Wednesday August 11:
Hello. Are you still there? I’m still not!

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^carrots

Monday August 9:
I complain about lawn mowers a lot. I really can’t stand them. Every week, May to November, lawn mowers mowing lawns. There must be something we can do about this.

I appreciate them trying to address my issue, but I cannot approve of making a public spectacle of clown mowing. It seems rude. Nobody chooses to be a clown, after all.

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Friday, August 6:
Hello. Evidently I will be going away for a week. No, not necessarily to jail, and you probably won’t notice.

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eep
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WOW, you mean to tell me I can get all the channels that everybody gets for free for less than 20 dollars a month?!?!?

There’s probably more to this package than local affiliates, but Comcast ought to at least hint at that. I hate to think, as much as I know it is true, that it is more than sufficient to market your product exclusively at idiots to make good profits.

This is like Sirius satellite radio offering a “lite” option that allows me to pick up fm stations.

I remember when I passed through the New York City, back in Mayish, witnessing a billboard for a radio station proclaiming “COMMERCIAL FREE MONDAYS!”

WOW! I get to not hear ads or songs I hate EVER by not listening to FM radio! People have been buying personal music playing objects for nearly thirty years now and presumably collecting musical recordings to go along with that. Nobody who owns an ipod has any excuse to complain about commercial breaks on radio stations. You paid all that money for the blasted thing, so use it. “Commercial free” may not even be true. A company can sponsor a block of noise and just have said periodically “the drive at five is brought to you by BURGER KING.”

On that note, I think there is great potential in the field of fast food heads of state and positions of authority.*

Chicken Chancellor

Milkshake Shiekh

Hotdog Dowager

Pizza Princess

Castro Bistro

Burrito Baron

French Fry Pharaoh

Tater Dictator

Beef Caliph

Pancake Pope

Lady Nuggets

Teriyaki Triumvirate

Taco Taliban

Rib Hitler

Pork Warlord

Kupcake Kaiser

Cinnamon Roll Ayatollah

Gang of Four Hoagies and More

Now I’m hungry.

Now I’m not.

*List separated with colors to make it easier to read and because I didn’t realize how awful it looked until I’d already inserted 50 little font codes, not because ten years ago I built a time machine.

Hello. Today is Thursday. I am at a Hotel. I have internet and I have my computer, but not at the same time.

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another week so soon? I am making an attempt to update this for wednesday, so you can likely guess how that will go.

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Sadly, these little inexplicable smiley face things being sold yet more inexplicably in the frozen food section of Stop & Shop no longer adequately convey my emotions…



Join me as I pause and pay homage to our fallen friend, master meatsmith and former muppet sympathizer, Jimmy Dean. Our breakfast bowls become breakfast bawls.

What do you… I said DEAN. Beans are still around.

Dean, best known to members of my supposed generation for his inadvertent mention in Ma Donna’s 1990 song Vogue, which actually referred to actor James Dean, will probably continue to be known for that anyhow.

These sausages escaped from their enclosure to begin the long hard pilgrimage to

the internet so they could look at the official Jimmy Dean Brand website, only to find it either unaware or unconcerned that its namesake is dead, because he was actually pushed out of his spokesing duties which were his last personal ties to the company six years ago, ostensibly for being too old.

This guy exudes youthful appeal, though. He’s like the Nabisco Snack Fairy without the dignity or product with the nutritional credibility of Oreo Cakesters.


He’s such hot stuff that the website’s temperature management department is overworked and has to pay visitors to take up the palm frond-waving for a minute or two. Which sounds ridiculous but it’s slightly more plausible than bribing people such a pitiful amount to pretend to be your devoted follower on the internet. Not plausible at all: paying somebody to design a costume that’s not deliberately lazy-looking. The only thing more appealing than low budget ingenuity is high budget low budget imitation. Much time and effort was devoted to making this look like so little time and effort was involved. “Hey guys I should probably take my watch off for this, right? No? Because the SUN probably doesn’t… oh okay. I mean I’m just saying, because it’s actually the very thing we tell time by- alright, forget it! mumblerhubarbjusttryingtohelpmurph”



Appearing in the notorious MC Rove sketch was Colin Mochrie’s penance for this. Or maybe it was for those weird flash cartoons. Or maybe I’m the only person who doesn’t find instant emasculatory hilarity in frumpy men wearing pink skirts and so need not waste effort complaining about an obsolete advertisement series which I don’t actually think about all that much nor bear lasting resentment toward the actor for appearing in. I will say that nobody frolics into my mind as having the potential to be less intolerable in this role than this person. He surely did me a favor by not letting Greg Proops or French Stewart get the job.

For all new customers know, “Jimmy Dean” is the name of the product itself and/or the source of its meat, and given Mr. Dean’s current physical state that would almost be plausible if not for the general absence of legitimate meat matter in most frozen food. Consider that the Breakfast Bowl(s) is apparently ripping off a Kentucky Fried Chicken gimmick, –right down to the forced pluralization in the product name– a thing noted for its perceived* low quality, and also that ripoffs typically are less meritorious than that which they ripped, and that 90+ percent of the people who buy this will opt to heat it in a microwave oven without so much as considering less sog-like alternatives. I already considered it so I figured I’d inflict that thought upon you as well. For Krimpet’s sake it’s a plastic bowl in a box. Plastic bowls are for takeout food, maybe for putting chips in at a barbecue. I’m expected to provide my own fork, right? The one on the box is clearly made of a shiny metal. If I’m eating in my house I have real bowls I can use, too.

