83 posts from February 2009

After buying chocolates from a small independent chocolate store, or "factory" if you prefer.

Me (leaving the store): Oh, my god!  Did you see those people sitting down behind the counter?

Jill:  Yes!

Me:  They were midgets!

Jill:  I know!

Me:  This chocolate store actually employs Oompa-Loompas!

Later, we sang the Oompa-Loompa song, at which point Jill commented:

Jill:  We're totally going to hell.

* * * * *

While we were walking through an outdoor mall.

Jill:  There's Ben's Cookies.

Me:  What?

Jill:  Ben's Cookies.

Me:  Oh!  I thought you said "Men's Cookies".  I was wondering, "what are men's cookies?  Cookies shaped like vaginas?"

* * * * *

While discussing band names.

Me:  I don't think The Killers would get so much pop radio play if they were called "The Rapists".

Show us a candy bar you wouldn't take a bite out of if your best friend offered it.

Unless the candy bar contains individual pieces like a Reese's Peanut Butter Cups or is of the M&Ms persuasion, there is no candy bar I would take a bite of if offered by a friend, because that's gross.  I prefer not to share saliva with my friends.  Perhaps you should have just asked what our least favorite candy bar is.  That would have made a lot more sense.

I'm not somebody who eats candy bars a lot, so I don't even think I'm qualified to answer to answer that question, either.

You have four unexpected guests showing up for dinner in less than an hour, you haven't been to the store in days, and you want to impress them with a delicious meal.  Luckily, you find just the thing, and soon your guests arrive and are partaking of your improvisational feast with many compliments about its deliciousness.  But then, suddenly, the lights switch off in your dining room, and there is a scream and sounds of a struggle!  A shot rings out!  A body heavily falls to the floor.  When the lights return, you see that one of your dinner guests, a Mr. Solomon Marche, is lying on the floor, blood pooling about his body.  Rebecca Marche, his wife, screams and faints.  You are astonished to find a smoking gun in your hand, warm from its recent violence.  Stan Dougherty and Wayne Peterson are looking at you accusingly.  You swear to God you didn't kill Solomon!  You were old friends!  What do you do?  Oh, God, what do you do?

I call up my old college chum and world-reknowned detective Professor Mercule Endeavour, to help me solve this dastardly crime.  I will not be framed for a murder I didn't commit!

Share your favorite winter photograph.

Frozen

From mid-second grad through mid-ninth grade, I lived in Carson City, Nevada.  Carson City is about an hour or so from Reno, so nearly every Saturday my lousy stepfather would force us all into the car at an early hour and drive us up to Reno, which is where you had to go to do nearly anything fun.

Unfortunately, he wasn't interested in doing anything fun.  He just wanted to wander through shopping malls.  He didn't want to actually purchase anything, or even shop; he just wanted to walk through the mall.  In fact, he would frequently get us there before the shops even fucking opened.

Sometimes, instead of the same old mall, he would go to the MGM Grand Hotel, which was great for him because it had that cheesy, empty grandeur he liked (Ooh! They have a lion!), plus there was a shopping mall in the basement.  About the only shop I distinctly remember him going to every time was an art store.  He liked to consider himself sort of a connoisseur of fine art, even though his tastes were uniformly tacky.  For instance, he used to own prints of several variations on the Dogs Playing Poker theme, and a velvet painting of the Pink Panther was on proud display in our family room for years.

Since tacky art was to him as honey to a sugar-ant, he always had to stop and spend some time looking over their huge selection of Red Skelton clown paintings.  [Red Skelton was a comedian and film star who was very popular in the 60's, and I believe he lived in the area (my mother has a picture of herself with him when he dropped by the retail place she worked at).]

Here is an example of Skelton's art:

Sad Clown by Red Skelton

I could tell that he really wanted one of these tacky-ass clown paintings, but they were priced pretty high, having been painted by a has-been celebrity and all, and the only impulse that over-rode his tackiness when it came to shit like this was his cheapness.

I'm petty enough to be glad he never got his goddamned clown painting.

I just found out about these guys.  They are a "supergroup" of sorts made up of members of Cheap Trick, Smashing Pumpkins, Fountains of Wayne, and motherfucking Hanson.  It's the most insane lineup possibly ever.  Anyway, here's a couple vids.  One is a promo for a music show they appeared on, and the second is the complete single "Kind of a Girl.  It's glam/pop/rock bliss.

Background: I made some delicious vegan chicken noodle soup last night.

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Jill: I want some mother-fucking soup.

Today, I had to inform a woman that Skipper is Barbie's little sister.

Now, if you'll pardon me, I have to braid my best friend's hair and cut some pictures of David Cassidy out of Tiger Beat.