Monday, September 29, 2003

Norwegian Log: Day Six

'Jump the turnstiles never pay the toll
I did the doo-wah diddy and bust 'em with the pre roll'
Beastie Boys 3-Minute Rule

The time away from our country and a full immersion into Norwegian Culture has taken a toll on 'The Package's' sense of what is right and what is evidenced from what I learned from a phone conversation with her this morning.

After six days in the Motherland (or morland) 'The Package' has taken to a life of (petty) crimes.  She and her travelling companion, H*, have decided to live like 'students'** and jump the turnstiles at the train stations and--thus-- avoid paying the fares.


Sure I told her before leaving that she should spend her money wisely but I had no idea that this would lead to some sort of Thelma & Louise-meets-Bonnie & Clyde*** Norge-style crime spree.

I'll have to watch my back when she gets back or I might end up sacrificed to Odin the High Father in the ancient Blood Eagle ritual.****


*I have no idea what her name is but I do know that it starts with an H. Shows how much I've been paying attention to the details...maybe I was stunned to learn that my wife is a con now. Let's just refer to her pal as Helga and leave it at that, eh?

**This is how she referred to it. Does this mean that all Norwegian students are punk-ass thieves living a Thug-Life (or Thug-Liv as they say in their native babble)? How else do these so-called Students (or studenter) exercise their felonious ways? Nicking people's snowshoes, accosting reindeer, overeating at the lefse-buffet and skipping out on the bill, pulling a Quisling during a heated debate?

***Or, as they might say, Tekla & Lovis-møtes-Borghild & Kjell...

****This Viking rite involved cutting out the lungs of a living man and laying them out on his shoulders, so that they resembled the outspread wings of an eagle. Lovely!!!

Sunday, September 28, 2003

Norwegian Log: Day Five

...and on Sunday I rested...and thought about some of the lively banter I had overheard the evening before:

The 'squire' impressing his female companion with talk about his endeavors in High School Theater (thee-UH-tour) and After-School Musicals while clad in a fantastic blouse of the swashbuckling variety.*

That's right, kids...I happened upon a post-Ren-Fest seduction going on when I was out enjoying a late evening beverage.

To paraphrase the gentleman in question:

'That's right, baby; I used to be in all sorts of plays and musicals in high school. These days I make sure to keep my Muse flowing by attending Ren Fest dressed in the appropriate you can tell from my current attire. Can I buy you a drink? Barkeep? A Honey Mead for this fair lass and a Grog for me...I've a thirst to rival even that of Blinky Irongullet, our village's resident drunkard.'

Good Times...Good Times.

I sure hope he had the opportunity to unsheath his dirk.

(full of enchilada dish pre-made by 'The Package' before she left for her tour of the Arctic Circle and environs thereabout)

*Trying desperately to be 'In like Flynn,' as it were.

Saturday, September 27, 2003

Norwegian Log: Day Four

Due to a third New Student Orientation and a Last Minute 'This Report Needs to be Completed before Monday Afternoon' Command from the Powers-That-Be at work I spent the majority of my day on the job...'chained' like the Desk-Monkey that I am (from 7:30 AM to 4 PM).

Thus, not much to report other than that I am 'shagged out after a long squawk' and desire Very Much several/many Cool Beverages of the Beer-Variety.

Odd Exchange (of the Real Variety OR How to Mess with a Co-Worker's Mind)

For no apparent reason I got caught up in a conversation about jeans with a co-worker whilst taking a break from the hustle-bustle:

Co-Worker (CW): I think need some new jeans.
Me: (quickly scan said CW's pants) Oh yeah? You should always purchase your denims at Gas Stations.
CW (?!?): Why's that?
Me: Trucker Jeans are the way to go. They're that deep shade of blue that never fades even after 100s of times through the wash.* The only drawback is that you have to avoid getting them wet when you're wearing them-- whether it be from a sudden downpour, a spilled drink, or the tears of a clown-- otherwise you'll find that your underwear and tubesocks get stained blue from them.
CW: I don't wear tubesocks.
Me: do wear underwear, yes?
CW: Duh.
Me: Don't say that I didn't warn you.
CW: ???

Ah...anything to make the time at work more enjoyable, eh?

Early Morning Dog Fun

One other incident of Note was my attempt to get the Dog to take a dump before I left for work.

