Wednesday, December 29, 2010

I Should Have Gone With The Honey Nut

I was a very strange kid when it came to eating. I was always trying
the most random things that would baffle even the world's most
brilliant scholars and men of science. How I even made it past 7 is
beyond me. My poor mother must have thought she was raising a human
garbage disposal.

My grandmother who lived upstairs from us would save the heel of
Italian bread until it got stale. I would sit in her kitchen and eat
that hockey puck until my mouth was so dry I needed to drink out of
the toilet for relief. Well, not really, but it wouldn't have been any
worse than some of the other weird shit I ate.

Raw potatoes never stood a chance in my house. Walking into the
kitchen and hearing the "swish, swish, swish" of the potato peeler was
music to my ears. You ever see a cat who gets all excited when they
hear the can opener? That was me, except I don't crap into a box.

I'd grab a whole potato, lovingly gazing at the shiny, round orb of
spud in my hands, drooling at the thought of sinking my teeth into
that raw mass hoping my molar wouldn't crack. But yet, if you asked me
to eat them mashed or baked, I'd run and hide under the bed like I was
a baby seal running from an Alaskan poacher. God forbid I eat that
thing cooked.

Putting milk in my cereal was a big no no for years. I ate it dry.
Until one morning I was on the porch with my Cheerios and orange juice
and thought "Hmmm... if peanut butter and chocolate go good together,
than why not Cheerios and O.J.? I might be onto something." The only
thing I was on was obviously crack, because that was the worst tasting
slop I have ever had.

It got so bad that Mylanta offered me an endorsement deal at 10. I
should have taken it. Who knows how many potatoes I could have bought?

Thursday, December 2, 2010

Peace on Earth and goodwill toward men, my ass

I believe that God still thinks I’m a dink. There is no other explanation. I’m like his friggin’ puppet. Sitting on his lap with his hand up my ass as I dance around for his amusement. At least I won’t need a prostate exam for a while.

I was driving with my daughter the other night on the way to the store when I saw a car pulled over with the hazard lights on. An older gentleman, about 60-65, was standing behind it.

Now, normally I would just keep driving. I've grown more paranoid and cynical in my old age and the thought of pulling over to help a total stranger in a non-life threatening situation just does not enter my mind. You stand a good chance of getting mugged, flipped off, or sued.

Car accident? - Sure, I'll pull over and help.

House on fire? - I'll grab the garden hose and start spraying

You lost your leg in a chipper shredder and now you've got a gaggle of crows pecking at your stump looking for a quick bite to eat? - I'll throw rocks at them to make them fly away.

But you have a flat tire? - Fuck off, that's what AAA is for.

Well, for some reason without thinking I stopped and rolled the window down. I figured maybe he had a flat, or the car broke down and I could offer him the use of my phone or something.

Me - "Excuse me Sir, are you OK? Do you need some help with anything?"

Old Bastard - "Why the hell are you asking?"

Me - "Well, I saw the hazard lights on and just wanted to be sure you didn't need any help."

Old bastard - "I pulled over to get my mail. Is that OK with you?"

I must have gotten to him just as his Depends started to leak. Or maybe he's at that age where having sex is like trying to shoot pool with a rope and he just now realized it. Because there is no Earthly good reason as to why he was such a prick. I cannot think of one. I should have run over his God damn feet. "Try and get your mail now, gimpy!!!!!!!!!”

The only reason why I didn't verbally assault him into a coma was because my daughter was in the car with me.

The next time anyone tells me that I need to show more compassion for strangers and should reach out more is going to get my foot up their hole.