Hello Dear Readers! It’s time for this weekends 33-word Trifecta Writing challenge where challengers were asked to write 33 words containing an IDIOT therein . . . so naturally I thought immediately of my buddy, Al Gore, but then I realized I had read the prompt wrong. Ha ha!! Oops, my bad!!
Therefore, the following 33-word entry has been amended to contain an IDIOM therein:
Pickles the Snake
Pickles the snake was up in arms
Cause she had to work in a walk in
But Pickles the snake had to use her charms
In order to coax her pet croc in!
Until next time . . . I love you
P.S. This post is dedicated to the real-life Pickles, the pet snake of my Blogging Buddy, Bucky over at behindthemaskofabuse.
Hello Dear Readers and welcome to the first installment of:
Recipes for People Who Are All Dead Now
Back in 1969, there were a lot of old people still alive who actually ate things like tomato aspic, jellied Gazpacho and Waldorf salad.
Unfortunately, all those people are dead now. Taking with them to the grave — every conceivable need for Knox Gelatin.
But don’t feel bad once way or the other, Dear Readers, because through the pages of this slightly bizarre Knox On-Camera Recipe Book from 1969, we will examine in great detail (probably too much) some of the Knox Gelatin Recipes that made this country what it used to be.
Recipes that salute a quieter, gentler, jigglier time in our nation’s food history.
The Knox On-Camera Recipes book begins by educating us in the five types of gelatin.
And there you have it, Dear Readers, our first foray into preparing recipes for people who are all dead now.
Hello Dear Readers and welcome to Saturday, where you aren’t reading this because you are outside enjoying the wonderful spring weather unless you’re inside at your computer reading this in which case * high five* !!
Hello Dear Readers! And welcome to Friday, the apple of the week’s eye! Today My brain, Peanuts and I thought it might be fun to take the day off from our usual silliness to just sit back and flip through magazines.
Oh Lookee! Here’s a magazine that says San Francisco on it:
First of all, Peanuts notices that this is one of those expensive magazines wherein the cover doesn’t feel like it’s made out of old-fashion paper but, instead, it feels like it’s made out of some sort of super-strong, space-age material that was developed by NASA should a situation arise wherein NASA would need to, say, tow the moon to another solar system or whatever it is NASA is always developing super-strong, space-age material for.
(Peanuts is suddenly thirsty for Tang. Peanuts is going to go get some Tang. Peanuts will wait if you want to go get some Tang too.)
Now where were we? Oh yes Peanuts is trying to figure out what this magazine is going to be about. But Peanuts is confused.
Is this magazine going to be about 7 x 7? Is this magazine going to be about Art + Design? Is this magazine going to have an arithmetic test at the end? (If so, Peanuts hopes it’s multiple choice.)
Peanuts wonders why the girl on the cover so sad. Is she sad because she’s got runs in her stockings? Or is she sad because she’s got no pants and nothing to sit on? Maybe she’s so sad because she can’t find her balloon? (Peanuts thinks she should check her hair.)
(Let’s take time out for a little Tang gulping shall we? Mmmm . . . .)
Oh Good! Here’s the Editor’s Letter. Maybe the Editor’s letter can explain to Peanuts what this magazine is going to be about:
Peanuts reads that when the girl in the picture, Chloe, was six years old, she furrowed her brow at a ruined masterpiece she drew — but Chloe’s mother said Chloe could turn her ruined masterpiece into a redemptive ocean which made Chloe happy. This says to Peanuts that Chloe was very smart for knowing when she was only six — 1) how to furrow her brow and 2) what a redemptive ocean was.
Peanuts is feeling a little bummed right now because Peanuts is ten times that old, and, while Peanuts’s brow is permanently furrowed, Peanuts still doesn’t know what a redemptive ocean is and probably never will. (Peanuts does like the way Chloe puts that little x and that slash over the ‘e’ in her signature though.)
(Peanuts is adding more spoonfuls of Tang to Peanuts’s Tang right now. Mmmm. . . try it, it’s really good!)
Peanuts is getting tired of flipping through magazines now. Peanuts is just going to flip to one more page and then Peanuts is going to go outside and play:
Oh Great Caesar’s Ghost! Peanuts knew there was going to be a test at the end! Peanuts told you so!! Well, at least it’s multiple choice which makes not knowing what the magazine was about go down a little smoother. Just like Tang!
