Diagnosis: Blog

I am no doctor, and the results are far from conclusive, but all my current research indicates that a fierce regimen of naps coupled with reading and eating ice cream in the bathtub can cure a cold and sore throat.

If conditions return, a further prescription will be to lounge listlessly on my patio while enjoying a paired dosing of the setting sun and a cough syrup popsicle.

I probably should have made a Belgian waffle sandwich, but I didn’t think of it until now.  Oh well.  Science is all trial and error, I guess.

Chance of complete restoration of health and vigor?  85%

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Filed under Food, Health, Humor

I’m Not Entirely Sure What’s Going on in Canada

…but I’m concerned.

Concerned that America’s dropping the ball creatively, that is.

We can’t afford to rest on our creative laurels while Quebecois wrestlers dress as animals and monsters, performing sexually suggestive acts before a crowd of paying customers.  Put on your creative hats, Americans.  We’re losing our place in the global order!

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Filed under Humor, Politics

You Know who Doesn’t Get Saluted Enough?

Those who drunkenly stuff sandwich meat in their mouths at 2 in the morning.

Those are some heroes right there.
Braving the harsh glow of the refrigerator, courageously opening the in-the-moment complexly-sealed plastic container, navigating the obtuse geometry of folded meat slices through a drunken mouth – these are the warriors in the shadows.

And by God, I boldly step out of those shadows to join my brothers and sisters in (probably flabby) arms.

Because sometimes sandwiches are just too hard to deal with, an Everest to a body barely capable of a mole hill, and I’ll unashamedly have a deli mustard chaser with my shot of ham-sandwich meat, thank you very much.

 

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Filed under Drinking, Food, Humor

I Tried Writing a Blog about Inertia, but it Didn’t Seem to be Going Anywhere. Or, the Physics of Pancakes

Inertia is an object’s resistance to a change in its state of motion or rest.  In other words:  Not moving?  Not going to.  Not until said object is acted upon by an external force.

Or, in my case, I’m not getting out of bed until I smell breakfast.

Unfortunately, unless I slept through a rapid evolution in batter consciousness, I don’t imagine aspiring pancakes have lifted themselves up by their baking powder bootstraps and valiantly thrown themselves onto a hot griddle in martyrdom to my growling belly.

Which leads me to only one conclusion:  I must make or, god forbid, forage for said pancakes.

“The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom.” – The poet William Blake, blabbering on about pancakes, as usual

Oooh, but inertia is a damnable foe!  It overwhelms me from every angle.  Instead, I believe I will toss and turn in bed, consumed by dreams of a full-service pancake delivery business existing near my home.

While necessity may be the mother of invention, laziness is the doting father of pipe dreams.

By full-service, I mean they wouldn’t simply deliver pancakes to my front door.  Heavens no, this would be delivery to my room, my bed, my mouth.  The buttering, the application of syrup – these things would be covered.  And, unless I’m going for that breakfast-y musk that the makes the ladies swoon in waves, a thorough post-meal wet-nap scrub of the ol’ face whiskers would also be included.

Before I forget, there would certainly be an understanding, even an expectation, of the customer’s/my near-nudity.  Pants are a horrible burden, (See:  The Tyranny of Breeches, my controversial treatise on these cotton and denim shackles) the very mention of which is strictly verboten.  After the meal, I’ll draw the dignity line at burping me like a baby.  A dotted line.

Imagine!  There could be a van with heating bins to keep the food warm, and in case a craving for eggs struck unannounced, it could contain a griddle in order to make them on the spot.

Don’t even get me started on the syrup caddies.  Mostly because I don’t even know what I mean by that, other than large, wheeled jugs of every imaginable syrup flavor:  maple, bacon-flavored maple, blueberry, bacon-flavored blueberry, traditional baconberry, boysenberry, bourbonberry, etc., and that’s just the B’s.  An entire alphabet of syrups could deliver a lexicon of flavors.

If you added Bloody Mary’s and carafes of mimosas to the menu, I’m thinking this pipe dream becomes an unstoppable commercial juggernaut.

The only foreseeable and pretty obvious downside would be to increase inertness.  After a pancake pampering, a buffet of syrups, a scrambled egg side, and a Bloody Mary chaser, the human body would be a breakfast-stuffed object stubbornly resisting a change in its state of immobility.

Regardless, I’m ready for such a service, and I eagerly anticipate the free market’s response to this consumer’s need.  Entrepreneurs, please make it happen for us inert, breakfast-loving dreamers .

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Filed under Food, Humor, Uncategorized

La-Z-Boy Recliner & Cat Limited Edition BARGAIN

Craigslist Link

Let’s cut to the chase with this one.  A cat, Dottie (pictured below), urinated in the seat of this La-Z-Boy.

Dottie: Not only pees like she drank a 40oz, but can also fart as loud as a person! A mere sampling from her incomparable repertoire of cuteness!

Still reading?  Good for you.  Anyway, I’ve spent at least an hour spraying, scrubbing, and FeBreezing the affected area.  I even experimented with an elaborate, spell-like string of profanities in the hopes that it would smell like nothing but sunshine and dreams, but can you imagine, it just smells like cat pee and Yumberry Sangria Febreeze.

It really only smells that way when your face is about 6 inches away from the seat, and besides, what kind of weirdo goes around smelling recliner seats?  Perverts, that’s who.

I like to imagine that the cat was so relaxed while enjoying this super plush, fully-functioning recliner, that it reached a level of comfort so transcendent, that it nearly approached death, and its bladder ceased to function.  Its body released urine as a survival mechanism to bring its little kitty soul back to earth so it could live to pee and purr another day.

So, why not be so comfortable that you risk incontinence?  Huh?  Huh?  Can you, in all good conscience, resist such a pitch?  And if you and your friends and family aren’t a bunch of seat-smelling perverts, what’s the downside?  You’re not a pervert, are you?  PROVE IT BY BUYING THIS CHAIR.

I mean, c’mon, chairs aren’t for smelling, anyway. They’re for sitting. And this can hold your ass with the best of ’em, so stop being so nose-curious and take ‘er easy.

And, get a load of this!  The price?  A mere $25.  But wait for it – are you sitting down?  (Probably not, because you don’t have this awesome chair) I’ll even throw in the cat for an extra $5!

YOU READ THAT RIGHT.  $25 for a La-Z-Boy, OR, $30 for this LIMITED EDITION La-Z-Boy/Cat set!  What a bargain!  (Or best offer.)

Email me for directions. We’re conveniently located right off of 35, not too far from Franklin’s BBQ.  Dottie and I eagerly anticipate your response.

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Filed under Austin, Cats, Humor, Personal