficient. There must be more to this nipple story. Does daddy have nipples? Yes. Does Kyla have nipples? Yes. Does PaPa have nipples? Yes. Does the swing have nipples? Does the wha… No the swing doesn’t have nipples.
Now remember these questions are coming from a two year old who is developing her speech so there is heavy emphasis on each word. DOES--------DA-DEEEE--------HAVE----NIII—PLLLLLESSSS! Yes. These questions are so much more entertaining in a crowded place or, oh let’s say church.
We concluded that everyone in the family has nipples. And then we got into animals. Yes puppies have nipples, quite a few actually. Cats have nipples. (See Meet Me the Parents) Then the tricky question came. Do fish have nipples? Mommy was stumped. Let’s turn to daddy, the guy who gets all the tough questions.
My instinct said no. But, I don’t answer conclusively unless I know for certain. Not even to a two year old who will forget what question she asked three seconds later. So I went to the internet to research it. Yes you read that right I went to the internet to research nipples. What do you think you might find on the internet when entering that into Google. Surprisingly. No porn. On the first page, I didn’t venture any further.
Fish do not have nipples as they are not a mammal and do not nurse their young. So I guess whales might have nipples since they are a mammal. Yep, they do. So for those of you who don’t have kid when the nipple discussion comes about, just remember. Mammals have nipples. Birds, fish, reptiles, amphibians and things that are not mammals do not have nipples. Bourbon Street has nipples but it’s not a mammal. Don’t Google that.
Of course a two year olds mind works like that of a CSI detective. One answer is not sufficient. There must be more to this nipple story. Does daddy have nipples? Yes. Does Kyla have nipples? Yes. Does PaPa have nipples? Yes. Does the swing have nipples? Does the wha… No the swing doesn’t have nipples.
Now remember these questions are coming from a two year old who is developing her speech so there is heavy emphasis on each word. DOES--------DA-DEEEE--------HAVE----NIII—PLLLLLESSSS! Yes. These questions are so much more entertaining in a crowded place or, oh let’s say church.
We concluded that everyone in the family has nipples. And then we got into animals. Yes puppies have nipples, quite a few actually. Cats have nipples. (See Meet Me the Parents) Then the tricky question came. Do fish have nipples? Mommy was stumped. Let’s turn to daddy, the guy who gets all the tough questions.
My instinct said no. But, I don’t answer conclusively unless I know for certain. Not even to a two year old who will forget what question she asked three seconds later. So I went to the internet to research it. Yes you read that right I went to the internet to research nipples. What do you think you might find on the internet when entering that into Google. Surprisingly. No porn. On the first page, I didn’t venture any further.
Fish do not have nipples as they are not a mammal and do not nurse their young. So I guess whales might have nipples since they are a mammal. Yep, they do. So for those of you who don’t have kid when the nipple discussion comes about, just remember. Mammals have nipples. Birds, fish, reptiles, amphibians and things that are not mammals do not have nipples. Bourbon Street has nipples but it’s not a mammal. Don’t Google that.
Monday, March 17, 2008
Fast Food From Another Angle
For those of you who read my Myspace blog you know I have been fairly critical of fast food establishments. In particular I targeted one orange and white establishment which will remain nameless, but what a place it is.
I ventured into this place late last week for lunch. I have found that no matter which one I go to the staff is usually slow, incompetent, and despite the claim of thousands of ways to customize your order any deviation from the norm results in disastrous consequences.
Every time I have gone in from the panhandle to the coast I have been dissatisfied with some aspect of the service. I thought all this time that this was the fault of the restaurant. But, in fact the fault may be my own. Yeah I know. That's exactly what I thought. ME!
I set my expectations way to high. I went in expecting prompt, competent service and the food I ordered to be prepared quickly and correctly. You see the fault lies with me. Here is the attitude I should have had and the attitude I took in with me last week. Yes I have beaten the system and I'll share it with you now.
The key is approaching it like an Adam Sandler movie. Lower your expectations. If you do that you can't lose. I went in thinking, "If I leave with two pieces of bread and a piece of meat I'll be happy. Anything else is just icing on the cake."
I entered and my attention immediately went to the two people behind the counter. One a short female, the other apparently a tall male. I approached the counter and the female asked me for my order. I looked at the menu and saw the add for the bacon BBQ cheese something or other.
I decided on that, but in the junior size because I'm a cheapskate. (It's easy to be cheap when that's the only option.) She turned and stared at the add behind me for a few seconds and then turned back to the register. (This was a tense moment as one of my experiences with this restaurant in a different town had yielded the response of, "we don't have that one," after they turned and looked at the advertisement for the thing I had just ordered right behind her.) I breathed a sigh of relief as it seemed we were safely past the initial ordering phase.
