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?”

Bright pink and yellow cupcakes lend an air of class and dignity to any place of vote-doing.

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Ehh, I’ll pass. Isn’t this the same way they got Ted Stevens? I know better than that. Nice try, lizard. And by nice I mean horrible. I own a magic dictionary.
The background is to distract you from how boring/lamentable the subject matter is. Ordinarily in a situation like this there would be a land mine about to be stepped on, a rogue incoming boomerang or something of that nature, but times are tough. And the tougher they are for me, the easier they are for loathsome lopes. I will have to settle for a fashion disaster.

But they got some problems there in Alaska, too, you betcha, by gum, by cracky.

From everyone’s favorite canid data depository, hunted by the British and so All American by default, Fox News:

‘Palin, who as governor of Alaska will appoint Stevens’ interim successor if he steps down, initially sidestepped calling for the senator’s resignation, saying, “I’m confident Sen. Stevens will do what’s right for the people of Alaska.”

But later, the McCain camp released a statement from her saying that even if he wins his re-election, he should quit for the good of the state.

“I’m confident someone from the campaign will release a statement saying what I think about this.” even in stories about other people Palin’s a goof. But this kind of thing is stupid anyhow, but not in a way that makes her look smart because she probably doesn’t realize it’s stupid: why is hinting that someone should quit a job different than “calling for” it? People are always calling for resignations, like it’s pizza or a singing telegram, and now they call for someone else to call for resignation. I hate the word “resignation” here, as if it’s a simple choice. Ooh, I just felt like resigning. No! You did something extra bad and additionally won the “possibly get held accountable” lottery and now even the creeps who liked you have to act like they don’t! There should be a different word for when somebody gets tired of a job and when somebody is essentially fired from one. Get to work on that. You may not use my magic dictionary.

With all this emphasis on mavericks I can’t help wishing Obama had selected Megaman X as his running mate. The problem, of course, is that polls in several key swing states suggested discomfort among white voters regarding Megaman’s connections to his brother Malcolm.

A popular question, with all the reason to exist as “boxers or briefs”: what candidate would you rather have “a beer” with? Do I wanna get my inebriation on with my old bowling partner Barry Ob and Joey B or the local pariah, son of the town drunk Johnny Mick and Sally P? I personally would prefer a president who does not drink beer at all. Even if our current master no longer does so, you can bet he’d be worse if he still did.

What I just realized last week, is whoever wins this election –my hesitation to call this for Obama days in advance is consistent with my unwillingness to respond to “see you tomorrow” with anything stronger than “you just might.”– I will likely continue seeing for another four years. Of course I knew that, but I didn’t really know that, no. If I’ve had enough schlub man thin lady romantic reefer revellin’ comedies, I’ve had enough of this lot and comedic impressions of them constantly. Also, now I understand, with that long awaited V for Vendetta sequel, W, that we have the technology to make feature film length impression exhibitions while the oafs are still in office. It’s rather worrying.

Doesn’t he look worried? I bet he’s calling the suicide hotline. Or maybe he’s just calling for my resignation after such a stupid joke. Fortunately, the only way to reach me is by radio and he has repeatedly denied knowing the frequency. In fact, my resignation is requested with great frequency (one of the best), so one more won’t besmirch my bucket. Board the windows and bust out the Cracklin’ Oat Bran (“More please”), bimshwel is here to stay.

On the subject, with all the marijuany media these days, it will not be too long before, rather than beer, we start getting asked who we’d rather share a joint with. And then we would elect the other one. The pot president isn’t getting much done. Unless…

Ah, well you didn’t say that before. Note that I apparently find it more hypothetically plausible that America accepts a toketastic layabout candidate before it allows one from a third party.

And I say to you that they have no idea what a thing they’re missing.

I think I will have something tomorrow. I had better. It is my destiny.

I’m getting real tired of this destiny crap, Jack.

Hey hey. Language. Names.

Persimmon.

It can’t be a good sign for Kellogg that generic cereals have better mascots than them now (though it may be a worse sign that it took this long). Tony the Tiger: He’s grrrrrrating! It also helps to show the cereal, probably. In fact, if the Stop & Shop logo itself weren’t so bland and centered I bet these frosted flakes would taste pretty good.

With that said I still don’t want that bear crawling around in my wheat shreds. And in the event the bear is NOT climbing into/out of the bowl, that pose is even more unsettling.

One assumes Indiana Jones and his powerful glowing Adventure Spoon keep Tony in line. The Adventure Spoon is so exciting you almost forget that you’re eating cereal in your home with a plastic spoon. Almost. Suffolk to say the nation’s top scientists proceed with development of the Amnesia Spoon.