*granted, all these perceptions are my own and they are as close as I have come to actually eating the things I am talking so much bowl-filler about. The thing I’m using to support my unverified claim is just another unverified claim of mine. I additionally ought to disclose that I am fairly fond of Stouffer’s stuffed peppers, which also come in a sealed plastic bowl in a box in a freezer. However, the bowl is not given top billing.

And this! Hello again. If ‘the morning fade’ was a real thing that you didn’t make up, you wouldn’t have been able to trade-mark it, O Deanco. It sounds more like a mysterious ultimate villainous entity or invading force from some bad fantasy movie, particularly when you order me to fight it with a special enchanted apparatus named after a former legendary hero. Young traveler, as the one chosen by the Snack Fairy Sun Pixie only you can take up the Sausage of Jimmy Dean and venture forth through the lands of Hangover to do battle with The Morning Fade! Meanwhile, “choose your breakfast” seems like a threat somehow. I’ve been challenged and in the typical insincere show of gentlemanly decency by one who intends to see another done in this is meant to be my last choice in life. This town ain’t big enough for the both of us, son. Choose yer breakfast. It won’t do ya a lick a good, pardner. My pancake-wrapped-sausage on a stick sez you die at sundown. And if you eat it you’ll die sooner.

Why eat right when there are so many other directions to choose from?

February 23: first loud, distracting power tools of the season! There’s still snow on the ground and I can’t walk outside without my coat, but if the calendar says spring it’s time to start making shrill noises that have no end.

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Well, now you know why I’ve been so slow to update this site.

Also, I acknowledge in advance that a lot of this is generalizations and assumptions. The fact that I’m writing at length about frozen pizzas should tell you that I am a less than cultured individual.

What we have here is a deceased German medical doctor trying to sell an Italian product to Americans. It would be like if Yakov Smirnov started selling Yorkshire pudding to Indonesians. And you can say “uh actually Yakov Smirnov is still alive.” First of all, watch the attitude. Second, truly?

Then why, recently, on the television program 30 Rock[efeller Center], a show fond of pointless, improbable cameos, when it came time to cast in a brief role a bearded Europy-looking guy named Yakov with a funny accent who appeared to be in his 50s, did they choose… someone else? I checked his name in the credits but neglected to make a note of who it was. Whoopth. I am a student of counterfeit Yakovs, but hardly an authority. I wish my name was Yakov.

As long as I’m buying a pizza from a German doctor born in the 19th century, I might as well buy it from a German World War I fighter pilot with a historically inaccurate mustache.

So many decisions to make! Incidootily, I used to eat Red Baron pizzas, specifically the “deep dish” variety, all the times, until my mother stopped buying them because they cost the same as bigger frozen pizzas. When I finally had one again, I didn’t like it because I reminded me of the “pizzas” sold at the Saint Vincent de Paul school cafeteria I had eaten within a few times. The same size, the same weird cheese that will come off in one piece if you bite it the wrong way, the same bright red weird sauce, and most importantly, the same weird crust that when you bite into it appears to be comprised not of a crispy mass of expanded dough, but several flimsy white layers of a thing I cannot describe. I had somehow developed a revulsion to the sight of those layers and had difficulty finishing. Only my trusty red pepperoni cubes, the one aspect the school version lacked, kept me going. I would eat those, but not actual pepperoni disc slices. It has today been revealed to me by the internet that the Red Baron pizza brand indeed got its start as a school supplier, and only became called that when somehow the things were popular enough to justify supermarket expansion, at which point, compared to “Schwan’s School Cafeteria Pizza-like-object,” calling it Red Baron made an adequate quantity of sense. Kids will eat ANYTHING if you say it’s pizza, though. I thought I was more mature and wiser, but I wasn’t, because I then reverted to my interim Jeno’s brand pizzas, which had the exact same cheese, tomato sauce and cubes. The only difference in the actual product was the absence of the creepy layer-things. The bread-product itself wasn’t of any higher quality, it was just narrower, so that I couldn’t see how it was constructed. So easily I was taken in once more! I tell you, these things’ll be the death of myself.


I’ll show them: I’ll have my body cremated. My initial plan was to have my body fed to dogs, but after a lifetime of eating frozen pizzas, particularly one ended by that, I don’t think I’ll be very nutritious.

Back to my first non-point, the problem is that “Italy” is a stereotype. The populace at large assumes –or is assumed by advertisers to assume– that Italy is still lost in the 17th century renaissance and all food is prepared for days at a time by old ladies mixing tomatoes and garlic and that green stuff in pots and such while children chase chickens through the streets which no cars drive over constantly. In fact, Italy today is fundamentally indistinguishable from any other post-industrial nation. There are paved roads, security cameras, giant buildings and McDonalds’. The number one frozen pizza title means as much there as it does here, where I am told the leader, by a huge margin is DiGiorno, despite depicting its customers as naive oafs who can’t tell the taste of a frozen pizza from a real pizza.