She looked over the many brightly colored keys at the register. (They are dazzling.) I was standing where I could see the buttons and all that she was doing. I could also read the handwritten instructions taped to the top of the register that explained exactly how to ring up this particular order in the event that someone ordered it. It involved pushing a series of buttons in the right sequence. The sequence exactly as it was written on the paper. Uh, oh roadblock on the way to Full-Tummyville.
Not to fear her partner quickly came over and after soem examination, interpreted the instructions for her and he pused the colred buttons in the sequence listed. But this did not work. Ha Ha. Not as easy as it seems smart ass blogger! So it seems.
The manager was called from the kitchen. She swooped in like a super hero and pushed the colored buttons in the right order and the register beeped. A beep, oh yes the sweet beep signaling that food will soon be mine.
My female order taker continued to push buttons to complete the combo order. The price lit up on the LED screen and, "What the crap? It's not that much." I didn't even have to say it. This order taker unlike many I've had before recognized that this was not correct. Her male helper sweeps over and realizes that his first attempt at pushing colored buttons in the correct order was successful but had not yielded a beep. He corrected this by pushing more buttons which did yield a beep and then the correct total. Yeah this is going great. Lowered expectations do work.
This staff was head and shoulders above any I had come into contact with. As I took my cup I looked at the tall, short haired male's name tag. "Emily" Yeah, that's what I thought, too. I looked at Emily, back down to the name tag, back at Emily. Yep not seeing it but OK. Bravo. Every time it's like dinner and a show, and I just failed to enjoy the show the previous times I ate at this chain. This time the plot twist was out of this world. I think I'm getting great service from a male/female team and boom "It's Pat." Bravo! Bravo!
I ventured into this place late last week for lunch. I have found that no matter which one I go to the staff is usually slow, incompetent, and despite the claim of thousands of ways to customize your order any deviation from the norm results in disastrous consequences.
Every time I have gone in from the panhandle to the coast I have been dissatisfied with some aspect of the service. I thought all this time that this was the fault of the restaurant. But, in fact the fault may be my own. Yeah I know. That's exactly what I thought. ME!
I set my expectations way to high. I went in expecting prompt, competent service and the food I ordered to be prepared quickly and correctly. You see the fault lies with me. Here is the attitude I should have had and the attitude I took in with me last week. Yes I have beaten the system and I'll share it with you now.
The key is approaching it like an Adam Sandler movie. Lower your expectations. If you do that you can't lose. I went in thinking, "If I leave with two pieces of bread and a piece of meat I'll be happy. Anything else is just icing on the cake."
I entered and my attention immediately went to the two people behind the counter. One a short female, the other apparently a tall male. I approached the counter and the female asked me for my order. I looked at the menu and saw the add for the bacon BBQ cheese something or other.
I decided on that, but in the junior size because I'm a cheapskate. (It's easy to be cheap when that's the only option.) She turned and stared at the add behind me for a few seconds and then turned back to the register. (This was a tense moment as one of my experiences with this restaurant in a different town had yielded the response of, "we don't have that one," after they turned and looked at the advertisement for the thing I had just ordered right behind her.) I breathed a sigh of relief as it seemed we were safely past the initial ordering phase.
She looked over the many brightly colored keys at the register. (They are dazzling.) I was standing where I could see the buttons and all that she was doing. I could also read the handwritten instructions taped to the top of the register that explained exactly how to ring up this particular order in the event that someone ordered it. It involved pushing a series of buttons in the right sequence. The sequence exactly as it was written on the paper. Uh, oh roadblock on the way to Full-Tummyville.
Not to fear her partner quickly came over and after soem examination, interpreted the instructions for her and he pused the colred buttons in the sequence listed. But this did not work. Ha Ha. Not as easy as it seems smart ass blogger! So it seems.
The manager was called from the kitchen. She swooped in like a super hero and pushed the colored buttons in the right order and the register beeped. A beep, oh yes the sweet beep signaling that food will soon be mine.
My female order taker continued to push buttons to complete the combo order. The price lit up on the LED screen and, "What the crap? It's not that much." I didn't even have to say it. This order taker unlike many I've had before recognized that this was not correct. Her male helper sweeps over and realizes that his first attempt at pushing colored buttons in the correct order was successful but had not yielded a beep. He corrected this by pushing more buttons which did yield a beep and then the correct total. Yeah this is going great. Lowered expectations do work.