I wish I had an adventure spoon, though. That would easily make my life twice as interesting. I mean, acquiring it was so treacherous Indy had to grab it from a distance with his prehensile whip, which I’m not even sure is possible within jurisdiction of the laws of physics, likely from the psychokinetic clutches of the fearsome

Fruit Brute. But no one ever packs adventure spoons with Corn Flakes.

On the cereal subject, it occurred to me recently that “please drink responsibly” is aimed at the very same people who fifteen years earlier ate Count Chocula as part of a complete breakfast. They’ve been intentionally bred to ignore that sort of disclaimer. Yip. Oh, excuse me, I forgot to properly transition into serious mode. In the future I will indicate such a change with this picture of a lode runner level shaped like a uterus. And I put that link there so you see that it’s level 104 and think I’m patient enough to beat 103 levels of Lode Runner and sophisticated enough to do it in some weird late 80s computer version rather than just save that picture off of someone else’s website.

Fake butter on movie theater popcorn: have you tasted this? Well you probably will because it’s just that horrible that it will never go away. It wouldn’t have come into use at all if some twipe in a focus group didn’t say in sentence fragments which will appear between quotation marks in marketing for it “Can’t taste the difference! Same great taste!” I’m not talking about margarine or the poisonous diacetyl in the microwave rubbish. Whatever this is, it’s worse than that, except that I don’t necessarily know the smell of it can kill me.

Anytime something cheaper and less good gets invented it tries to take over. Like when all the lime candy started turning into “apple.” Or whatever happened that allowed the largest pizza chain in the world to have originated in Kansas and the second largest Michigan. For some reason, you’re not allowed to expand unless you make tasteless slab cheese orange sauce cardboard crust ellipses of dread. I can’t stand it. The previous invention of microwaving technology left the theaters safe, and for all I know gave them yet another excuse to raise their prices once the ability to pop corn properly in a domestic environment had been bred out of common folk.

And this time the theaterbies thought
“hey, we can cut corners here, at the butter churn, too, and people will stay pay as much as we say for it, probably.” Of course this was supplemented by a “Bow-Tie-Cinema”-produced ad for their kernels of punishment prior to the actual movie. It sheweth old-timey footage of popcorn plopping up in a pot and intermittently flashes black screens with FRESH! and REAL! printed on them. These people think that will be enough to convince me. I was not convinced!

Microwave popcorn, I don’t like it, I won’t pay for it, and I won’t feel inclined to eat it, but if I mistakingly eat a piece, I can chew and swallow it. THIS I had to force down with water. I couldn’t even taste the corn itself, just its otherworldly coating, like I’d drank a cup, or rather a vial of it. I don’t remember the flavor, just thinking at the time that it tasted really orange. Not like the fruit, just the color. It tasted like something orange that should not be orange. Like if a dorito was made entirely out of its preservation dust but was also wet. I’ve never tasted styrofoam, but I imagine if I had and it was orange and a liquid it would have the same effect when poured over once palatable snack products.

I had to blow my nose at several points during the production I was screening, and I was suddenly very repulsed by the smell of the restroom soap on my fingers, and for some reason it reminded me of the tiny bit of turned popcorn gel I had just ingested and the burning, ringing sensation it left within my nasal passages. Perhaps they come from the same source. They definitely both emerged via the same pump-action goop distribution method. It actually made the sound “goop” when it was dispensed. That is one popcorn related omonaontonpaiea I could do without. I thought right then and there how glad I was that the other person was getting popcorn and I wasn’t, but a couple minutes later I had forgotten and was both surprised and grateful when without being prompted at all he offered me a chance to partake of his mysterious possession (this was the same person I shared that dangerous pizza with two weeks later. He may be trying to destroy me). I should have known better when he said “I’m probably not going to finish this.” And I ate one (1) popped corn unit, and for one brief shining moment I felt less than dead. What was it? My recent re-examination of the picture above, which I only took because I thought it a bit odd to bring popcorn into a restroom, is the first opportunity I’ve had to really look at it, and aside from the fact that it appears to be glowing I can’t make out any unusual poperties.

This was like something they’d give to the army. This was like something invented by dow chemical in the 1950s that no one on the consumer end knows causes cancer yet. This was like a failed 80s cost-reducing experiment I’d have to read about on the internet because it happened so long ago and was abolished so quickly that most people old enough to know about it have forgotten. This was like something people would film themselves dropping Mentos into. Like an hour later, still preoccupied with the popcorn I thought to myself that it could not possibly have been as bad as I imagined it was, and also that I really did want some popcorn, and took two pieces instead of one. I actually gagged. The only time I usually gag is when I try to eat something my mother likes. I shouldn’t gag on snacks. The whole point of snacks is that they taste so good I’d rather eat them than nutritious vegetarian brodinger. Did somebody replace the butter with yellow triaminic? That’s almost orange, I suppose.