The sort of person lazy and devolved enough to buy a pizza from a specially programmed remote control button, with devolved taste-buds to match. The Pillsbury people claim Totino* pizzas and not DiGiorno are the highest selling, so clearly this is a thing that anybody can claim. However, Totino’s, despite having the power to taste like both a cheeseburger and a taco, never claims to taste like a pizza and in any event does not have special deals with the satellite company, so I will not be buying their product.

As to what’s being ORDERED here, obviously you’re not ordering the pizza to be delivered to you off of the television. “It’s not delivery,” after all, and if it was you could do much better. No, you merely press select to ORDER your WOMAN to bring you your FROZEN PIZZA on a FROZEN PIZZA-SIZED WOODEN PLATTER, because YOU like PIZZA and BURGERS. You know, MAN FOOD. The signal goes through the tv to your lady’s punishment helmet, administering shocks until she gets up and does her domestic duty.

WLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH! Eat that pizza! Eat it! Eat it while I scream at you from your home torture chamber! Sure, don’t even look! You didn’t have the torture chamber built right next to your kitchen with a convenient view window because you wanted to make eye contact with your victims, did you? You are the master of all: your television, your domestic propertner, your hostages. If you eat lousy pizza, it is because you CHOOSE to.

Anyway

No doubt there are classical cities in Italy that have managed to retain or restore their old timey touristy appeal but… just imagine if everybody there imagined us Americonians all lived in Colonial Williamsburg and ate beans and grits every day. That’s what it would be like. And then we walk 2000 miles to Texas and hang around in saloons comparing mustaches.
Why would this fictional, frozen in time, Brigadoon-esque Italy give any dignity to the idea of frozen in grime pizza at all, much less rank them? Do we even have any idea what is considered good pizza in Italy? Do they ever EAT pizza in Italy? Does it bear any resemblance to the sort of pizza we eat here? Specifically, the sort we eat but that isn’t pictured in this site entry?

What is the quintessential “American” food? A hamburger? The number one selling hamburger almost certainly comes from a major chain, and even people who eat them will often gripe about the quality. According to a vague memory of mine I cannot substantiate the validity of, 7-11 sells more hot dogs than anywhere else. I’ve never even been IN a 7-11, much less associated the thought of the place with my occasional hunger for weird sausage with weird bread.

Hey, you, idiot off to the right: stop lifting that one slice out of the pizza before we take the picture! I don’t give a

pucky o’hare if somebody already cut around that one slice but not the rest of the pizza. Leave it alone!

But yes, Dr. Oetker pizza seen alongside another thing that should not exist: Mystic Pizza, precooked, frozen and mass produced.

Really? I think rather the movie made the pizza famous. Nobody would care, otherwise. This is not outstanding pizza. It just happened to come from a joint in a town that somebody thought would make a good setting for a forgettable romantic comedy. It could also be that I go into these places looking for my deluded idea of an Italian pizza when the people specialize in the Greek style. What they should say is “warning! we do not make Italian pizzas well!” but they don’t and present all the standard tomater sars/mozzarillo cheese options, knowing full well they cannot be trusted.

I’d like to go to Italy and eat some pasta, because I don’t like the store bought product so much, unless it has meatballs with it. Real Chinese food, however, does not need to come into my life.
As you may have figured, I will not, at this time, be ordering a Dr. Oetker pizza, Italy’s number one frozen pizza. Who eats frozen pizza while in Italy? The immigrants, evidently. And I would be if I went there, but I haven’t gone yet!

Oetker. With a name like that he should be selling snake oil or fighting Spiderm-An. True enough, more than a few supposedly competing American frozen pizzas are actually produced by the SCHWAN food company, including the famous baron (as well as Tony, who I am afraid searching for media relevant to will prolong this entry beyond a reasonable length), so perhaps I should praise the doctor for his honesty. But I won’t, because he says “ristorante” when babelfish assures me he means “Gaststätte” and an actual German speaker who left a comment on this entry tells me he just means plain old “restaurant.” Additionally, I recently started buying pizzas by Palermo, who assure me they aren’t owned by any of those other crumbumpanies. They make pizza and nothing else.

Palermo pizzas are so pure, they’re made at an authentic imitation Roman villa with a factory behind it. And so. I wanted to conclude on the line about dogs eating my corpse but we can’t always have happy endings.

^{*Totino’s and Jeno’s are both Pilsbury brands that produce nearly identical products but go to different stores, a fairly common occurrence. However, they are both purported to be named after actual people, so it seems reasonable to assume one resented the other.}

Yes, I actually did it. I screwed your brains out I bought the 30 ounce JAR of Utz snack mix. I know it says “party” mix, but I don’t go to parties, and when I do there’s never stuff like this there. This is what I stay home and eat while other people have parties. This is my meth. That may not even be so far from the truth; Judging by the way it is sealed, this stuff is apparently prescription strength. Although the side label professes the presence of 30 servings, one per ounce, I reckon I can have this finished in under a week. Hopefully I won’t have to. I will give it my list of demands in short time.

