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.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
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.
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