Roger has his own agenda most of the time when it comes to First Poo at Dawn. This morning it appeared that things were going to happen in a rather rapid-fire manner meaning that I was assured a quick 'In and Out' with the beast. He rushed to the front yard and assumed 'the position' and the following unfolded:

(I will now attempt to translate the thoughts that were crossing my dog's mind as he prepared for the delivery of a tightly coiled 'lawn ornament of the Stink Variety')

This is good. This is good. Get it out of me and then I can eat. Eating is good. Here it comes. Here it comes. Hey...look! An apple core in the gutter!!! Time to call a 'retreat' in order to inspect said discarded goody. Why is the Hairy Guy yelling at me now?

Twas a great day, indeed.


*Of course it could very well be that the secret to the non-fading-deep indigo is that Truckers send their pantalones through a spin cycle as often as our celestial friend, Haley's Comet, visits our section of the Solar System and NOT a result of some secret Trucker Jean dying method. I don't know. RUSTLER'S never responded to my unsolicited inquiries.

Friday, September 26, 2003

Norwegian Log: Day Three

Took a call for 'The Package' today:

Fellow: Can I speak to Hannah?
Me: Nope.
Fellow: Er...can I leave a message for her?
Me: Yes.
Fellow: Tell her Fruder (?) called.
Me: Yes.
Fellow: Er...bye?
(I hang up the phone)

It might have been the polite thing to inform this guy that Hannah isn't expected back until next weekend and--p'raps-- not be as terse as all that...but what the hell...I think it's funny. Especially Funny when I couldn't even understand what his name was.


Dinner consisted of two tuna fish sandwiches and a can of sweet peas...truly a flashback to the heady days and hungry nights of bachelorhood. Thank Crom for my limited Culinary Skills and lack of patience to learn the ways of the Crafty Chef.

(wistfull sigh)

Since I have to work tomorrow I have an evening planned of sitting on my ass and getting caught up on the pile of comics that have accumulated over the last few weeks. How's that for exciting? Me, the dog, and selected DC and Marvel Icons' adventures.

Bachelorhood, indeed.

Thursday, September 25, 2003

Norwegian Log: Day Two--Electric Boogaloo

The morning began with the phone ringing and a mad scramble over a mildly disoriented Bulldog to answer it. A quick glance at the clock told me that it was Six in the Am and I had only been in MorpheusLand for all of 4 or 5 hours.

It was 'The Package' calling to inform me that she was Landbound in Norway and at the rendez-vous* point at which she was to meet her friend.

'What time is it there?' she asked.
'Uhm...Nine Am.' I replied.
(pause) 'Holy shit, have to be at work at Nine AM!!!'
''s only Six AM.'

A mild (extremely mild) HAHA to start out the day, eh?

After a few minutes of the usual Coupled-Couple exchanges I took to the task of tending to Roger the Bulldog and his morning Excretory Regimen. This was followed by my own Cleansing and Clothing Rituals and a final outdoor excursion for the resident canine.

I was startled by the appearance of a brown-clad gentleman coming up my driveway as I let Roger out for the last time before I headed to work...the UPS Guy had arrived (way WAY early) with a package for your's truly. The aging dog took note of his appearance and charged for the sole purpose of coating his lower extremities with a frothy wash of 'Hello-How-the-Hell-are-ya' drool.** Unfortunately, the Delivery Man had no idea of Rog's actual intentions and yelped as he swatted the air before the trundling bulldog with the very package he was attempting to bring to me. I rushed out and managed to get him (the dog...not Brown Boy) in a headlock and assured him as he passed me the envelope-as-faux-weapon. Many thanks and apologies were tossed in his general direction as UPS Guy leapt back into his truck.

What a great way to start the day...and I hadn't even gotten to work yet.

More tomorrow.


*Yeah...Yeah...a French word used in an article about Norway; Sue Me. The one that speaks Norwegian isn't available for Translation purposes.
**and the post-salivary rutting. Call it Roger's version of Foreplay.

Wednesday, September 24, 2003

Norwegian Log: Day One

TIP Delivery Services managed to get the 'package' to the airport on-time. No tears were shed and I had the joy of returning to work for several more hours. Due to time constraints I was forced to ingest a Gas Station Sandwich as my dinner with a fine Melon Flavored Gatorade to wash it down.