Officially, it is a “barrel,” but anybody who’s played enough video games knows that barrels often contain life sustaining, fully cooked, nonrotting foodstuffs (occasionally on plates), and while edible, what I have is not quite food. Beside that, suggesting that I can eat the entire contents of a BARREL makes me seem like a fat glutton. My metabolism is too fast for that. I am a moderately skinny glutton. I have a physical appearance accurately described as “salvageable.” Come back when I’m thirty [years old]… If I’m still there, eating utz party mix alone, stop me.

Donkey Kong would not throw Utz Party Mix at Mario. Monkey Donkey would not… no, actually we could be on to something. It is a shame that the only web page documenting this phemonemonemon is over ten years old. Clearly it is a relevant, pressing, depressing issue.

Look at that, just while I was here talking to you. I would weigh the remnants, but my scale is broken. No, not because I stood on it, narf narf. I was merely incidentally mentioning that I own a scale which does not function. Why don’t I throw it away? Why don’t you throw it away? Am I on trial here? Fleeps, lemmelone!

This jarrel, though very orange inside, does not contain cheeseballs. Tell us about the cheeseballs, Utzy.

I reckon you’ll pay more attention to the weather once acid rain starts pouring out of those bright orange clouds.

Those are not the famous Planters Cheez Balls… I know Planters’ are famous because one person uploaded this picture to the flickr and google images turned up the exact same picture of the same obsolete package design with the same sickly, faded colors and the same dented paper on numerous sites that had ripped it off, sometimes with site logos and bonus jpeg artifacts, most not bothering to have searched the “all sizes” link and just went with the 280×500 pixel preview. Somebody had even re-uploaded the smaller one to a different flickr page (to make it even flickier). To distinguish my own ripoff from the others I will put it through a really stupid series of filters that I have never once used seriously in a decade of owning Paint Shop Pro 6.

The only way to make this classier would be to scroll the text.

But that is not important. What is important, to me, about Cheez Balls, is that they have Mr. Peanut pictured on the cans. MR. PEANUT CONTAINS NO CHEESE. Neither do cheez balls, but MR. PEANUT ALSO CONTAINS NO CHEEZ. Mr. Peanut is not qualified to act as spokesman for any cheez product, balls or otherwise.

I could make a childish remark about how the most common cheez incarnations are the ball and the doodle, but I wouldn’t be able to commit to it and would present it as a shameful yet courageously suppressed inclination and pretend it was your fault instead. You should work on that.

Cheez is also frequently seen in the form of the -it, about which the less said, the usual.

According to legend, the planters phased out Cheez Balls because they didn’t sell anymore they were unhealthy. You don’t get into the snack business is to sell people cheap to manufacture trash which they don’t need to be eating. Because you’re a nitwit with no head for business matters. But I tell you, there are worse things in this world than cheez.

I give you chiz. And you’re welcome.

In other news, Humpy Dumpy. NEW Humpy Dumpy. Don’t worry, it’s only margarine FLAVOR. This merely creates the impression of having dipped a corn chip directly into a goopy vat of generic butter substitute. Because who has the time these days?

Some people, as in: more than one, talking about cheez balls on the internet, say the balls were discontinued in 2006. Suddenly! A page from 2008 documents a person finding them in a store! Great piggly wiggly! But, you know, they’re CANNED. And the cans are sealed. Those things are probably from 1998. There’s a reason people fill their bomb shelters with cans apart from being lunatics. Even if the balls are NOT fresh you’ll never know because those things will make you sick under any circumstances. Not that one needs the help with this visual accompaniment. I can tell you that if there IS a nuclear war… and the only things in your shelter are cheez balls… then you probably caused the war by hoarding them! I can’t believe you sometimes!

I was going to write something today about how all cereal mascots appear to be screaming, but I made sure to check if anybody else had, first. As things do sometimes turn out, somebody has, and only a bit over a month ago. This is not surprising; surely the level of maniacalness (”mania” itself is not a maniacal enough word, I’m afraid) that led me to suddenly realize this would do the same thing to others. The fact that I don’t purchase these cereals and have less than scant desire to, yet still noticed the overpowering craziness of their superfluous, excessively-shaded representatives must be a sign of something that I would be failing in my duties to not attempt to draw yet more attention to, even if the observation is not totally original.

Oh, Captain! This time he’s selling a product so shoddily produced and stale that no one less than Superman can break it apart.
I say “this time,” for Captain Crunch’s mental slide is nothing new. I have been documenting it for years, and have sadly become accustomed to it. However, I still ought to have paid more attention to the effect he was having on his shelf/ship-mates.

“Wendell,” the Cinnamon Toast Crunch chef is so out of control that his picture on the box actually had to be reduced in size to keep it from giving people heart attacks. This is not surprising; his guilt over murdering the other two chefs in the early 1990s, dropping them into the swirl-mixer vat and subsequently feeding the evidence to America can only have grown since then. Unlike himself; he seems shorter and more deformed than ever. He’s actually glowing from the quantities of artificial joy he has to inject merely to keep from sobbing.

