Monday, June 23, 2008

"And now, a message from the National Apple Institute..."

"...Fuck Pears."

George Carlin is gone. I trained my comedic chops at the heels of this record (which was actually my brother's, but I played when he wasn't there to pound me). Some of its sweetly bitter sarcasm and incisive wit will remain lodged in my consciousness until I follow along into the great beyond.

May cynical cherubs fly thee to thy rest, sir.

Sunday, June 22, 2008

The Urge to Destroy Goes Fizzzzzzzzz

So, yeah -- baths? Not for me, really. I bought the $8.00 confection you see at left back in the winter months at Lush in that old bastion of Dallas snobbery, Northpark Center.
It is a nearly baseball-sized bath fizzy deemed the "Champagne Supernova." Did I mention it was $8.00? I thought when I bought it that perhaps I would be able to use it twice. Let me tell you here and now, dear readers: I did not, and will not, have the strength. For when I embarked on the unraveling, the foaming away, of what seems a tiny, pink world clutched within my dragon's hand, I could not stop. (Hey, they started it, mentioning the superdestructive concept "supernova" in the thing's very name.) I could not put it aside and stop watching the particles of bicarbonate and scented oil dissolve into nothingness, staining the bathwater pink with its collective blood. I could not halt the staring as each folded fleck of what was sold as herbal additives but may just have been torn up bits of paper packaging from the bath fizz assembly line floor, floated into the steaming primordial soup in which it dwelled.
For all that, though, the bathwater got me overheated within about 15 minutes and I had to get out. Be glad I am not one of the gods. The universe might be endlessly remade on a swifter schedule than it is currently following.
p.s. I also have the same problem with floral foam. Must.... kill........

Someday you will find me...Caught beneath the landslide... -- L. Gallagher

Tuesday, June 17, 2008

Another Perspective on the Election...

This is just a tiny sample of the hours of guffawing you will experience if you visit its origin,

I was told that it was suspected by some that I had done it. I don't believe that, because Natalie is much funnier than me. Personally, I can't wait for the store to open, open, open. Check her out!!

Friday, June 13, 2008

Slurpee Science

(I should change the name of this blog to "Confessions and Obsessions of a Food-Obsessed Fat Chick".... really I should.)

Ok never mind that people, it's summatime, summatime, sum, sum, summatime and I have got to lay on you the science of finding, dispensing, and drinking the purrfect Slurpee!

HUNTING -- In Search of Slurp

First off, if you are trying to get real Slurpee goodness at anywhere other than a 7-11 store, please.... see your way out of that sham distributing establishment posthaste. I say this in all seriousness. Drive to another state or board an airplane if needed, friend. Icee? Too airy. Chilly Willee? Too gritty. Slush Puppie? Too syrupy. No, if you really want to experience the cola-fueled tongue trip that IS Slurpee, you have to go for the real thing. Oh, and the flavor you want is COKE. Not Mountain Sweat Mop Water or Blueberry Bison Backwash. None of that.

JERKING -- Tougher than at the Junior Prom

You may think that, having found a 7-11 and made the decision to stick with COKE flavor, that the rest is easy. Not so, padawan. You still have miles to go before you drink.

When you get inside the 7-11, you must slip past the entry door, tossing a quick "hi" to the person jockeying the register and who in possible likelihood is gawking at your pale, corn-fed American cleavage, forgetting this uncouthness so that you may adhere to the objective: frosty, sinus-freezing nirvana. You must brush past the paint-spattered construction man and the tobacco-stained midday hipster and the gruff, flannel-clad bearded guy and the upwardly mobile suburban yuptype ever so lightly, your gaze finally falling upon that row of churning cylinders. If no "out of order" sign or flashing red button (indicating an "unSlurpified" mixture) is seen, check "Obstacle 1" successfully off of your mental list.

The second step is to do a physical jerk check for Slurpee readiness yourself. Yes. It can happen. There can be premature Slurpage without any sign, without any flashing red indicator. It is horrifying, but fail to do the physical jerk check and end up with a glossy plastic cup filled with brown liquid and unmelded snowy stuff in the middle. This is Slurpee in its larval form -- not yet ready for consumption. Should you do the physical jerk check and find this disappointing mix spewing from the nozzle, walk away. Go a few blocks to another 7-11 ONLY if you have the spiritual endurance to face the possibility that, in the high summer, it might happen twice or thrice in the same day.
What is the physical jerk check? It is the act of stepping up to the machine, gripping the black-handled lever and slowly dispensing a dollop of Slurpee mixture before getting a cup. Watch the puddle -- if it turns from dark to the delicious caramel hue of a Coke-flavored snowball, then you may proceed. Grab a cup (bitch please, not the small or medium -- large or above!), slap on a domed top so that you can dispense an extra ounce or so of snowy perfection, line up the hole and jerk again, slowly, steadily, watching the -- how can it be! Coke that is snow! -- thick liquid fill the cup to the top, changing color as it goes. Fill almost to the top, leaving about a 1-inch gap (or no gap if you're willing to be seen standing in front of the Slurpee machine lapping up what gushes out). Stick in a long spoonstraw and you're ready to saddle up.
CONSUMING -- Kids, do not jar.
So after hustling to the counter, swiping your dirty lil' debit card as quickly as you can and pushing through the exit door, you are free to enjoy your Slurpee unfettered within the confines of your car, Weezer up at full force as you speed back to the main thoroughfare. But careful, son! Take small sips or experience what freezing to death feels like, only confined to the insides of your skull cavity. Once you get down to the midpoint, remove the cupola (ha,ha!) so that you can stir as you suck the liquid part out to reblend as you go. Alternatively, you can use the spoon end of the straw to scrape the tiny snowpeaks off and eat them free of cola flavor, or stir and stick it down into the Slurpee, placing your finger at the other open end so that you can raise up a column of snowy Coke into the air and drop it onto your tongue.