That's a meal fit for some form of royalty...p'raps the King of the Sewers or Lord Pantalonis of Trou?

Upon arriving back to the Job I made a quick pitstop in the facilities and--when finished--blew the button on my pants*.

The damn thread done gave up on me.

By CROM my belt had better be able to keep me decent until I get home.

More tomorrow.


*Hmm...I wonder if this was a result of my Anti-Phil Not-Diet Crusade I'm on? My inner Former Fat Kid is fighting his way back to the surface.**
**Okay...not really. These are some damn old pants I'm wearing today AND I am still fit as a old three string natty fiddle with bad varnish, that is...

Tuesday, September 23, 2003

Norwegian Log: Prologue
(not to be mistaken for 'Norwegian Wood' by the Fab Four nor any other sort of Scandanavian Lumber)

In about twenty-four hours the Boss (the Norge-whal) will be heading off for a Ten Day Adventure in her Country du Jour, Norway.*

Which (in turn) affords me ten days of solo-time** and all the adventures I may or may not have.

Hence, this NORWEGIAN LOG.

In it I propose to keep a daily account of my feats, deeds and missteps as I try to navigate sans the Boss' steady 'rudder.'***

Prior to her departure Boss Hannah stocked the pantry with some of favorite canned goods (peas, beans, tuna) and filled the freezer with a few dishes that I should be able to heat to a desirable temperature for healthy noshing; thus doing her best to ensure that I will be around post-trip to 'enjoy' all her tales of Fjordland.****

We shall see.

Stay tuned.

I now have to go add a few things to her luggage to ensure her safe travel abroad-- namely a set of D & D dice and the family short sword. Random Monster Encounters in Norway (according to the Dungeon Master's Guide: European Edition) are much more deadly than they are stateside***** and one should be armed with a trusty 20-sided and all its dicey-companions.
The short sword should be self-explanatory. The lass has a hell of a killing stroke.******

See you tomorrow.


*Don't let her fool ya...she's got plenty of other nationalities floating about in her genetic booya. Consider her Norwegian-istic slant the broth of said 'stew-esque' miasma.
**Not really SOLO per se...there's still the dog to consider, eh?
***Also a Ten Day respite from living under the shadow and threat of blunt-force injuries from her Rolling Pin of Damocles
****Having food around that is easy to prepare is no guaranty that I will successfully survive her time away...after all, I do tend to enjoy the random pugilistic encounter and my infrequent dalliance with the Home Version of FEAR FACTOR. Who knew I could swallow all those mandrill knuckles while riding a unicycle? You wouldn't think it was possible from a fellow nicknamed 'TIP.'
*****You mean you haven't heard the tale about the American Tourist in Tromso that was mauled by a Dark Gnome armed with a Trowel full of +5 Lutefisk? The Traveller never saw the beast coming and--when his corpse was pulled from the community well--he was dice-less, if you know what I mean.
******You now understand my fear of the aforementioned Rolling Pin of Damocles that she wields so unerringly. She's like a freakin' Ninja with that thing. OH...and her homemade bread is to die for.

Monday, September 22, 2003

From today's New York Times Crossword

29 Down: Roly-Poly President

Four Letters

Answer? Taft (William Howard, naturally).

Isn't that great?

You were the 27th President of the United States and then held the position of Chief Justice of the Supreme Court and this is how you are remembered.

I love it.

(no...really...I love it)

Sunday, September 21, 2003

Taken out of context?

A selection of snippets of conversations I have heard/misheard over the last couple of days:

'I consider SLIM JIMS more of a 'meat product' than I do a 'jerky' if you know what I mean.'

'Obviously you have never operated a paddle-boat in you life (sniff).'

'You wanna spruce up that salted nutroll? Knock yourself out!'

'This here spandex and glitter really brought out my inner perv...wanna shoot some Xs and Os my way?'

'...the only way I could get the boy to do his 'rithmatic homework was telling him that IF he didn't he'd be pulling rickshaws for the rest of his life...without sandals, mind you.'

'I cannot believe that I left my pants at the chop shop AGAIN!'

'Romantic evening with the missus?'s all about Ho Jo's and some ripple.'

'What's the headwear going to be tonight? Wimple or Fez? Wimple? Fez? Hmmm...'

'I don't care if he's Jesus' second cousin, Earlius...sumbeech owes me five bucks.'