Yes, yes, certainly, with online vagrants’ tendency to talk about trash from two decades ago forever and gravitate toward the most obvious, sociopathic and vulgar explanations for everything, I assume claiming “Wendel killed the other chefs” is nothing any more original* than noticing the perpetually gaping mouth spaces common to cereal box characters. I wouldn’t be surprised to find an old page of my own accusing such a thing. But maybe it’s so common because it’s true.

*_{Or it is, but only because I didn’t feel inclined to put a mention of rape in there. Everybody on the internet knows rape is hilarious!}

The famous Trix rabbit pulled some strings, possibly the ones that hold up his eyebrows, and got two different demented expressions on shelves at the same time. He STILL can’t get the cereal he is forever in the proximity of enormous bowls of, and that would push anybody over the edge. Fifty years against a garish red background doesn’t help, either, as his neighbor would no doubt attest were he in a mental condition to do so.

The leprechaun looks like he’s attacking somebody with that giant, irresponsibly over-perspectiv’d spoon. It’s more like a catapult scoop than something a human would eat out of, much less a mythical demi-human a fraction of one’s size. And once again there is glowing with absence of apparent, appropriate light source. In this case it is not a result of stimulants from anything but that which is in the cereal. The marshmallows are now so toxic and explosive that they must be handled from a distance. I do believe Lucky is experiencing a recoil from… shooting it, I guess. Speaking of shooting, I suspect we are not incredibly far off from needing to put heroin into this stuff to keep kids as interested as our profit forecasts and/or psycho spokesmen require.

More red, more threatening loaded spoon attacks. The name of the cereal is even violent. The violence is indiscriminate, too, as the unfortunate positioning of that frog’s eyes combined with the direction its pupil-like-things are pointing in cannot possibly present any vision to the frog-like-creature but its own nose. At least look at me when you smack me, you brute! And… I don’t know what magical “IMMUNITY” Cocoa Rispies is supposed to grant me, but I doubt it’s immunity from the sight of its keepers’ cackling countenances.

I didn’t eat break-fast cereal at all for much of my life. It is only within the past few months that I resumed, and I only eat corn flakes and cheerios, the same things I used to. Even Corn Pops are too sweet for me. Don’t pop my flakes! There’s no sense to consuming that much sugar if it only makes me want to cover the stuff in salt. All the same, I’m sure the artificial nutritive value that gets pumped into these mystery morsels is better than none at all, as a look at the boxes for an equally sweet substance without it suggests:

THESE guys aren’t even happy. They’re ANGRY. They want me DEAD. It’s not enough that I kill myself by pouring coke into myself by the caseload. These fellows need results.

Toucan Sam tm is not quite evil yet, but with that red back there he eventually will be, and until then, as long as he has those GOLD LOOPS he doesn’t have to be. What fruit are those frightful sparklethings supposed to represent? Liberace?

This makes me feel like Count Chocula wants to eat ME. Or my blood. My chocolatey, chocolatey blood. This doesn’t even show the cereal. For all I know each box contains an actual miniature Count Chocola which will create untold chaos when released. Or worse, just his head. And Boo Berry? Why is that here at all? The only place I’ve ever seen Boo Berry mentioned is on “bring back boo berry!” online petitions. I guess it is good that people’s dedicated laziness is not always in vain and can actually get results, but is it fair to burden every shopper with the sight of this result?

Oh, and there on the left… Gosh, kids just aren’t excited about eating chocolate chip cookies for breakfast anymore! What now? RAINBOW SPRINKLES? That’s so crazy, it just might work. If it doesn’t, heroin.

This business philosophy is KILLING our children! The Crunch-o-Thon may welcome me, but it would be morally unconscionable for me to reciprocate. The very thought of encouraging children to engage in such activities so soon after gulping down so much dubious corn product, and with so many razor-edged crunch bits still fresh in their stomachs… oh! If I didn’t know of his cerebral breakdown, I would be sure the Captain was doing this on purpose. Oh, what a chilling thought! What if this was all…

an act?

Forget O-6 pay grade. The Captain has promoted himself to O-G.

Watchmen on DVD, featuring an additional 24 hours of never-before-seen footage! When I watched those men in a theater, indeed my greatest complaint was that the film had used its time too efficiently. We need to pad this out, yo.

I like this new “wheelchair access” symbol. It has action lines. Much like Wheelchair Mario, it really emphasizes handi-CAPABLE. It also communicates “look here, sonny. I have to use my ARMS to move these WHEELS, and THAT’S why I can’t open the door.” Although the old one looks like it wants to punch somebody, I don’t reckon it would be a very effective punch from that starting position.

I don’t know why people complain about their Department(s) of Motor Vehicles. The floating, misshapen smiley face in the corner puts me completely at ease and cures all my worries. Although I do begin to think perhaps that is a character flaw of mine.

Which is not to say my sense of alarm has dulled to a sirloin tip:

Maybe I’ve been on the internet too long, but I find something intensely upsetting about somebody having brown fluid dripped on itself and also being jaw-detachingly ecstatic about that happening, and then this getting the unconcerned, “inoffensive” label “muddy.”