This staff was head and shoulders above any I had come into contact with. As I took my cup I looked at the tall, short haired male's name tag. "Emily" Yeah, that's what I thought, too. I looked at Emily, back down to the name tag, back at Emily. Yep not seeing it but OK. Bravo. Every time it's like dinner and a show, and I just failed to enjoy the show the previous times I ate at this chain. This time the plot twist was out of this world. I think I'm getting great service from a male/female team and boom "It's Pat." Bravo! Bravo!
Saturday, March 8, 2008
Hollywod Condimential: A Sit Down with Fancy Ketchup, Tomato Ketchup and Catsup
I've often wondered what makes fancy ketchup fancy? Why isn't tomato ketchup fancy, and isn't fancy ketchup tomato ketchup too? Is there a difference in ketchup and catsup? The question has been pondered by more than me, and the simple answer give is that there just the same. If you read the ingredients labels, they're all the same. Fancy ketchup seems to be just tomato ketchup in fancy packaging. Catsup seems to be just another way to say ketchup. But there is more to it. It's easy enough to read a label and draw a conclusion but has anyone actually tried to speak to these three about the issue?
I sat down for an interview with Fancy Ketchup, Tomato Ketchup, and Catsup to found out there similarities, differences, secrets and desires for a more flavorful world.
Kyle (K): I really want to take you three for taking the time to sit down and speak with me today. I am a really big fan of all three of you.
Fancy Ketchup (FK): Oh, it's no bother at all old chap. Really, it's great to be here. Simply terrific.
Tomato Ketchup (TK): Yes, we all enjoy the chance to sit down and "catch up."
(Laughter from group)
Catsup (C): What? What's everyone laughing at?
K: Ok, first let's get right to the questions everyone seems to be asking but is too afraid to ask. What makes you guys different? Why is fancy, fancy? Why is catsup spelled completely different from the two of you?
FK: Well, I guess I'll address the question regarding me first. I don't think anything in particular makes me fancy, or that there's anything about me that makes me better than either of my counterparts here. It's really more of a nickname I picked up at the academy.
K: The academy?
TK: The condiment academy. It's the place where all new condiments go to see if they can "cut the mustard," so to speak. (Laughter from TK)
C: That's where I actually developed my spelling of my name.
FK: Yes, Catsup actually found himself in a very tough spot, with Tomato and I, fighting for the shelves. He had to come up with his own identity and I think he did it quite well.
K: But why Fancy? Why not, Awesome or Amazing Ketchup, or simply Great?
C: That's because of his accent. He's got that British accent that made him sound so... so... well so fancy.
TK: Yeah, that name actually stuck with him from the first day, and it allowed us to share the top spot in the "Condiment for French Fry" category. We each went on to be mass produced and enjoyed around the world.
K: Tell me a little about your relationship with mustard? Which one of you is closest with him?
TK: Mustard is a really great guy. He's just done so well for himself. When we all graduated he seemed like a second tier condiment, just an addition to one of the three of us.
FK: But, the chap really took off didn't he. He's the most popular on the American burger, on the hot dog, he's worked a great deal with honey for a tasty combo for chicken and other items. He really has excelled, and he's a jolly good tennis player.
C: We were out on the courts the other day and he has really stepped up his game. You know he's got that big match coming up with Bar-B-Que (BBQ) Sauce.
TK: Oh not BBQ. That guy is such an ass.
FK: Now, Tomato. He is a bit abrasive but he's got his good qualities. Though they have yet to present themselves.
K: I'm sensing a little hostility towards BBQ Sauce. Tell me a little about that?
TK: Well there's not much to tell. BBQ is a pompous ass and that's all there's is to it. That son of a...
FK: Tomato, that's quite enough. There's no sense in lowering ourselves to his level.
TK: He's just an offshoot of us Fancy and you know it. He came from a mixture of Catsup over there and some other crap and presto, we've got an absolute worthless piece of...
FK: That'll be enough of that.
K: Catsup, you've been very quiet.
C: Well, it's a hard topic. I was hanging out with the wrong crowd. I was you and we were experimenting with some substances, I went too far, passed out, and the next morning there was BBQ. He was nice enough at first but then he started gaining popularity and then... Well now, you'd just have to get to meet him to understand.
K: So I gather he didn't go through this Condiment Academy like you three did.
TK: No he didn't, he rode our coattails onto store shelves and now his ego's on pace to grow so dad gum big, there won't be a bottle big enough to put it in.
K: Well I want to thank you three for your time. You've shed some light on some very interesting issues.
FK: It was our pleasure. We do so hope this clears the air on this issue once and for all.
Catsup: Yeah, we just want people to know we are all the same, all are united, and are all striving for the same goal.