'Toss me a Jolly Rancher, eh?'

'There's only one way to fall off a log and I should know!'

(note to self...quit spending so many evenings at Mickey's Diner)

Friday, September 19, 2003

Doodle in the Doodler

A recent evening out with friends:

'Hm,' I thought, 'may as well doodle a lil' cartoon on the stall wall while I'm taking care of business. Restroom visitors love to be entertained this way and WOW don't I enjoy disregarding the fact that I'm defacing someone's establishment with my childish scribbles like some sort of Guerilla Comic Strip Artiste or somesuch nonsense.'

I enter the stall and, while carefully aiming one 'pen,' I pivot to my right and extend my other pen to my 'canvas' only to see something shocking...something oddly familiar:

A drawing of a fist clenching a burger with a word balloon that reads 'Say...Nice burger!'

It was one of mine from a time long since forgotten.

Two things come to mind:

1. Time to stop with the inane pisser tagging

2. Time for the management of this bar to consider actually washing the walls; after earlier artistic endeavor was completed in ball-point pen and should come right off IF a cleaning solution of any sort were applied to it.


Thursday, September 18, 2003

Southern Swing

'I wuz thinkin' 'bout takin' a road trip to Georgia next year.'

'If ya does, you should think 'bout visitin' the grave of Jerry Blackwell--Georgia's Greatest Export and the AWA's only Stone Mountain Georgian (or GORGE-ian, dependin' on who's bending yer ear). His tomb is a big tourist attraction down there and draw folk from around the least, wrasslin' fans from around the world.'

'Yeah...I think I read sumpin' 'bout that recently. Is it true he wuz buried in his leotard?'

'Tain't a's a SINGLET!!!'

'Fine...fine...whatever it wuz it shore was big enough to double as a burial shroud for that fellow.'

'Watch yer mouth! I still have fond memories of his patented Samoan Drop!!!'

(he was never the REAL Crusher)

Wednesday, September 17, 2003

Bit o' Too-Much-Information Overheard at Work Today (seriously)

'My gall bladder exploded sixteen years ago...'

Rejected CD Review

This new recording by Fleetle-Dee-Dee and the Rum-Drunk Naysayers has a little bit of everything on it; tunes on Love, Loss, dogsled mishaps, overturned spittoons, misplaced crescent wrenches, cracked engine blocks filled with Miracle Whip, a dog named Lazarus and his infected dew claws, small town trysts involving sacks of flour, earnest Cub Scouts and their pinewood racers, a chance encounter with Esther Rolle--EVERYTHING.

Do yourself a favor and Buy This Record!!!

(former dee-jay/failed critic)
My Beef with Dr. Phil

As you may have heard/read/seen, television's Dr. Phil has began a One Man Assault against obesity by devising his very own weight loss regimen.

Good for him (and, seemingly, his groupie-esque over-sated lemmings).

I, for one, am pissed at his audacity.

He's bold enough to assume that America's corpulent porkulation will flock*
to his sage wisdom on how to shed pounds and get in probably will.

In defiance to his program I am (boldly...or bodily) declaring myself the Anti-Phil; whereby I will give up myexercise routine and pack on the flab in protest to the good Doctor's bullshit recipe for the gravy-ridden masses (mashes?). There will be no double-scoop Ice Cream Cone that will go un-slurped nor any deep-fried item given the no-more-for-me wave off.


I vow to gain as much weight as possible before the end of the year and then challenge the man to a Rock/Paper/Danish contest.

We'll see who here has the biggest Ladle.




Saturday, September 13, 2003

No Future in Animation

"I made me a lil' flip book o' two fellahs smiling at one another.'

'Lemme see that.'


' looks like a couple of goats wearing hats going at it like they ain't got a moment tah spare.'

'Well...I ain't never called me-self an Art-Teest or nuthin...but they do look like they're smilin' right?'


Thursday, September 11, 2003

Reality Show Suggestions

The Junkyard

If syndication trends amount to any semblence of Truth than the undying popularity of Sanford and Son on our nation's televisions surely denotes a countrywide fascination with the business of junkyards.

One contestant will don suspendered work-pants, roust a jaded and opinionated 'son' as his co-hart, befriend a 'Grady' and avoid the violence of 'Aunt Esther's' well-aimed purse-as-blunt-force-weapon as he attempts to keep his business afloat.