(Peanuts says let’s just forget about flipping through magazines and just go eat some Tang right out of the jar! Wanna?)
Hello Dear Readers! Once again it’s time to stumble down memory lane via the pages of this vintage cookbook which was written during the height of the cold war. (Not to be confused with the height of the cold cut.)
Below is a dish that is innocently called Cucumber Tongue Pie; but if you were a cold war spy, and you were served this dish, you’d know right away the server was actually saying:
Ve Have Vays of Making You Talk Casserole!
I know it seems cruel and inhumane from today’s standpoint, but during the cold war, both sides actually practiced this horrendous casserole form of torture. Spies had to spill the beans or eat the entire stomach-turning entree. Did this form of torture work? Well, let’s just say not a single bean went unspilled.
Next we have a dish you’re sure to get a bang out of. It’s called jeweled chicken to us laymen. But any spy worth his weight in invisible ink during the cold war would have known immediately upon being served this dish that his days were numbered (maybe even his minutes) because in the spy world, this dish was really called:
Which Spy Will Die Russian Roulette Fry
No other dish could make the cold war spy’s blood run cold faster than a platter of “Which Spy Will Die Russian Roulette Fry.” This entree would be placed in the middle of the banquet table and then given a good spin by either John F. Kennedy or Nikita Khrushchev and whomever had a chicken leg pointing at them when it stopped spinning would be eliminated poi-manently!
And, finally, Dear Readers, the following dish was the dish to end all dishes, and had world leaders shaking in their cold war boots — praying that it would never be served. Civilians such as you and I would have known this dish simply by it’s innocent name, Chicken-in-Omelet Pinwheel. But to the cold war powers that be it could mean only one thing:
The Mushroom Cloud Duck and Cover Roll
We can only breath a sigh of relief, Dear Readers, that such a dish was never served to the Cold War Players. Not only would it have meant the end of the world as they knew it, it would have also meant that somebody might have had to actually take a bite out of it.
And there you have it, Dear Readers, a little stumble back in time via vintage cookbooks of yore.
Hello Dear Readers! Well it’s Monday morning again and time to check in to see what our scientists have been thinking about!
Neanderthals Large Eyes Caused Their Demise
After much finger tapping during an impressive stint of scholarly thinking, British researchers have come to the conclusion that Neanderthal became extinct because their eyes were too large.
This conclusion was published in an actual magazine called, Proceedings of the Royal Society B, thus instantly transforming the British researchers’ Neanderthal Big Eye Extinction Theory into a solid scientific fact.
Touted as the biggest idea to hit the British Researcher circuit since the landmark decision that the “h” in Neanderthal is silent, British researchers are giddy over the idea that they have been able to think up something else so good, so soon!
After measuring the eye-sockets of 32 Neanderthal skulls, Eiluned Pierce of Oxford University found they were definitely larger than they should be. A finding that dovetails nicely with an earlier theory thought up by British Researchers that Neanderthal’s eyes were bigger because Neanderthal lived in Europe, which is way cloudier, making it much harder to see, thus their eyes got bigger and bigger until they were able to see too good.
This caused the Neanderthal to spend so much time admiring the details of fern leaves and other prehistoric things, they completely forgot what their names were and how to eat.
“We infer the Neanderthals’ more visually focused brain structure might also have affected their ability to form larger groups – if you live in a larger group, you need a larger brain in order to process all those extra relationships,” Professor Chris Stringer of the Natural History Museum of London — who has 20/20 vision, and who has lived alone in a one-room apartment his entire adult life — speculated.
The Human Race is Getting Dumber and Dumber
“The human race is getting dumber and dumber and losing their cognitive abilities and becoming more emotionally unstable.” Stanford University researcher, Dr. Gerald Crabtree has decided to say for lack of thinking up anything better to say.
“People with specific adverse genetic mutations are more likely than ever to survive and live amongst the ‘strong.’ Darwin’s survival of the fittest is less applicable in today’s society.” Dr. Crabtree explained after looking up the meaning of the words ‘mutation’, ‘genetic’, and ‘applicable’ and then googling to find out who the heck Darwin was.
