January 30, 2008

Wiener Poopie

This story is remarkable on so many levels I couldn’t pass it up.

First of all, I applaud the Jesus thief. Not only is he a thief (and I say “he” for convenience, not because I naturally assume all thieves are men), but he will go so far as to hold a statue of Jesus for ransom. With a ransom note! Obviously he couldn’t put a price on Jesus, because A) how do you put a monetary value on our Lord and Savior? and B) Jesus is not the issue, the wiener poopie is. Jesus goes back when the wiener poopie is gone and stays gone. It’s absolutely brilliant.

Then there’s the victim. Jean seems to be so sad and hurt by the whole debacle. She’s sad and hurt by the missing Jesus. She’s sad and hurt by the accusations made against her. She’s sad and hurt that her dogs’ excrement was referred to as “wiener poopie.” She’s not angry that someone stole her personal property. She’s not amused by the ransom note. She’s not happy that at least her dogs are safe. She’s sad and hurt. And humorless.

Finally, that this story actually made it to the evening news is astonishing. Gang crimes and murder are everywhere. Drug activity has run rampant. For crying out loud there’s a war going on. But this station chose to run a story on a missing concrete Jesus from sad and hurt Jean’s front yard. And the reporter – how did he desensitize himself to report this story without so much as a snicker? How can one say the words “wiener poopie” without even a smile? This guy is going places. Or else he and the station he works for, like Jean, are completely without humor. Maybe there’s something in the water.

Eventually it was discovered the Jesus theft and ransom note were the work of a family member. Jean didn’t want to discuss any follow-up and stated it has become a family matter. Was this family member genuinely disgusted by the fact that Jean didn’t clean up after her wieners? Or could it be he was kidding around with this relative of his – that lady with the stick up her ass? I hope it’s the latter, because there’s nothing better than fucking with a mirthless Jesus lover with wieners and the little poopies they leave behind.

January 15, 2008

Aspic - Or More Aptly Named: Ass Pick

I can't really say it's the grossest thing ever eaten or will ever be eaten, but it ranks in the top ten. Aspic. Whoever the hell invented this putrid side dish should be drawn and quartered.

Wikipedia defines aspic as:

"...a dish in which ingredients are set into a gelatin made from a meat stock or consommé. When cooled, stock made from meat congeals because of the natural gelatin found in the meat. The stock can be clarified with egg whites, and then filled and flavored just before the aspic sets. Almost any type of food can be set into aspics. Most common are meat pieces, fruits, or vegetables. Aspics are usually served on cold plates so that the gel will not melt before being eaten. A meat jelly that includes cream is called a chaud-froid.

Nearly any type of meat can be used to make the gelatin: pork, beef, veal, chicken, or even fish. The aspic may need additional gelatin in order to set properly. Veal stock provides a great deal of gelatin; in making stock, veal is often included with other meat for that reason. Fish consommés usually have too little natural gelatin, so the fish stock may be double-cooked or supplemented. Since fish gelatin melts at a lower temperature than gelatins of other meats, fish aspic is more delicate and melts more readily in the mouth."

Congealed meat juice? I have to admit I've never had the misfortune of having to eat something as disgusting as gelatinous meat juice; however, Faux Ma has subjected me to one of her favorites, Tomato Aspic.

This slithery, slimy chunk of what she calls a salad ranks up there with one of the worst things ever invented for human consumption.

The first time I saw Tomato Aspic on Faux Ma's table I admit I was curious. Here was this red square of, I don't know, opaque jello, with little flecks of, I don't know, fleck material embedded in it. The red square was placed delicately on a bed of shredded lettuce. Of course when I put a forkful into my mouth I could immediately feel the bile crawling up my esophagus. It's like, tomato, I said to myself. I hate tomatoes. And what's this chunky stuff? These flecks...what are they? Oh my God, how am I going to eat this 3"X3" square of crap? I looked at Boyfriend desperately. "Could you please pass the buns?" I asked him. With every bite of aspic I took three bites of buttered bun, and managed to clean my salad plate with the help of a half dozen rolls.

Little did I know, Faux Ma had included the recipe for her aspic in a little cook book of Boyfriend's favorites, which she gave me at when we moved in together. She enlightened me of this after I gave the obligatory "mmm," upon the first bite. Boyfriend denies aspic is one of his favorites; in fact, he denies any of the recipes she gave me in that little cookbook are his favorites and asserts his mother was subversively telling me how to cook for her boy because she knows better than anyone what's good for him.

So, without further adieu, I give you Faux Ma's V-8 Aspic recipe:

"1 can V-8 juice (beer can size). "Beer can size." Yeah, like Faux Ma has no idea that's 12 ounces. 'Fess up ya little schweel hound. Heat and pour over one 3-oz package lemon jello. OK, right there I'm all, how much acid can one person take? Tomatoes and lemons? Yikes!Add a dash of Worchestershire sauce, 1 tsp vinegar or lemon juice, and less than one-half can of water. Less than one-half can of water? Would that be the "beer can size" can? And how much less than? Half again as much? A tablespoon less? What the hell, Faux Ma? Do you want me to make this stuff or not? A few finely chopped nuts, celery, and/or green pepper may be added. Ah, the mysterious "flecks." Chill until firm. (I refrigerate the aspic in an 8"X8" pan. When firm, cut into six pieces and serve on a lettuce leaf.)"

OK, gross. It's just icky and gross. And plus, she's makes it into such gargantuan servings. She makes her dessert servings 1/4 of the size of her aspic servings. Where are her priorities, not to mention her taste buds?