TK: Yes, and next time any of you see BBQ you tell him he can kiss my red...
K: Thank you again.
So, there you have it. I hope that clears up that issue. But, I do find myself wondering about BBQ Sauce. I have too, found myself impressed with his bold flavor, variety, and ability to make me eat until I am physically sick. Stay tuned for my next sit down interview with BBQ Sauce, in the next in the Hollywood Condimential series.
I sat down for an interview with Fancy Ketchup, Tomato Ketchup, and Catsup to found out there similarities, differences, secrets and desires for a more flavorful world.
Kyle (K): I really want to take you three for taking the time to sit down and speak with me today. I am a really big fan of all three of you.
Fancy Ketchup (FK): Oh, it's no bother at all old chap. Really, it's great to be here. Simply terrific.
Tomato Ketchup (TK): Yes, we all enjoy the chance to sit down and "catch up."
(Laughter from group)
Catsup (C): What? What's everyone laughing at?
K: Ok, first let's get right to the questions everyone seems to be asking but is too afraid to ask. What makes you guys different? Why is fancy, fancy? Why is catsup spelled completely different from the two of you?
FK: Well, I guess I'll address the question regarding me first. I don't think anything in particular makes me fancy, or that there's anything about me that makes me better than either of my counterparts here. It's really more of a nickname I picked up at the academy.
K: The academy?
TK: The condiment academy. It's the place where all new condiments go to see if they can "cut the mustard," so to speak. (Laughter from TK)
C: That's where I actually developed my spelling of my name.
FK: Yes, Catsup actually found himself in a very tough spot, with Tomato and I, fighting for the shelves. He had to come up with his own identity and I think he did it quite well.
K: But why Fancy? Why not, Awesome or Amazing Ketchup, or simply Great?
C: That's because of his accent. He's got that British accent that made him sound so... so... well so fancy.
TK: Yeah, that name actually stuck with him from the first day, and it allowed us to share the top spot in the "Condiment for French Fry" category. We each went on to be mass produced and enjoyed around the world.
K: Tell me a little about your relationship with mustard? Which one of you is closest with him?
TK: Mustard is a really great guy. He's just done so well for himself. When we all graduated he seemed like a second tier condiment, just an addition to one of the three of us.
FK: But, the chap really took off didn't he. He's the most popular on the American burger, on the hot dog, he's worked a great deal with honey for a tasty combo for chicken and other items. He really has excelled, and he's a jolly good tennis player.
C: We were out on the courts the other day and he has really stepped up his game. You know he's got that big match coming up with Bar-B-Que (BBQ) Sauce.
TK: Oh not BBQ. That guy is such an ass.
FK: Now, Tomato. He is a bit abrasive but he's got his good qualities. Though they have yet to present themselves.
K: I'm sensing a little hostility towards BBQ Sauce. Tell me a little about that?
TK: Well there's not much to tell. BBQ is a pompous ass and that's all there's is to it. That son of a...
FK: Tomato, that's quite enough. There's no sense in lowering ourselves to his level.
TK: He's just an offshoot of us Fancy and you know it. He came from a mixture of Catsup over there and some other crap and presto, we've got an absolute worthless piece of...
FK: That'll be enough of that.
K: Catsup, you've been very quiet.
C: Well, it's a hard topic. I was hanging out with the wrong crowd. I was you and we were experimenting with some substances, I went too far, passed out, and the next morning there was BBQ. He was nice enough at first but then he started gaining popularity and then... Well now, you'd just have to get to meet him to understand.
K: So I gather he didn't go through this Condiment Academy like you three did.
TK: No he didn't, he rode our coattails onto store shelves and now his ego's on pace to grow so dad gum big, there won't be a bottle big enough to put it in.
K: Well I want to thank you three for your time. You've shed some light on some very interesting issues.
FK: It was our pleasure. We do so hope this clears the air on this issue once and for all.
Catsup: Yeah, we just want people to know we are all the same, all are united, and are all striving for the same goal.
TK: Yes, and next time any of you see BBQ you tell him he can kiss my red...
K: Thank you again.
So, there you have it. I hope that clears up that issue. But, I do find myself wondering about BBQ Sauce. I have too, found myself impressed with his bold flavor, variety, and ability to make me eat until I am physically sick. Stay tuned for my next sit down interview with BBQ Sauce, in the next in the Hollywood Condimential series.
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
Cookies Are a Sometimes Food, My Rear-end!
I always kind of identified with Cookie Monster when I was growing up. He was blue, I liked blue. He liked cookies, I like cookies. He referred to himself in the third person often using me rather than I, me do that sometimes too.