People of Today Are Just Like the People Back in The Day!
Research teams from Royal Holloway, the British Library and Reading University headed by Professor Jane Everson have discovered — after exhaustively rifling through the boxes in the British Museum basement labeled 16th and 17th century — that people back in the 16th and 17th centuries were just exactly like the people of today!
“Just as we create user names for our profiles on Facebook and Twitter and create circles of friends on Google plus, these scholars created nicknames, shared and commented on topical ideas, news of the day and exchanged poems, music and plays — just like we do — only instead of using the internet, they used the mail!” Professor Jane Everson effervesced breathlessly.
The researchers are taking great delight in decoding the nicknames that the 16th and 17th century scholars used — a task that may take years.
However, to ensure that what the researchers are being paid to do this is well worth it, they plan to use only words that have three or more syllables when writing up their findings for Proceedings of the Royal Society B.
And there you have it Dear Readers! Our weekly glimpse into the scientific minds of our scientific community!
Dear Readers! The new Pottery Barn Catalog just arrived and not a moment too soon! For you see, in this issue of The Catalog, Pottery Barn finally provides solutions to how we, as boring, ordinary citizens, can become more intriguing!
“Your Home Tells the Intriguing Story of who you are, where you’ve been and what inspires you most.” — Pottery Barn Catalog August 2012
What Pottery Barn means by this is that your home WILL tell an intriguing story of how intriguing you are IF you purchase fake-intriguing-story-about-you decor from Pottery Barn.
Frankly, PB suspects you’re not all that intriguing which is why Pottery Barn has taken the liberty of punching up your life through the use of decor that implies you are all that and a bag of potato chips. Let’s look as some examples, shall we?
The intriguing story this Pottery Barn wall decor says about you is:
You don’t quite understand about the alphabet.
Oh sure weall learned our ABC’s . . . except for you. Why? Because you were too busy helping Grams hunt for truffles at Martha’s Vineyard and, therefore, never attended school with all the other “saps” which means you can’t read or write. So now you obsessively nail gigantic wooden letters to your walls. So what? That’s not weird, it’s intriguing!
The intriguing story this Pottery Barn vignette says about you is:
You’re favorite snack is honey and shredded Parmesan cheese.
Ah! Nothingquenches the thirst and eases the hunger pangs quite like a refreshing jar of honey and a big ol’ heaping bowl of shredded Parmesan cheese after a long day of helping Grams frantically dig for truffles at Martha’s Vineyard in the backyard estates of the rich and famous before they come home.
You and Gramsprefer a snack that sticks to your ribs, your fingers as well as your Pottery Barn Vintage Printer’s Customizable Cabinet! Oh sure, let people roll their eyes at how messy you are! That’s the difference between them and you. They’re stupid, and YOU’RE INTRIGUING!
The intriguing story this Pottery Barn Blackboard says about you is:
Your grandmother is a drug dealer.
If you look closely at this blackboard, you will see that somebody has written “EMPTY Da Da Da Da.” and “Do EMPTY 4”
And you knowyou didn’t write it because you are too intriguing to know how to read and write. Could it have been Grams?
Wait a minute why are the police leading Grams out to that police car?
What? All those truffles Grams was digging up (and sampling) turned out to be hallucinogenic mushrooms which she apparently was selling to earn money to purchase intriguing-story-about-you decor from Pottery Barn?
Ha ha! That Grams! While most grandmothers are sitting at home in their rocker knitting sweaters, reading Reader’s Digest and clipping coupons, YOUR Grams is trading cigarettes, working out and filing appeals!
And if that doesn’t make YOU intriguing, Pottery Barn doesn’t know what does!
I don’t mean to brag,but I have been using “the facilities” on my own now for over fifty years, and I know, firsthand, some crazy things that got flushed that hadn’t oughta.
Once, when I was four, my mother bought a batch of the most beautiful red apples you ever saw and displayed them on the table. I asked for one, and my mother gave it to me.
I took one bite and spit it out.
That’s because this apple was a deceitful type of apple, the kind that looks like it’s going to be delicious but, instead, tastes like dry, sandy-mush.