“Oops! Looks like somebody got all muddy! XD!” Also, why is it so hard to actually bake our cookie dough? Nevermind the laziness of saying “gah, forget it, just shove it in a box,” I’m pretty sure eating uncooked dough is a health hazard.

Oh.

Ohhh… Wikihow.

I didn’t realize what site I was at.

The next time I worry I’ve wasted my life, I’ll just look at how many times this article had to be reverted. Somebody really has it in for the cookie dough page.

I just realized I had an earlier draft of the text of the entry following this one typed into this entry for a whole day. Now the whole world* knows I had thought of “chubby uncle” before “wacky college roommate,” before I realized the guy wasn’t very chubby and didn’t look all that much older than the young Spock. Think of all the ad revenue I lost!

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Apparently Reese’s peanut butter candy bar is made with Reese’s peanut butter. You don’t want to know what the chocolate is made with. Because you don’t care.
I once attended a school in which Reese’s peanut butter cups were a common trinket of value used to motivate students, so to prepare them for the cigarette barter systems common at many of their potential future places of residence, and a single unit was always referred to as “a ree-seez.” That made me mad. Now that reese does indeed produce a product with no name, it still makes me mad because those crum bums were saying his name wrong. It is Reese, not Reesy! They also pronounced scythe as “skeeth.”

The question is: Am I worthy? This slogan was no accident; it’s printed on the unnecessary plastic bag the bucket had been placed within, also. Now, then, while I certainly would not eat something which had been declared unfit to occupy a bucket, I likewise am not filled with anticipation at the idea of food designated as just right for a bucket, a hop, skip and a gump away from food unfit to fill anything else.

Jack Links: the only raw chicken that’s convenience store room temperature plastic bag-worthy. When did this stuff get to Connecticut? I know in The South people are more in touch with their meat. They are open to the idea that these are parts from dead animals that are only dead because people killed them to eat them. That’s part of the fun for them. In the north-east, though, it’s all about deluding one’s self. Some people have convinced themselves that lobsters don’t feel pain (that is a seven page pdf article. Just so you know). They have convinced themselves, in fact, that fish isn’t meat at all. But there’s no denying what’s in this bag is a cause of suffering. Why not have it be yours? As to whether it’s actual “meat,” if it isn’t, that’s only a result of legal shenanigans, something like “oh, this contains greater than 30% beak and feather per gram, so THEREFORE…”. If you were to attempt to pass off something with no animal flesh in it as meat, if you were in the business of deception, wouldn’t you try harder than this to make it look palatable? This is an honest product. I think the point of taking a picture of the back of this, rather than the front, which bears merely a marketing approved photograph of what this stuff is supposed to look like, only at the rear do you get a hint of its true nature. This may also be the case if you have already eaten it. However, this picture didn’t come out particularly well so you can’t see the indistinct dark brown/black bits which float about unrestrained and affix themselves to the edges of the container. So thank me. A responsible web-log-keeper would have purchased the item, consumed it and documented the experience for the sake of journalism. However, I’m no journalist and I reserve the right to delude myself that this is something other than what is popularly, unfortunately, regarded as a “blog.” I’m not going to spend my own money on something weird just because

Oh dear. I’m almost out of toilet paper.

People are fatter than ever, people have less money than recent evers. The solution?

Enormous, ten dollar bags of Reese Peanut Butter cups. (The Connecticut sales tax rate is six per-cent, which you’ll know adds another 59 cents to the 9.78 blurrily seen here if you’re better at maths than I am). Enhancing them in this way might be our only hope of stopping Terminator peanut butter cups from the future.

A counterpart quantity container for M&Ms, in addition to the old sizes still available. Because it was decided too much shelf space was going to competing brands at this Wal Mart.

Ooah. I have never seen an mnm bag that big before. That is atrocious. The only thing I like about this set up is that it makes the awful, awful M&M “characters” appear to be in jail.

Unfortunately, their relations with teeth, hair, occasional lips and mustaches are yet believed to be at large. That is assuming “large” is still adequate for their consumptive requirements.

ARRRRRRRGH TEETH

I despise the teeth on computer-made people. In actual cartoon drawing sometimes it serves an expression better for no teeth to be visible but shrek and all the fish and amazin’ adventurin’ celebrity-voiced zoo crews always have full sets of evenly sized and spaced grey teeth. It is even worse, the more stylized they are. We get these enormous, barely detailed heads with little mouths full of tiny perfect teeth. Uggggghhhhh somehow the natural distance fading and blending doesn’t happen with teeth. No matter how far away they are you still see every tooth. That isn’t necessarily the case right just now but fortunately it’s creepy enough just that there are teeth and that I see them.

I felt dirty when I bought a “medium” bag back in December. But 42 ounces, that’s like eating a cat. A cat made of chocolate. True enough, after seeing this I proceeded to procure and purchase a 24-count box of Coky Cola cans, which it is not at this time my intention to share, but I don’t expect to drink them all before August. Somebody somewhere buys 42 oz of m&ms and eats 42 oz of m&ms in the same day (perhaps in Oz), and was getting worn out opening three or two bags.

Truly, ’tis a great time to be alive.

the amazing human digestive system | How to lose a guy in (2) days | !