This will certainly be 'The Big One, Elizabeth' in the way of Ratings!

Those Amazing Burros

What is really like to ride a burro to the bottom of a canyon? These sure-footed and reliable work-beasts and the tales of strangers astride them will ignite Pack-Animal Fandom (or PAndom) throughout the United States.

Eating Raoul

The film by Paul Bartel becomes television's next big Reality Show Extravaganza!!!
Since our country-folk are suffering through a so-called Obesity Epidemic than an hour-long program dedicated to people eating and yakking will cater to millions of corpulent viewers' tastes. Booya!!!

Whittle Me This

Six Contestents
Three Knives
One piece of hickory

On the Hunt for Bil Keane

The elusive cartoonist of the timeless circular comic strip*, The Family Circus, is your target. Can you find him before more hilarity flows forth from his pen? A $100,000 bounty on his head is your reward if the exploits of Billy, Dolly, Jeffy and PJ can be put to an end. 'Not me!' you say? can be you.


*Researchers at the Chortling Institute have determined that the humor of the Family Circus is best displayed (and, thus, enjoyed) within a circular 'panel' thereby 'taking the edge' off an otherwise outrageous and oft-times politically incorrect strip.

Pants Anxiety

Most of my years Sub-18 were defined by a identifying flap of leather (or whatever) sewn to the backs of my denims--HUSKY.

To this day (15 years later) I still have the hardest time making myself buy new pants...the psychological damage created by my (then) physiological make-up has not improved even as I have shaped up and grown older. As my pants, dungarees, trousers, short-pants, pantalones, clamdiggers, lowriders, what have you, get more and more threadbare and scandalous it takes a Herculean effort (and written warnings from my employers, neighbors, and the local Thin Blue Liners on how I am dangerously teetering on the edge of public indecency) to drag my (almost fully exposed) ass down to a clothing store to slap the ching down for some new sub-torso garments.

Worrying whether I am still the same size as the last time I purchased pants...oh sweet Zeus WHY DID I EAT THAT WHOLE BAG OF DORITOS?!?


It's that bad.

To rectify this situation I am strongly considering foregoing pants altogether (in the all-together...snort) and switching to 24-7 swaddling as my clothing of choice.

Or maybe some Lion Skins a la Hercules*?

Since this new choice in attire will render me unable to retain my current line of work I'm pondering a new career as a lakeside prophet or free-lance adventurer.

All I need to do after this is acquire some kick-ass sandals don't want people to see my feet.


(problems, problems, problems)

*But any Trials my Father puts me through had better not involve getting any where near a stable. Horses (and their copious excrement) scare the...heh...shit out of me. Knowing my Father any Tasks he requests of me would involve getting up on a ladder and cleaning out his gutters OR trimming limbs off the pine tree in his front yard. Some Action THAT would be, eh? Not even suitable for Modern Day Mythology...

Wednesday, September 10, 2003

Stain Log for September 10th, 2003 (as of 4:52 PM)

Black Ink Blots (2) along right forearm due to resting said appendage on top of ill-placed pen.

Coffee splashes (5) along inner thigh regions of slacks caused by collision with the corner of my desk.

Chilito Sauce Splat Pattern (8) down the front of my shirt derived from over-zealous 'first bite' of Mexican Fast Food Item.

Tuesday, September 09, 2003

The Flap over the Librarian Action Figure (coming to a store near you soonish)

Folk in the Library Arts are in a tizzy over the upcoming release of a Librarian Action Figure (no...really...check out your newspaper or favorite on-line newsource) as it crafted in a very stereotypical way; glasses, cardigan, comfortable shoes, and a finger raised to its mouth in a 'shushing' manner.

Okay...sure...don't get me wrong here...I've seen plenty of librarians that look just like this figure* and don't really understand the problem here--it's not a big deal, is it?

Fortunately or Unfortunately, some stereotypes are based in reality.

For example:

My 'Bud the Butcher' action figure comes complete with a stained apron, bald pate, chipped cleaver and little plastic link sausages (not to mention a removable hip flask that can be filled with Bud's favorite beverages for imbibing upon betwixt his daily tasks...let your Inner Child's imagination run wild, eh?). For an extra 25 bucks you can buy his 'Chop Shop' which includes a realistically molded meat rack, grinder, and real animal intestines for making teeny tiny 'meat treats' (which can be cooked in a seperate playset, 'Bud the Butcher's Weiner Water Boiler').