A couple of days later, I must have forgotten how horrible the apple tasted because I asked my mother for another one. And she agreed, but only if I promised I wouldn’t take just one bite and spit it out. Who me? Heavens no! Mother! Please! Don’t be ridiculous! She handed me an apple.
I took one bite and spit it out.
Later in the week, I happened to walk by the beautiful red apples that were still sitting on the table (now we know why) and asked for another one. My mother wisely said no because there wasn’t any questions in her mind, by now, what I was going to do.
Well for some reason, I was set on it. I began begging dramatically. “Please Mother! Please! I won’t spit it out! For the love of God, I beg of you! I must have an apple if I am ever going to thrive!”
My mother acquiesced, handed me yet another apple along with a stern warning that she better not find this one in the garbage with one bite out of it; then left.
I took one bite and spit it out.
Ok, now I hada big problem on my hands. Where to dispose of a big, beautiful red, sandy-mushy apple with one bite out of it. I had to think, think! And quickly before my mother discovered the truth!
I made an emergencyexecutive decision to flush it. So I went into the bathroom, looked both ways, threw the apple with one bite out of it into the toilet and pushed down the handle.
I was amazed when it actually went down! Fabulous! I dusted off my four-year-old hands and resumed playing.
Later that day I happened to walk by the bathroom just as my father was lifting the entire toilet, itself, off the floor. I was flabbergasted! I had no idea it would “do that!”
I still hadn’t put two and two together until I saw him reach his hand down the pipe and pull out a big beautiful red apple with one bite out of it.
Uh oh . . .
Shame quickly set it. I couldn’t have felt worse if I would have gunned down Santa. But that’s another story for another day.
Suffice it to say, I’ve been privy to lots of things that got flushed that hadn’t outta — but it all started with that beautiful red apple with one bit out of it.
Hello Dear Readers! This weekend’s 33-word Trifecta Challenge is as follows:
The word lithium comes from the Greek word lithos, which means stone (http://chemistry.about.com/od/lithium/a/10-Lithium-Facts.htm). This weekend, we want you to give us a thirty-three response using the word stone as one of your thirty-three words. You can use any definition of the word that you’d like, but we are specifically looking for serious, well-conceived entries. This isn’t the weekend for light-hearted posts about the difficulty of posting before the linkz close, and we are not looking for hilarious commentary about your cats (THIS time). We want something serious and deep from you guys this weekend, because the sun is starting to shine a bit more, and we think we can handle it now. Take your time with it and give us your very best work.
Dear Readers! What a treat we have in store for us today! The Vegetable Lady has been kind enough to stop by the blog and answer some of our most pressing vegetable questions!
Our first question, Vegetable Lady, comes to us from Reader, Phillip Flep, who asks: what is your favorite way to prepare tomatoes?
Tomatoes? Golly Jeepers whenever I think of tomatoes, I always think of Christmas because that’s when Daddy, before he got lost at sea, would bring in a big platter of tomatoes, graham crackers and chocolate and Mommy would set the Christmas tree on fire, and we’d make Smores!
Before Daddy bit into his, he would always say “If I never see you again I love you,” but Golly Jeepers! Mother and I could never figure out if he was talking to us or to the Smores.
This next question comes to us from Reader, Agamemnon Applebee, who asks: What’s the best way to get peas out of their pods?
Golly Jeepers it took Mother and I so long to figure that out! Right after Daddy got lost at sea, we were awfully impoverished, so we had to live off peas until Mother and I joined the circus.
Golly Jeepers! It wasn’t easy to figure out how to get peas out of their pods until one day Mother borrowed a microscope and found out there was a teeny-tiny zipper in each pod! Golly Jeepers! I finally had time to get back to my sword swallowing practice after we found that out!
Our last question comes from Reader, Toots Tubaleeno, who asks: What’s the best way to roast corn on the cob?
Well, after Mother and I joined the circus, Mother started roasting all our corn on the cob by positioning the cob between her teeth while performing her flame juggling routine! Golly Jeepers that was some good corn!
One night Mother set her beard on fire, which totally ruined her moonlighting job as the bearded lady in the freak show. But Golly Jeepers! Mother sure went out on a lot more dates after that.
So let’s get this straight, Vegetable Lady, you’re telling us that your father was lost at sea, you set your Christmas Tree on fire every year to roast tomato smores, your mother is a bearded flame juggler and you swallow swords in your spare time?