The comedy central channel keeps running promopes for its ROAFT of Lawrence Cable Gentleman. I thought I had a slanderous thing written about him that would be important to get in before a heavily advertised insult show, regardless of whether I intend to watch it (I don’t!), but it’s evidently pretty basic. If it was complete and had a point I suppose I would have put it here already.

People think Dan Whitney is insincere and phony not because he appears in movies, bad movies, as Larry The Cable Guy, but because he’s Larry The Cable Guy as whatever the character in the movie is. They just don’t realize it. It’s like when you have the cast of Tiny Toon Adventures AS the cast of Star Wars, or the cast of Muppet Babies AS the cast of Star Wars, or the unendurably enduring cast of The Simpson AS the cast of Star Wars AS the cast of Monopoly*. It just seems less than valid. The flanlike Family Guyites actually had a full length “movie” that was somehow for sale where they were the cast of Star Wars. And Larry’s not making fun of bad movies, either. He’s just making bad movies. I have to think this may lead to serious psychological problems, for him, if it hasn’t already. He must know the movies are bad, and maybe he thinks Well that wasn’t Dan Whitney in that movie. It was Larry the Cable Guy in that movie. He’s a stupid redneck, he doesn’t know a lousy script when he sees one.
*the unsettling corporate synergy of the Robot Chicken Star Wars Episode Part 2 eludes inclusion in this sentence due to not making use of a specific nonexistent “cast.”

Hey hey, LARRY is the sell out shilling for a product he is highly unlikely to receive longterm benefit from, not me. I don’t understand that [cable] guy sometimes. Of course he didn’t lose fifty pounds! He is a fictional character with a fictional weight! He is just my larrsona.

And if he did drop all the fat points, these non-typical results legally required to be presented as non-typical results were supported by an additional incentive of getting paid heaps of dollars to appear in the ad for the product. Us proles without personal trainers to keep us on the program and make sure we also eat
the fresh fruit, vegetables, salads and dairy items that aren’t pictured, without personal assistants to suddenly refuse to get us

chocolate skittles,


oreo cakesters and

assorted bagged snackmeats that we never developed the skills to get for ourselves, and without agents to get us jobs where we are paid to eat free food from ridiculous weight loss programs that require people to eat food from them don’t have a chance. Am I sincerely intended to believe that Mr. Guy took a picture of himself with no shirt on at the height of his width, then started using and paying for nutrisystem just because he felt like it, lost fifty pounds of weight because he’s one of life’s winners and then called the company and said he was famous? And that somebody took his call?

Oh, I see. I forgot that Chowder Pot III, my favorite least favorite local restaurant, now offers call ahead seating. I just hope a pot will be enough. You may want the Chowder Cauldron, Mr. Guy.

I already eat my own food! I’m not going to pay you dollars to let me continue doing that! My own food. Yes, I imagine obesity is rarely a concern among the section of the populace that sustains itself by stealing pies off of window sills. Haaa ehhh. I think these things only ever required people to buy special food so that at some point the requirement could be dropped and made to seem like a special privilege. Wow, ya mean it? I, an adult humanoid, get to eat food that I choose to eat? Sockamagee! Sounds good ta me! Stop Dieting, Start Living! Why didn’t I think a that? Thanks so much for unforbidding food, o magnificent watchers of weight! This seems more like a promotion for self awareness than an advertisement for something. Hey! Start watching your own weight, you fat pot a chowder! Stop blaming us for your problems just because you paid us to solve them!
I try not to insult overweight people as a group (really!). Fats are one of the precious remaining groups about whom cruel jokes are socially acceptable forms of discrimination, along with nerds, gays and hill folk. Which possibly explains how they’re so easy to get laughs with. However, it is my personal goal to make every task as difficult as possible for myself. I only hope this is as hard for you to read.
But! I eat many horrible things and owe my scale stability mainly to an overactive metabolic processing system. I expect one day soon it is just going to stop and i’ll look like a mancubus within a month.


And it only gets worse from there. You may be surprised to learn that there are worse things than living in hell and being regularly gunned down by little men in green suits and your co-residents. You could be so out of shape that you can’t lift your otherwise incredibly useful metal, handless arms to swat a dope off your head.


Do you get the impression I didn’t draw that with the expectation that I would be showing it to anyone? Or does the rest of this entry rule that out?

Awww, dee! The super-bowl was today?! Toodle gumdrops.

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What makes me mad about the forced digital tv conversion is the way ‘they’ try to make it seem like it’s being done entirely as a favor to me and not because it’s more lucrative for everyone but me, me being for whom it will cost just the same or more. In fact, digital is SO much better that by law, all broadcast HAS to be digital by 2009
No, that’s not what it is at all. Having Sassy Invisible Tramp Lady say it should make no difference. She is not going to materialize and pay you tribute if you believe her. Similarly, believing the same words from the creepy “wake up with the king” voice sleazo isn’t going to make Burger King not wake up with you.

That’s a dumb thing to get mad about, but it reminded me of other topics and that’s what most of this is.