I've been lucky in that I've had to choke down tomato aspic only three or four times in the last eleven years I've spent with Boyfriend. I'll give it one thing, it's got the right name. Ass Pick is exactly what I would call it.

January 10, 2008

Show Us Whatcha Got, Boys

Meredith, fashion queen here. OK, not really, but I'd like to say a few more words about that subculture out there wearing those ungodly pants.

Today I was walking behind a group of young people. Please, will someone explain the baggy pants? They're not simply baggy, they really aren't pants at all as they don't even cover the underpants. One of the young men kept his pants from falling around his ankles with an extremely wide-based gait as the waistband was situated at his mid-thigh. It looks stupid, unless you're Bert the chimney sweep doing a dance with animated penguins in the movie Mary Poppins.

The style, apparently, is associated with gang toughness. If they aren't wielding the guns we all assume they carry, it wouldn't be hard to escape their gangster clutches - just pull the pants down to their ankles, push them over, and run away.

Tough guys, take my word for it. Girls like the bad boys and have since the beginning of time. The thing is, you gotta look good. Wrapping yourself up in what looks like old burlap bags isn’t sexy. Walking like a penguin isn't sexy either. Come on boys, show us your real weapon. Girls want to see the whole package.

Here are some eye-catching bad-boy pants:

The Dancer

The Biker

The Cowboy

The Hoodlum

My personal favorite, The Rock Star

Yum, huh? Show us what you’ve got, boys, unless you’re actually out for a jolly holiday with Mary.

January 07, 2008


Corporate couples make me uncomfortable.

Maybe corporate couples wouldn't make me so uncomfortable, but I work in the public sector where outright indications of adultery are, well, uncomfortable. We as government workers in an extremely liberal state are supposed to be politically correct, are we not? Isn't committing a sin against God politically incorrect? (Maybe I'm getting my two wings confused.) Plus, people in the public sector lack the polish and panache of those stereotypically found in the private sector. In other words, corporate couples are much more attractive than government couples.

Take, for example, Bed Head and Mouse Mouth. Both are married to other people, although for the life of me I can't figure out who would have either one of them. Bed Head hasn't washed his hair in three weeks and walks around with a Leatherman attached to his belt loop. He's big in the union. A loudmouth. A dirty loudmouth. Mouse Mouth also has a hard time remembering to wash her hair, although I think she may get around to it every three or four days. She has the lips of a rat. Bed Head and Mouse Mouth have been seen at one of the dingiest bars of the whole city, making out with each other over lunchtime cocktails. I wonder what the union guys would say if they knew Bed Head was schweeling on company time?

Then there's Oompa and Clark. Oompa is really long-waisted and short-legged, taking on the appearance of an Oompa-Loompa, except she has ginormous boobs. Clark is a suave and handsome IT guy. Oompa and Clark meet each other around corners and in closets. They don't exactly hide, but they totally throw off the vibe that they are doing something wrong. Again, both are married to other people. Plus, one funny bonus is that Clark will not acknowledge any woman in passing when he is with Oompa, but will flirt shamelessly with them all when she isn't around.

Don't forget Tina and That Supervisor Guy. Again, both married to other people. Tina and That Supervisor Guy are shameless in the time they spend together, which makes me think there isn't really anything going on. However, if I knew my husband was spending so much time with one woman during working hours, I'd be a little miffed.

Throughout the years there have been many rumors floating about concerning the hob-nobbery of many coworkers in my department. I, for one, have never, ever been attracted to anyone I've shared work hours with. Yuck.

So when I see these little couples walking around the building or chatting over cubicle walls I get a little sick to my stomach. I just don't even want to think about the connections between Big Red and The Whisperer, two married women, inseparable at work.

Gag me.

January 02, 2008

2008? No, It's 1984

Here's something that happened to me today that caused a rant in me containing a burning anger of a thousand white-hot suns. E-mail quarantine.

I was writing a particularly gripping piece to my sister today on the concept of the collective unconscious. It's a theory developed by Carl Jung and proposes that not only do we have an individual unconscious unique to our own experiences, but also a collective unconscious shared by every human being since the beginning of time. I applied that theory to receiving messages from dead people through dreams.

As you might imagine, the note I wrote to my sister was quite complex, containing detailed theories regarding the human psyche, the afterlife, and the paranormal. It took me quite a long time to articulate what I was trying to convey. Finally I was able to click "send."

Within seconds I received a message from the e-mail quarantine center stating my message was deemed racially discriminating and it was not only quarantined but obliterated completely.

Now I can understand if my employer doesn't want me writing personal e-mails on work time or on the work e-mail network thingy. I was in error doing that. I will punish myself for not being more sneaky. But to take a piece of writing, copyrighted merely by its creation, and not only block it from its intended recipient but completely destroy it on the basis of a keyword which may have been construed as racially discriminating? That's out and out censorship. Even if my subject matter had been racially discriminating, I think it's wrong for anyone or anything to delete it from existence - well, my existence at least. Reprimanding is one thing. Being the judge of all things written is another.

So I'm pretty down on Big Brother today. I'm down on the fact that nothing is private. I'm down on the fact that my intellectual ramblings are deleted by my employer, and yet the dozens of people who can't/won't do their jobs aren't being fired. Where will the line be drawn? When will people be able to express themselves as themselves without being censored by political correctness? When will the people of the world just lighten the hell up and leave each other alone?