I used to have a Cowboys blog where I could vent when things went horribly wrong or Jerry made an especially silly move.
Well, actually, the Cowboys blog still exists, I just don’t have the time to teach people about Twitter, show them where they can download free computer games, do a massive reorganization to my latest book, play Head Coach football, spend time with the coolest chick on the planet, throw a ball to the cutest dog in the world, and still type up some rhetoric about how the Cowboys simply don’t have the needed fire in their belly to win games.
So I’ve decided to search Ebay for a little bit of time. If you know of anyone that is selling an hour or two of their day, let me know.
I don’t think my big toe gets enough credit. It’s big, it’s bulbous, and it’s a toe. That’s pretty good as far as I am concerned.
Unlike my other toes, my big toe saved my life once. I was walking down my street on a hot summer day back in ‘79 — this was three years before the big heat wave here in Texas, but it was still pretty hot — and I had caught the attention of a bengal tiger that lived in a rundown house at the corner. I think the bengal tiger came from a pretty low class family because that house always stank of stale beer and old farts. Plus, I don’t think it was really a bengal tiger. But saying bengal tiger makes the story sound better.
So there I was looking for all intents and purposes like lunch. At least as far as bengal tigers are concerned. I knew I had to do something quick, and I knew how afraid bengal tigers were of pelicans. Well, not really, but for the purpose of this story we are going to pretend that bengal tigers are afraid of pelicans. The only problem was that I hadn’t seen a pelican on Heath street in Rockwall in a good three weeks.
I’m sure you know where I am going with this. There wasn’t much else that I could do. Everyone knows that dolphins can put on a pretty fair imitation of a pelican. Now, I didn’t have a proper rod and reel, but I did have my big toe which could be used as pretty good dolphin bait — at least it could after I covered it with some red nail polish. I went ahead and painted on some golden stars too simply because I like looking my best.
Now, the problem with catching dolphins in Texas is that there isn’t much ocean front property, so you’ll usually see them camping out in trees. Being a kid I was a pretty fair tree climber, but I didn’t have enough time to put on my tree climbing gear so I got out my trusty power chain saw and just started ripping through tree trunks all the while waving my big toe around to attract a dolphin. (Luckily, my left big toe is detachable. I’m not sure its re-attachable — I haven’t been able to get it put back on yet — but detaching it is a pretty simple matter when you are holding a chain saw.)
So, just about the time I was going to give up looking for a dolphin, I discovered I had just cut down a tree filled with elves. Now, as you can probably guess, these elves had dedicated their lives to cooking up tasty treats for us humans to eat. These particular elves specialized in brownies. “Magic brownies” they called them. And they were. I ate a couple and found myself more hungry after eating them than before I’d stuffed the first down my throat, but I was giggling too hard to actually ask for another one.
It was at this time that I first had the idea for Rock Band. I thought, hey, playing music would be really cool if you didn’t have to learn how to play music and instead of buying expensive instruments we could buy plastic ones.
Unfortunately, when making my notes, I accidentally substituted a C in for the R which led to a completely different invention. But that’s a story for another day.
So, there I was sitting around a campfire with a bunch of elves eating some tainted brownies with a bengal tiger staring at me from across the street when I get the sudden urge to play some baseball.
Now, not too many people realize just how good a bengal tiger is at playing baseball. After he ate the third elf, I realized I wasn’t going to be able to strike him out. So I threw him a meat pitch right down the middle. That seemed to do the trick. The bengal tiger gave me a really big belch — the kind that blows your hair back and makes you look like you went to a real fancy hollywood spa to get yourself styled — and lumbered back to his home at the end of the street.
And that’s when I realized that I should probably carry a few elves with me at all times just in case of bengal tiger attack. Unfortunately, I’ve found that they do little good against dinosaurs. But I guess you can’t have your elves and eat them too.
I have a girlfriend who tells me her husband doesn’t even need deodorant. I’m not sure what kind of freak of nature he is, but I’ve needed deodorant since I was eleven, and I was a late bloomer on all other fronts. (There may be a pun in there, and for that, I am sorry.)
My maternal grandfather never used deodorant, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t need to. The man stank. Papa worked construction, and he always thought my dad was a girly man. Daddy’s folks was rich, and he not only wore deodorant, but he also wore a little cologne, and he was very concerned about the freshness of his breath.