As Sesame Street grew more and more liberal with that growing trend in public television and radio, Cookie Monster was forced to cave to the anti-sugar lobby. Since we have decided in America that our children are too stupid to figure out that Cookie Monster is a puppet and cookies are not something we need to eat all the time, and on top of that the stupid cookies just break up and fall out of his black felt mouth anyway, he has to now tell kids Cookies are just a sometimes food. Cookie Monster regularly eats good fruits and vegetables in addition to his cookie diet.
Place a plate of cookies and a plate of vegetables in front of a child and what will they choose? Well the blue puppet on TV said vegetables are good for me, and cookies are just a sometimes food, but he's just a stupid puppet and cookies rock! Put that same test in front of me and it's cookies every time.
I know this issue is old news, but I write it because I have faced this cookie issue recently. Today in fact. I came home to the smell of fresh baked cookies, of the chocolate chip variety. Now I try to watch what I eat, but 10 times out of 10 I find myself watching a cookie all the way to my mouth every time I walk past the plate.
So my point is: Screw you anti-cookie people. Kids are going to eat cookies regardless of what stupid PBS characters tell them to do. Let Cookie Monster eat cookies until he goes into a diabetic coma. In honor of my blue friend and in protest of the anti-cookie lobby. I think I'll go have a cookie right now.
As Sesame Street grew more and more liberal with that growing trend in public television and radio, Cookie Monster was forced to cave to the anti-sugar lobby. Since we have decided in America that our children are too stupid to figure out that Cookie Monster is a puppet and cookies are not something we need to eat all the time, and on top of that the stupid cookies just break up and fall out of his black felt mouth anyway, he has to now tell kids Cookies are just a sometimes food. Cookie Monster regularly eats good fruits and vegetables in addition to his cookie diet.
Place a plate of cookies and a plate of vegetables in front of a child and what will they choose? Well the blue puppet on TV said vegetables are good for me, and cookies are just a sometimes food, but he's just a stupid puppet and cookies rock! Put that same test in front of me and it's cookies every time.
I know this issue is old news, but I write it because I have faced this cookie issue recently. Today in fact. I came home to the smell of fresh baked cookies, of the chocolate chip variety. Now I try to watch what I eat, but 10 times out of 10 I find myself watching a cookie all the way to my mouth every time I walk past the plate.
So my point is: Screw you anti-cookie people. Kids are going to eat cookies regardless of what stupid PBS characters tell them to do. Let Cookie Monster eat cookies until he goes into a diabetic coma. In honor of my blue friend and in protest of the anti-cookie lobby. I think I'll go have a cookie right now.
Sunday, March 2, 2008
Kyle Gets Stupid in New Orleans
The title may have fooled you. No I did not get drunk on Bourbon Street. In fact when most people get stupid in New Orleans they can at least claim they were drunk. I don't even have that as a defense.
I'll describe three events that occurred, which did not make me look stupid because I'm smart enough to keep my mouth shut. However it made me feel stupid and does make for good blog material. I have to be willing to be self deprecating because it's funny. (And it allows me to write about my wife because, hey I make fun of myself so she's fair game too.)
Scenario Number 1: Kyle's not so much with the crossing of the traffic.
I stayed down in the warehouse district just a few blocks from the French Quarter. The streets in this area are not much more than alleyways, so you pretty much walk wherever you want to go. This requires you to cross some streets, unless you just want to circle the same block several times (which I ended up doing). So on the first day there I decided to go explore a little bit.
I would often find myself coming to an intersection as a car stopped at a stop sign in the same intersection. Now not being a frequent pedestrian I would find myself unsure of whether I should go or they should go so I would change my game plan all together and just turn down the same sidewalk. This resulted in me circling the same blocks of the warehouse district over and over again. I made it as far as Canal Street, just 5 blocks away. It is a major thoroughfare which separates the warehouse district and the French Quarter. Needless to say since I had trouble crossing 10 feet of pavement I didn't make it across by myself and turned around and headed back to the hotel.
I know your saying, "Wow, that's stupid, but I was hoping for more." Let me introduce you to,
Scenario Number 2: Oh, God! There's a pigeon on my hand.
During a lunch break I decided to venture out on my own and explore the Riverwalk Mall and get the girls some souvenirs so I would have time to visit the WWII Museum later that afternoon. (By this point I had mastered the whole street crossing thing so I was good on my own.)
The mall and lunch were pretty calm. I made my purchase ate a Philly cheese steak and dined while watching barges go up and down the Mississippi. (Yes it's an exciting life I lead, I know.) The real fun occurred on my walk back to the hotel.
