Yesterday, before I left for work, I sat down to enjoy a piping-hot Maxine Catheter (or is it Marie Callender?) frozen meal. I went with the meat loaf and mashed potatoes, because it doesn’t require any of that pesky stirring in the middle of the nuking process.
So, I let it run through its entire seven minutes, and two additional minutes for coolin’ ‘n’ congealin’, and carried it to the dining room table.
And when I flopped down I miscalculated and went a tad deep, if you know what I mean. The bulk of my ass-meat landed on the chair-back, instead of the seat. And would you care to guess what happened?
That’s correct, there was a loud sound of splintering wood, like a tree coming down in a storm, and the entire back completely seperated from the chair itself.
It fell to the floor, making a terrific racket, and Andy’s butt-beacon quickly fled the scene. The chair is now in two pieces, and apparently my ass is no longer merely a pants-destroyer, it looks like I’ve graduated to furniture, as well.
What’s next? Masonry? Steel? Something needs to be done…
And speaking of Marlene Cowcatcher frozen meals, I noticed something yesterday that concerned me, for undefinable reasons. With the meat loaf and taters was a mixture of corn and carrots. And insinuated, right in the middle of the vegetables, was a single rogue green bean.
I don’t really understand why, but it made me feel uneasy. And my instincts rarely fail me… What do you think it means, a single green bean, so far away from home? Could it have been planted there, by a spy, or possibly an assassin? Or maybe it’s a sign of some sort, an omen of a coming calamity?
What do you think? I need closure on the single green bean that so brazenly entered my life yesterday afternoon. Won’t you help me?
Toney brought back, from Canada, six bottles of something called True North IPA. Not bad, not bad at all… We polished them off on Friday and Saturday nights. Nice and hoppy, but not completely over-the-top, like some of the novelty-name microbrews.
We’re also doing a decent job of prolonging the Fuller’s. We limit ourselves to two bottles per day, so we’ve only had eight to this point. After the limit has been reached, we (I) switch over to the tried-and-true Pottsville golden elixir. It’s a formula that seems to work for us.
Toney also bought me a small poster in Canada, that features a retro advertising image of a man holding a glass of beer. It looks like something from the 1940s, or so, and above the man, it reads, “Beer will change the world. I don’t know how, but it will.”
Heh. It’s now hanging in the bunker… I had to relocate the Brooklyn Dodgers 1955 World Champs pennant, but it was worth the effort. A fine addition to the Surf Report Collection.
Also, the Secrets tell me they mixed-up the Translucents’ action figures before leaving the country. This, of course, is like activitating a time-bomb – because the see-thrus are extreme examples of don’t color outside the lines types.
They completely lose their shit if someone jokes around and makes one of their “dolls” say something out of character, or do something illogical. So, when they find Harry Potter’s head stuck on Darth Vader’s body, and Spongebob’s arms attached to a Bionicle, or whatever, comedy should ensue.
And I couldn’t be prouder. …I’m sorry, I’m getting a little emotional.
I can’t be late for work tonight, so I’d better stop right here. I’ll leave you now with a Question that occurred to me yesterday, while driving.
I used to go to school with a girl who had some sort of strange compulsion, which caused her to constantly (and absentmindedly) pluck her eyebrows by hand, and eat them. Depending, I guess, on the stress level in her life, she looked more or less like Gary Numan, with long blonde hair.
I imagine her intestines were packed with a giant wad of rock-hard eyebrows, and how weird is that? Hmm?
So, there you go. Have you ever known someone who had an odd little quirk like that, which would kick-in whenever they were upset or agitated, or whatever? Tell us about it, won’t you?
And I’ll see you guys tomorrow.