Yes, only a lifetime of Slurpee consumption can provide you with the ultimate experience. I have saved you that research. You're welcome.

THE PHYSICS -- How does Slurpee work?
Well, I don't know. It could be spun from dark forces. (If it is, I don't wanna know, because I'd be hard pressed to stop consuming them.)

TRICKING YOUR SLURP (only for advanced fans)

You will find that the addition of some impossibly salty or hot chip item will delight your brain with its incongruous flipping between frozen Coke and salty tongue rasping or frozen Coke and fiery, crispy, potato crunches. I recommend a nice '08 bag of Munchos or Cheetos Flamin' Hot Fries. In a pinch, Al Capp's Hot Fries can stand in, but they aren't nearly as lovely.
Follow my advice and icy goodness shall be seen upon your refreshed, hydrated visage.
Happy Slurpee Summer!
Out of gas
Out of road
Out of car, I don't know how I'm going to go
and I had a drink the other day
Opinions were like kittens I was giving them away -- Modest Mouse

Monday, June 09, 2008

A Trip to Big Lots

Recently, I visited Big Lots, the shoddier, seedier cousin of the sadly departed K-Mart and elephant graveyard where discontinued merchandise goes to die. There I found freakish goods hailing from a variety of lands, and each revoltingly unappetizing in its own diverse fashion. Here's a sampling:

Oysters in Cottonseed Oil -- because nothing piques one's culinary delight quite like grayish fish flesh tinned in industrial lubricant.

Lemon Extract -- With 20% Vaseline added to reduce viscosity

Del Monte DILL -- Far too pale and estranged from their state of origin to serve such a function, at least these DILLS know the value of education and plan to attend jr. college.

Nutrisystem Nourish -- Eat oxymoron dogs, on the cheap!

Maggi Delicias de Pollo -- Or as I affectionately call it, bagga chickin maggit stuff.

Arkona Herring Fillets - As Opus knows, a little paprika sauce makes herring "pop."

Jelly Mints -- Hated at Grandma's house since 1853.

Conclusion? Big Lots -- Repository of vomitously inedible foodstuffs.

Saturday, June 07, 2008

Wattamelon Part 1

School let out this past week, and thus the summer has truly begun. (FUUUCK YEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH.)

As a celebration of that, the first watermelon for personal use was purchased a few days ago, and I spent a chunk of the morning helping it slip its mortal coil so that I could devour it.

Despite its anemic appearance, it has the requisite hollow sound when tapped and tasted appropriately sweet (although it will likely not be a contender for Best Watermelon of the Summer). While shoveling it into my waiting cakehole, I thought it might be amusing to start writing about Crazy Summer Thingstm -- aka, things I only do because it's summertime. One of those things is eating watermelon after watermelon, just because I can.

Resolved, I shall begin tracking summer watermelon consumption in the following ways:
  1. TNW - Total number of watermelons consumed alone
  2. DN - Days Needed to consume each melon completely
  3. WDR - Watermelon Deliciousness Rating (to include color, texture and sweetness)
In just a few days, I'll get back with the most current watermelon data available.

Monday, June 02, 2008

It bores me.

Left the drinkable yogurt on the sink today,
Came back from work and found bacilli astray.

ça m'ennuie.

Twista-haler sprayed powder 2 days later,
Lucky, pharma-girl was a considerate trader.

ça m'ennuie.

Check engine lite came on cuz the gas cap was loose,
Service open 'til 7 but only 5 for Prius.
Only 2 trained techs for that rarified bird,
Come back Saturday you hybrid drivin' nerd.

ça m'ennuie

Mind's all confuddled with the brand new pills,

My high blood pressure never gave me these ills.

ça m'ennuie


"Last night what we talked about
It made so much sense
But now the haze has ascended
It don't make no sense anymore." --
Arctic Monkeys
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