Golly Jeepers! When you put it that way it does sound a little strange. I forgot to explain that I never swallow swords that don’t have a carrot stuck to the end! Oh I’m so glad I remembered to add that! Golly Jeepers! You would have thought I was pretty weird!
Well thank you for answering some questions for us today Vegetable Lady!
Hello Dear Readers! Well as you can see there’s been some excitement around here. My new little grandson Henry William began his new life out in the real world on Saturday night after a long, leisurely road trip through BC (Birth Canal).
Henry Took the Scenic Route
On his way through BC, Henry chose to dilly dally, making frequent stops along the way for snacks and pictures, then taking a nap or two — completely oblivious to the fact that there was a room of people anxiously awaiting his arrival. Finally at long last, somebody just went and got the scissors and showed Henry the ol’ Cesarean Shortcut.
And, frankly, I was a little surprised when Henry wasn’t born with a miniature camera around his neck, clutching a tiny road map in his fingers and wearing a teeny tourist t-shirt that said something like “I just came through the birth canal and all I got was this lousy t-shirt.”
Having a Baby Can Take a Lot Out of You
My daughter, Jackie, was a trooper through the entire 23 hours of back labor, front labor and sideways labor. But not to worry. She had a mid-wife who was there to help her!
The mid-wife, whose name was . . . well, let’s just call her . . . oh I don’t know . . . I’m just picking a name at random here — let’s just call her Salisbury Steak.
Salisbury Steak,just for the record, Dear Readers, was about 40 years old and in those 40 years, had somehow managed to learn every bit of information a person could possibly learn with the possible exception of Albert Einstein and even he didn’t know as much about birthin’ babies as Salisbury Steak!
Add to that the fact thatSalisbury Steak has managed to develop an esteem for herself that is unrivaled, and you’ve got yourself one heck of a midwife! (And don’t just go by me, I’m sure Salisbury Steak will back me up on that.)
To prove my point, here’s a conversation Salisbury Steak and I had after Jackie had been in labor for 22 hours and her blood pressure had dropped to 60 over 30.
Me: This isn’t going well, I’m concerned.
Salisbury Steak: Oh, is that your medical opinion?
Me: She’s dizzy and her blood pressure is extremely low, and she’s been in labor for 22 hours she’s been pushing for almost 3 hours and the baby isn’t any farther down than he was three hours ago!
Salisbury Steak: First of all, 60 over 30 is not low! She just needs to drink some apple juice, besides the baby is moving down now.
Me: But isn’t this his foot way up here?
Salisbury Steak: What? No. Let me feel it. No, that’s just a fibroid tumor!
Me: But she shouldn’t be drinking apple juice! At this point, she shouldn’t be drinking anything!
Salisbury steak: Oh really is that your medical opinion? (Salisbury Steak didn’t add, “What do you know about it old lady, you probably don’t even know how to work your smart phone like it do!” — but I could tell she wanted to.)
Me: I’m concerned, we need to do something!
Salisbury Steak: Oh really? Is that you’re medical opinion?
Do you see how well Salisbury Steak handled the situation? Her assessment that Jackie’s blood pressure of 60/30 was simply a result of Jackie’s mother being overly concerned and micro-managing Salisbury Steak’s sweet mid-wifing skills — was nothing short of brilliance.
And furthermore, it was becoming quite obvious that I was making Salisbury Steak’s mid-wifing experience a bummer and that I needed to please shut up!
Well in the end, Dear Reader, I am extremely relieved to report that Salisbury Steak finally decided that in Salisbury Steak’smedical opinion, Jackie did, indeed, require a C-section a decision that could have been made hours earlier, but that would have required Salisbury Steak to hang up from chatting on the phone. (She’s quite a popular one, that Salisbury Steak! But, then, who doesn’t like Salisbury Steak?)
Anyway, by the grace of God, our sweet little Henry finally made his debut into this world thanks to the doctor who performed the cesarean section –and both mother and baby are safe and sound!
Before Salisbury Steak left she gave me a great big hug and said good-bye.
And I, too,bid farewell to Salisbury Steak.
“Good bye Salisbury Steak!” I said. “You big effing idiot!”