I bought the girls Mardi Gras masks, and a bear for Madisyn. They each had large black feathers protruding from the mask, mixed with some purple, green and yellow. They didn't quite fit in the bag some some feathers inevitably stuck out. As I walked I noticed two pigeons walking along the ground.
Out of the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of a long black feather, similar to the color of the pigeons I was just looking at, near my hand. The only logical conclusion my mind could come to at that point was, "A pigeon is on my hand. Oh my God!" So I began to swing my arm to get it off. As I swung I noticed that there appeared to be no extra weight on my hand other than the bag I was carrying which had the mask in it, which were covered in large black.... "Oh jeez!"
Yep, I freaked out because I saw a feather from the mask and thought it was a pigeon. Honest mistake right? Anyone could do that. Well, my friends meet,
Scenario Number 3: New Orleans is magic. Wow!
On my second night there, I met up with three other people from Texas, and colleague from New Orleans suggested that we visit Cafe Maspero. It was good, and relatively inexpensive. He did have one condition that we all join him at Pat O'Briens, a bar down in the French Quarter.
After dinner I walked along with the group and we made our way to Pat O'Briens (Of course the whole time I wanted to crack the joke of, "I thought he was just an alcoholic, I didn't know he owned his own bar," in reference to The Insider host Pat O'Brien. Yeah you didn't laugh either that's why I kept it to myself.)
Many of the buildings in the French Quarter have an open air courtyard in the center. (This is something I was not aware of.) We walked through the front door, (right across from Reverend Zombie's Voodoo Shop, aces!) To the right was a piano lounge, to the left a bar and then through another set of open double doors.
This is the point when I looked up and thought to myself, "Wow, look at this ceiling. It looks just like the sky. It's like the great hall at Hogwarts. How did they..." As the cold wind swept over me and I noticed the trees peeking over the walls I realized that, yep, I was outside. I was not looking at a bewitched ceiling. I was looking up at the sky.
Overall the trip was good. (Other than my stupid episodes which thankfully only occurred by myself or in my own mind, but reproduced here for your entertainment.)
I'll describe three events that occurred, which did not make me look stupid because I'm smart enough to keep my mouth shut. However it made me feel stupid and does make for good blog material. I have to be willing to be self deprecating because it's funny. (And it allows me to write about my wife because, hey I make fun of myself so she's fair game too.)
Scenario Number 1: Kyle's not so much with the crossing of the traffic.
I stayed down in the warehouse district just a few blocks from the French Quarter. The streets in this area are not much more than alleyways, so you pretty much walk wherever you want to go. This requires you to cross some streets, unless you just want to circle the same block several times (which I ended up doing). So on the first day there I decided to go explore a little bit.
I would often find myself coming to an intersection as a car stopped at a stop sign in the same intersection. Now not being a frequent pedestrian I would find myself unsure of whether I should go or they should go so I would change my game plan all together and just turn down the same sidewalk. This resulted in me circling the same blocks of the warehouse district over and over again. I made it as far as Canal Street, just 5 blocks away. It is a major thoroughfare which separates the warehouse district and the French Quarter. Needless to say since I had trouble crossing 10 feet of pavement I didn't make it across by myself and turned around and headed back to the hotel.
I know your saying, "Wow, that's stupid, but I was hoping for more." Let me introduce you to,
Scenario Number 2: Oh, God! There's a pigeon on my hand.
During a lunch break I decided to venture out on my own and explore the Riverwalk Mall and get the girls some souvenirs so I would have time to visit the WWII Museum later that afternoon. (By this point I had mastered the whole street crossing thing so I was good on my own.)
The mall and lunch were pretty calm. I made my purchase ate a Philly cheese steak and dined while watching barges go up and down the Mississippi. (Yes it's an exciting life I lead, I know.) The real fun occurred on my walk back to the hotel.
I bought the girls Mardi Gras masks, and a bear for Madisyn. They each had large black feathers protruding from the mask, mixed with some purple, green and yellow. They didn't quite fit in the bag some some feathers inevitably stuck out. As I walked I noticed two pigeons walking along the ground.
Out of the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of a long black feather, similar to the color of the pigeons I was just looking at, near my hand. The only logical conclusion my mind could come to at that point was, "A pigeon is on my hand. Oh my God!" So I began to swing my arm to get it off. As I swung I noticed that there appeared to be no extra weight on my hand other than the bag I was carrying which had the mask in it, which were covered in large black.... "Oh jeez!"
Yep, I freaked out because I saw a feather from the mask and thought it was a pigeon. Honest mistake right? Anyone could do that. Well, my friends meet,
Scenario Number 3: New Orleans is magic. Wow!
