Wednesday, August 27, 2008

Euphemism of the Day: Someone Weinered the Garden Gnome

Thursday, August 14, 2008

Old Country Buffet has set their Sights on Me

Back in 2003 I wrote the following:


There is nothing more warming to my cold black heart than witnessing a horde of people (family? friends? a combination of both?) hugging one another outside the area's Old Country Buffet and knowing that each and everyone of them is overly-sated from the establishment's well-known All-You-Can-Eat smorgasbord-ian spread. Essentially each affectionate grapple is one stuffed-to-the-uvula humanoid squeezing another equally filled-to-the-molars biped in sort of post-chug-a-lunch love fest.

"I love you, Arlene. Glad you didn't pass on that third plate of country-fried steak."


"Likewise, Jorge...I can still smell the emptied gravy boat contents on your lips and lapels."


" was cute when little Caitlin ate her first turkey leg!"


"Grandma! That wasn't a (urp) TURKEY leg...That was a porkchop on a stick!!!"


"I'm tellin' ya, go through creamed corn like swine spillings through the Killing Floor grating."


"Get outta here, know full (har) well that you got the crown to show yer King of Ham Alley."



Warms my heart like the inseams of a fat man's pants after a dash to the Lowfat Yogurt dispenser.

I could use more hugs in my life.

Sounds like it might be time to pencil in a weekly visit to the OCB to right this wrong.

(time to break my monogrammed bib out of storage from my years as a competitive eater)

Today I happened to scribble out the following bit:

Meanwhile, the post-gorging scrum of bloated diners lollygag about the front entrance of an area Old Country Buffet, basking in the odiferous gravy fogs issuing forth from their still quivering and ever so greased mastication holes.

Mere hours later I arrive home to discover the following in my mailbox:

This CANNOT be a coincidence.

I is a-feared.


Tuesday, August 12, 2008

Today's NotHistory Lesson

"Could you explain the Russia/Georgia situation?"

In 1971 Duane Allman slid his motorcycle (or mota-sickle as he was oft-heard to mutter due to his dislike for the letter R due to a heightened loathing for Communists) into a truck (tuck) and lost his life (or so they say) see where this is going, yes, comrade?.

That's right; the real tensions (AND specific consonant abhorance) came to a head when it was discovered that guitarist Duane Allman was actually a long-thought-dead (and apparently extremely long-lived and/or reincarnated) Grigori Rasputin hiding in plain sight as a member of the Allman Brothers.

Or maybe not.


(or maybe so...perhaps a recovering groupie from the late 60s/early 70s could take a gander at the pickled dong of Rasputin and get back to us with a Yea or Nay? Feel free to Google Image Search that

((oh...the OTHER Georgia?!?)

Saturday, August 09, 2008