And now, here I am coming full circle. Every weekend I stop wearing deodorant so I can stink like my grandpa. I just can’t stand that sticky residue that doesn’t seem to go away after washing. I call it detoxing my armpits, and I don’t care that those people at the restaurants crinkle their noses and look at us funny. For just two days of the week, I am free to put down “my holy desert shield that keeps me dry under the arms.”
What’s more? The honey bees are dying, which means lots of crops won’t get pollinated. I’m starting to sound like a real environmentalist, but the plain truth of the matter is, I really, really like cherries, and almonds, and honey, and I simply don’t want to live without these things.
Okay, let me clarify that last statement. It’s not that I wouldn’t want ”to live” if I didn’t have them. I just don’t want to “live without” them. Just so we’re clear. I’m not suicidal over it.
But even if Einstein didn’t say anything about us dying off four years after the honey bees were gone, it’s still a bit troublesome. That’s why I’m going off my diet and eating more ice cream. Alleluiah, my fat thighs are going to save the planet.
Of course, we’re all paranoid about this tomato situation. No sandwich is quite the same, every salsa is suspect. First they said it was tomatoes grown in certain states, and now they’re thinking it might have to do with a warehouse instead.
Whenever something like this happens, I start to wonder about corporate espionage and sabotage. Who would benefit from ruining our tomatoes? There’s no real competition for tomatoes, though. I mean you’re not going to see apple or orange or cucumber sales rising to compensate for a lack of tomatoes.
The only competition for tomatoes is other types of tomatoes. You know, like cherry tomatoes and hot house tomatoes, which have been on the safe list. Yeah, yeah. It was them, right? The hot house tomato industry is striking a new blow at their farm tomato competition. They’ve been cutting into farmers’ profits more and more over the past decade, and they’ve taken new measures to put themselves right over the top.
Yes, the hothouse industry is booming in the US and Mexico, but we all know who really benefits here. Canada.
Even though bananas come from an asexual plant, it doesn’t mean they’re not sexy. I mean, look at them. Peel back the skin and taste the sweetness with your tongue.
I started hearing all these rumblings about how we’ve been cloning bananas for so many years that one day they were just going to run out, and then we’d all be screwed. I’d hate to be my sister, who can’t even stand the smell of a banana, because my comfort and satisfaction seems to revolve around whether we have this sweet and slender fruit in the house.
Anyway, I had to find out what it was all about. A 2001 article from the National Geographic talks about this wretched fungus attacking banana crops and how scientists were working on this five-year banana genome project so they could create fungus resistant bananas. Well, since then they succeeded with the first plague and are busy working on the next big fungus.
Meanwhile, you’ve got debates about the evils of genetic manipulation, big business, politics, world hunger, murder and espionage, all around this sexy little fruit. All I have to say, is that if bananas can’t have sex the natural way and take advantage of all that Darwin’s natural selection process has to offer, then what’s wrong with a little manual manipulation?
I was reading on About.com’s Genealogy blog on how the Vatican has ordered dioceses worldwide to stop Mormons from photographing genealogy records held by the Catholic church.
Kimberly writes:
“One of the core tenets of Mormon faith is that the dead can be baptized into the Church to offer them the opportunity to accept the faith in an afterlife and achieve salvation. Many Jews and Christians have been upset by this practice, and see it as usurping the memory of their departed relatives.”
It makes me wonder what sort of religion I might be inducted into in a couple of hundred years. Perhaps Scientology? I wonder if I can go up in level in Scientology after I’ve passed away? Can a corpse become Clear?
Normally, I’m not one for advocating consumerism. In fact, as religions go, I think consumerism is right up there with technology as one of the fastest growing religions in modern times.
But, I’m going to make an exception this time around and say something I thought I would never say: It’s time to go shopping.
Americans showed last time around that they would rather put the rebate checks in their savings account than go out and spend them, which makes offering another rebate pretty stupid. But, that’s government for you.
So, this time around, I am going to do my part and go buy a new monitor or something. I suggest everyone does the same else I want to hear no complaining about the recession that would have been caused by all you peeps that didn’t go buy stuff.