Now...who doesn't know a bald alcoholic butcher?

That's right.

So it makes sense for Toy Manufacturers to design old 'Bud' in this way. Discriminating Shoppers will take note of its dead-on likeness to Butchers seen throughout the ages and happily spend the swag to make it their own.

And so it should be with the Librarian Action Figure.

(I have no idea what the Hell I'm talking about...naturally)

*BUT I have also seen my share of Sexy Librarians. Shit...head over to the Ramsey County Library over on Hamline and County Road B. There's one fine redheaded lady employed there that can scan my card any day of the week (which might explain my increasing number of visits there over the last few months....snort). Although the time I checked out 'Where the Red Fern Grows' along with 'Kama Sutra for Dummies' left her with a puzzled look upon her face.

Monday, September 08, 2003

Hiccups: The Great Leveller

Friday night I got hit by a bout of Hiccups that lasted over an hour.
An hour of my life trying All the Old Tricks to get rid of them--holding my breath, sucking a lime, drinking water in unusual positions, slandering clown paraphenalia collectors, et cetera. Eventually they disappeared (I have no idea which 'trick' worked...although it could have been the final 15 minutes of spewing envectives at any and all Deities under the Sun) but left a lasting impression; that of extremely painful and debilitating much so that I had to excuse myself from my evening's companions and head home for a fistfull of Tums.

It dawned on me as the Fiery Heat in my Chest dissipated that these Unexpected Spasming Episodes render anyone--young, old, rich, poor, whatever-- a helpless quivering 'sack of water and urges'* completely out of control of your own form and actions...complete with a soundtrack (of sorts) comprised of noises one would expect to hear when accidentally trodding on zip-locks full of pudding.

Thanks alot, (insert Deity name here), for this lil' tweak in our design structure.

At least it keeps us all on equal (and jerky) footing.

Laugh while you can.


*To borrow a quote from Dave Sim describing human beings.

Friday, September 05, 2003

Recent Items under consideration for Display at a Hard Rock Cafe near you

Uriah Heap's drummer's pants
The right hand thumbnail of Rick Astley
A vial of Ian Anderson's flute saliva
Charlie Daniel's hip flask belt buckle
An unpeeled banana from Ted Nugent's Weekend Warrior tour
6 unused tickets to the final show of Mike and the Mechanics
Sade's bong
An empty Dippity-Do bottle from Bryan Ferry
An official Blow Monkeys Fan Club frisbee
Mister Misters' soundman's gloves
Freddie Mercury's mouthguard
A plaster casting of Joe Perry's throat
Grace Slick's pride (3 oz. bottle)
Liam Gallagher's tambourine satchel
Ravi Shankar's curry recipe
Autographed photo of Richie Sambora holding a Reese's monkey (dead)
Edgar and Johnny Winter's discarded Grecian Formula rinse
Billy Preston's hairpick
Yngwie Malmsteen's tubesocks
Lubricated Goat's turkey baster
4 hubcaps from the ELO tour bus

(We Built this City...We Built this City on Crappy Songs)

Thursday, September 04, 2003

All is forgiven, Sammy Davis Junior

'You giving me the skunk-eye or what?'

'Naw...naw...I chipped my glass peeper in a Fork Fight at the caferia the other day.'

'Someone getting aggressive with the creamed corn again?'

'Damn straight. And that just ain't right.'


Monday, September 01, 2003

Post-Restroom-Visit Conversation Excerpt

'I'm telling ya, Mike, it scared the shit out of me (no pun, ya wise guy). I don't know WHAT the fellow had for lunch but it sure as hell sounded like he was landing a friggin' time machine in the stall next to me. That's know what I'm talking about...Tardis Noises. Sure as heck can't be a good thing and startled me something fierce. S'pected a robot dog to appear out thin air and sniff my damn behind I was so worked up.'


A Simple Misunderstanding

It was a really busy day and I didn't mean for this to happen even if I was a bit peckish.

I got distracted by the phone ringing off the hook, the neighbor kid coming to the door wondering if I could spare any particle boards for his fort...things like that.

You have to understand that I didn't mean to forget about you in the microwave.

I didn't mean to neglect the burrito.

Can we move on?