On my second night there, I met up with three other people from Texas, and colleague from New Orleans suggested that we visit Cafe Maspero. It was good, and relatively inexpensive. He did have one condition that we all join him at Pat O'Briens, a bar down in the French Quarter.
After dinner I walked along with the group and we made our way to Pat O'Briens (Of course the whole time I wanted to crack the joke of, "I thought he was just an alcoholic, I didn't know he owned his own bar," in reference to The Insider host Pat O'Brien. Yeah you didn't laugh either that's why I kept it to myself.)
Many of the buildings in the French Quarter have an open air courtyard in the center. (This is something I was not aware of.) We walked through the front door, (right across from Reverend Zombie's Voodoo Shop, aces!) To the right was a piano lounge, to the left a bar and then through another set of open double doors.
This is the point when I looked up and thought to myself, "Wow, look at this ceiling. It looks just like the sky. It's like the great hall at Hogwarts. How did they..." As the cold wind swept over me and I noticed the trees peeking over the walls I realized that, yep, I was outside. I was not looking at a bewitched ceiling. I was looking up at the sky.
Overall the trip was good. (Other than my stupid episodes which thankfully only occurred by myself or in my own mind, but reproduced here for your entertainment.)
Monday, February 25, 2008
New Orleans - The Arrival
I stepped off the plane at approximately 2:35 pm. I looked around the airport sizing up those around me. I had received a bit of advice earlier in my life. "If you ever end up in New Orleans beat someone up and establish yourself with the other inmates." That was about New Orleans right?
Anyway, I went to the first person I saw and hit them over the head with my suitcase. A lot of people came running, and were yelling. I think they were impressed. I proceeded on to the shuttle, which took me to my hotel.
On the ride over it be came absolutely clear why I did not rent a car. I would still be sitting on the interstate, lying in the floorboard, crying, and unable to control my bladder or bowels. Once at the hotel I ran inside, checked in and rushed to my room.
My plan had been to remain their cowering until the next morning. But, I decided to venture outside. It was much like a very young puppy in a new environment. I slowly inched out of the front doors, then went back in, then inched out once more. The concierge was very nice and even stood there saying, "Come on! Come on! That's it. That's a good boy! Who's a good boy? Yeah you!
I walked down a block, then when I saw that all appeared to be OK I walked a little farther. Then I walked down several more blocks. I'm still not great at the whole crossing the street thing. I often come to an intersection where a car is stopped at a 4-way stop and, unsure of whether to walk in front of it or not, I change my direction all together and don't even cross the street. I circled the same block several times using this method.
All in all it was pretty uneventful. But I've still got three days left. (And I'm in room number 911.)
Anyway, I went to the first person I saw and hit them over the head with my suitcase. A lot of people came running, and were yelling. I think they were impressed. I proceeded on to the shuttle, which took me to my hotel.
On the ride over it be came absolutely clear why I did not rent a car. I would still be sitting on the interstate, lying in the floorboard, crying, and unable to control my bladder or bowels. Once at the hotel I ran inside, checked in and rushed to my room.
My plan had been to remain their cowering until the next morning. But, I decided to venture outside. It was much like a very young puppy in a new environment. I slowly inched out of the front doors, then went back in, then inched out once more. The concierge was very nice and even stood there saying, "Come on! Come on! That's it. That's a good boy! Who's a good boy? Yeah you!
I walked down a block, then when I saw that all appeared to be OK I walked a little farther. Then I walked down several more blocks. I'm still not great at the whole crossing the street thing. I often come to an intersection where a car is stopped at a 4-way stop and, unsure of whether to walk in front of it or not, I change my direction all together and don't even cross the street. I circled the same block several times using this method.
All in all it was pretty uneventful. But I've still got three days left. (And I'm in room number 911.)
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Obama Goes Poop, Crowd Goes Crazy!
During a campaign stop in Dallas, Presidential Candidate, Illinois Senator, and very likely a real life Superhero in disguise, Barack Obama received applause for blowing his nose.
Asked what they liked about the speech one tearful Obama supporter stated, “He just… he just…” The woman stumbled backwards and fainted, so I was forced to move to a supporter sitting atop her husband’s shoulders swinging her bra over her head.
She told me, “He’s just a real person, you know. Like, he was up there and he needed a change. He needed to stop and blow his nose. Most politicians wouldn’t do that. He doesn’t just preach change he lives it. You can hear the change when he walks. It sounds like a lot of quarters, but I bet he has some pennies in there too because he believes they’re all equal.”