I don’t fully understand what the frequencies are to be used for in the future, and surely the organizations who bid for control of them would prefer I not know, and it bothers me rather a bit. What I know it does mean is more power for Verizon and the historically meek and non-ambitious At&t, and more money for underachieving pay tv providers just because. Though I give the latter party’s representative credit for having its own sassy tramp lady actually go so far as to promise lewd conduct.

But don’t try to sell me such an obvious and shallow lie, about the tv. Or, I mean, you did but you should not have. That makes it seem like you’re hiding something. That would be like the government forcing everybody to stop using V C Rs immediately. No, that would be like the government forcing everybody to stop going to casinos which it wouldn’t do because casinos make a lot more money for states which allow them than basic broadcast signals.

Why would anybody buy clothing which expresses such a sentiment? If you’re enough in control of your mind to realize paying $500 to touch an ace of clubs that every other grub fiend has also touched then why would you pay more money for a thing which makes fun of you for it? BECAUSE YOU’RE AN IDIOT WHO QUESTIONS NOTHING. Excuse me. What I meant is that you’re an idiot who questions nothing.

Forcing use of digital televisions because the more expensive variants are capable of displaying a higher resolution picture which is theoretically an improvement over the old one would be like the government forcing everybody to stop eating meat. Which, again, would never happen, because meat is big business, and it’s easier to keep making new pigs and chopping them up forever than to find a new use for some farm land. It could easily be argued that farmers are already paid for enough of the things they aren’t selling.

Often the same people who think the right to slay anything which cannot ask them not to is one bestowed upon them by Mr. God see no irony at all in dousing the eventual product with Velveeta brand cheese product, smothering it between two atrophied round fragments of bleached, nutrient sapped bread product and then drowning the masticated particles with an astounding 32 ounce megavial of Mountain Dew brand green liquid product. I don’t see why a transition from meat would be a difficult one, really.

It isn’t hard to synthesize the taste of meat, or at least it wouldn’t be if people really put some effort into it. It’s not like it’s fruit or anything, where there are just so many reasons to not eat it. Yeah, nice try fruit lobby. I’ll take my chances with scurvy, thank you. Fruit is easy, anyway, because it lacks a nervous system and doesn’t need to convert a few tons of vegetation into wonderful methane before you can slice each individual item into shapes unidentifiable as a thing that once lived. Also, due to rampant pesticide use people are more accustomed to the industrial flavor. It’s an acquired taste. The most logical solution, to ensure a smooth transition™ then, is to start submerging chickens in RAID right before we chop their heads off. In markets where places of slaughter lack the facilities to accomodate suitably sized vats, casual dining establishments may apply to recieve free trichlorobenzene buffalo sauce and dichlorvos honey mustard. It has been judged that these are the common meat accompaniments in which the change would be least obvious. With all the barbecue-ing and deep frying and dipping and dabbing all over the place I have to question how many people do in fact know what meat tastes like.

But I think I was talking about something else. Yes, so, there are a limited amount of radio frequencies, and somebody wants to free them up or something. It’s probably not for an ultra powerful mind control robot that can’t function with cbs and nbc all up in its wavelength, but at least if it is I won’t have to worry about these things anymore.

If it improves communication between public entities, then great. If it gets The Government more short term money to burn in a dessert, oh well, they’d have gotten it one way or the other. That’s probably better than borrowing from China. Even if Chinese businessmen are revealed as the true buyers of the signals at least it’s a proper transaction, and will give them one more thing to do instead of substituting melamine for protein in various food exports. You’re a couple paragraphs late, China.

Eh, please don’t make me become one of those “oh, really? I didn’t hear about that trivial gossipy factoid because I don’t own a TV” people. I already have that reaction to far too many things, despite what might be inferred by my ability to acquire the image directly above here. While I certainly wouldn’t miss trivial gossipy factoids about people with one name, it has been my experience that people don’t like other people who they think hate stupid stuff they like.
I already have digital television service, but I watch few programs, and their contents are easily obtained through internet. So were I the master of my own hovel destiny I would likely forgo television services entirely, but it’s important that the world know whether this is out of fickle spite or simple sensibility.

Bob Barker talks about the digital tv he will not be a part of. I’m surprised they expect anyone simple enough to buy that turducken of an explanation to be both old and smart enough to remember who Bob Barker is. Who’s that? Me not remember thing happen last year! Although he appears here on a stereotypical analog television box the likes of which I haven’t seen since The Clapper updated its ads last year, so maybe his fading relevance is supposed to represent that. Sending it to Antarctica was a tad excessive, I think.

I have read that United Statia has been notoriously stubborn, in comparison to other televising nations, regarding the changes and such. I suspect this spot was filmed and intended to be aired while Mr. Barker was still hosting The Price is Right, with the implication “if you’re still watching this TV when the signal is shut off Bob Barker will die inside it.” By now, of course, we know that the plan was to kill him all along.

Really, why bother wheeling out Barker, trying to appeal to the elderly folk who traditionally struggle with tecnhology being forced upon them, if you won’t make new shows they’d want to watch anyway? That is, I assume you aren’t making those, because I have attained less than half the official retirement year requirement and you don’t make new shows I want to watch, and I understand that visibility to advertisers diminishes with age. You should have Bob saying “If you are seeing this, it will mean that I have failed. Have you considered taking up knitting?”