When I tried to explain that a quarter and a penny aren’t at all equal, she just shook her head patted me on the shoulder and said, “Barack will change that. We have to hope that change in change can come, and that change will give us hope.”
As I sit here, I can only think myself lucky. Had the Super Senator had intestinal issues rather than a head cold the results could have been disastrous. I know the fuss we make over our two year old when she goes poop in the potty. Had Barack excused himself to the restroom, the shear energy created by his triumphant reentry and statement, “I went potty,” may have literally blown the roof off of Reunion Arena.
Asked what they liked about the speech one tearful Obama supporter stated, “He just… he just…” The woman stumbled backwards and fainted, so I was forced to move to a supporter sitting atop her husband’s shoulders swinging her bra over her head.
She told me, “He’s just a real person, you know. Like, he was up there and he needed a change. He needed to stop and blow his nose. Most politicians wouldn’t do that. He doesn’t just preach change he lives it. You can hear the change when he walks. It sounds like a lot of quarters, but I bet he has some pennies in there too because he believes they’re all equal.”
When I tried to explain that a quarter and a penny aren’t at all equal, she just shook her head patted me on the shoulder and said, “Barack will change that. We have to hope that change in change can come, and that change will give us hope.”
As I sit here, I can only think myself lucky. Had the Super Senator had intestinal issues rather than a head cold the results could have been disastrous. I know the fuss we make over our two year old when she goes poop in the potty. Had Barack excused himself to the restroom, the shear energy created by his triumphant reentry and statement, “I went potty,” may have literally blown the roof off of Reunion Arena.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
4 Year Old Bible Class
Tonight in the 4 year old bible class we discussed the difficulties of being a friend to those who weren't nice to us. Kids really do say the darndest things. They even add a cute little spin to topics like, oh I don't know, capital punishment.
We were doing an activity where the kids drew an illustration out of a paper bag that depicted one kid not being nice to another kid. The first couple of pictures went by without a hitch. The running question was, "What would you say to someone treating this person in this way?" The typical answer was, "I would tell them it's not nice or I would tell them to stop it or I would tell their mom."
On the third picture the picture showed a boy pushing a little girl. The kids quickly pointed out that it wasn't nice and he was a big bully. One stated firmly, "I'll cut his head off." Then he made a slicing motion across his neck.
Uh, what? All I could say was, "Maybe that's not being a good friend either." Then we moved on to the next picture, this time showing a boy refusing to share his ball with another boy. I asked the same question this time an answer came from a different boy. "Why don't we just kill him."
Again, I'm stumped. "Maybe we should lay of the Middle Eastern justice system for now," is all I could say. The next picture was a boy knocking down a girl's blocks. Crap. Yep, off with his head.
We were doing an activity where the kids drew an illustration out of a paper bag that depicted one kid not being nice to another kid. The first couple of pictures went by without a hitch. The running question was, "What would you say to someone treating this person in this way?" The typical answer was, "I would tell them it's not nice or I would tell them to stop it or I would tell their mom."
On the third picture the picture showed a boy pushing a little girl. The kids quickly pointed out that it wasn't nice and he was a big bully. One stated firmly, "I'll cut his head off." Then he made a slicing motion across his neck.
Uh, what? All I could say was, "Maybe that's not being a good friend either." Then we moved on to the next picture, this time showing a boy refusing to share his ball with another boy. I asked the same question this time an answer came from a different boy. "Why don't we just kill him."
Again, I'm stumped. "Maybe we should lay of the Middle Eastern justice system for now," is all I could say. The next picture was a boy knocking down a girl's blocks. Crap. Yep, off with his head.
Monday, February 18, 2008
A New Place, Same Stuff As Before
Hello, if you're reading this for the first time, welcome to my blog's new home. If you're reading this for the second time, wow you really have nothing to do, do you.
I'll still be keeping my rent house over on Myspace (www.myspace.com/klanejames) but most of my blogs will now be posted here. I'll try to keep the content updated and funny. I'll try to lay off the fast food industry a bit but... Yeah that's not going to happen. You don't walk away from a diamond mine.
I'll try to be fairly regular with my posts so the content is fairly fresh. Hopefully this will become a daily or weekly stop for all your laughing needs. Thanks for reading.
I'll still be keeping my rent house over on Myspace (www.myspace.com/klanejames) but most of my blogs will now be posted here. I'll try to keep the content updated and funny. I'll try to lay off the fast food industry a bit but... Yeah that's not going to happen. You don't walk away from a diamond mine.
I'll try to be fairly regular with my posts so the content is fairly fresh. Hopefully this will become a daily or weekly stop for all your laughing needs. Thanks for reading.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