Hey, if I see this guy eating cold pork chops after passing out drunk and waking up in his personal bowling alley and I become envious, that’s not good.

I don’t see why parents don’t just grind up some Centrum Silver over a week-old cake to feed their incorrigible seedlings. That’s what this is; stale dessert with slaughterbreed livestock growth hormones injected in it. At least there’s a chance of finding an actual organic ingredient in a cake. I know regular cereal is kind of bland; I mean, it’s no chocolate crunchy tube for milk-sippin’ fun, but on the plus side it’s not totally disgusting. When’s the last time “FREE CLOCK” got a kid to buy anything? Oooh, but it’s a pirate clock!

Could you have the elephant turn just a couple more degrees to the right, please? Just with the name and all, you know. This doesn’t make me think of coffee beans, this makes me hope the elephant hasn’t been eating beans.
. . . . . . As long as this is going to be one of those entries,

I know you’re a melt risk, frosty, but without any self generated body-heat a pair of pants won’t kill you. You’re a snowman, after all, and men wear pants. Or trousers, I suppose, that being what someone who wears a top hat would say.

Jerry’s a notorious nudist, and not even coming at me down a hill, and couldn’t get away with that sort of thing. Although you could reasonably suggest Jerry is merely taking a fashion cue from his frequent accomplice, grey diaper mouse, considering that Jerry is making no effort to escape from Tom and seems quite gleeful at the thought of things to come, the plot is likely more sinister. Might there be brown gold in Tom’s future? And I’ve gone too far. Yet the going goes on.

This stupid gargoyle with strap-on wings can vomit fire and still wasn’t mighty enough to fight off the forces of front-cover coccyxality concealment while Nintendo of America was on the case.

Not that this solves… alright, you know, you’re really not helping, Mr. Arremer. If it was up to me you’d be wearing a barrel. Gwah, I can’t believe the game with the glistening, snarling, squatting naked body-builder unaffiliated with the WWF on the box wasn’t a big seller.

But as I was saying, sometimes a John Ashcroft job isn’t enough. It is the subject’s behaviour which must be modified. Either that or we get Garry Shandling a narrower chair.

And this! I find this video highly alarming. For the sake of simple decorum my animated gif takes an off-angle (a more developed decorum would dictate that I not use animated gifs at all), but I think you can see what’s going on. The man is a living geometry problem.

I don’t even want “G. Love” in a state near me.

…I think I need another week.

Isn’t it embarrassing enough going to Wal Mart to buy beans? I imagine a society in which beans may not legally be sold to children, and the only way to purchase them at most stores is to tell an attendant to get them for you. “Pardon me, my good cashiersman, but I require Beanee Weenee posthaste. And how! Do not tarry in rendering the product unto me! I have seen you tarry on past occasions and today that simply will not do.”

Wouldn’t it make more sense for a fish to wear a helmet over its ah snout than the top of its head, if a fish were to wear a helmet at all? In the event of a loss of control fish don’t really fall, they just keep going forward. Stupid fish. This fish, by the name of “Finn,” has also committed other questionable acts.
I can’t even work my way far down this image enough to wonder how the fish is operating that tiny bicycle or what the wheels are turning against to generate propulsion.

In the cold section at a Walgreens, or a CVS, or some other such place where a reasonable person should not be buying groceries:

Why bother freezing it? That stuff is 100% preservative. It makes packaged faddulous diet nonsense look palatable by comparison.
My problem with lunchables isn’t that they’re “lazy;” they aren’t any less so than Pop Tarts and bagels and people act satisfied with that junk all the time. Which actually is my problem, just not today. My current problems with lunchables are that they have tiny portions and must surely be really gross. I brought lunches to schools from my home every day applicable because I hated the small, gross things the school had and also the very idea that I might pay money for them. Hours in advance (Some people paid for whole weeks at once, which to me seemed and seems outright foolish even if you usually like that sort of thing). As long as a monetary transaction was taking place, I must have reasoned, I should get a pizza. A real pizza, I mean. Why call that rubbish “pizza” when it so obviously isn’t and dumb kids are buying your bad lunches anyway? Have some dignity. No, not the curious orange lump that comes with the ‘B’ lunch.

There has been much popular lore regarding the criminally awful food like things presented in schools, yet people still eat them. To do so is a skill I have always lacked. I’m probably luckier than I realize.

But lunchables! If my mother, a person fairly well acquainted with me and who wasn’t preparing mealoids for 500 other brats

let me get stuck with the same sort of thing as the cafetorium produced except colder (or sausage) I’d… I’d… just not eat it. And then some yak at the school would force one of its lunches on me, and then I wouldn’t eat that, like I said I wouldn’t, and then someone would call my house later saying we owed them two dollars, and I would be shamed for life. That would be dreadful.

I’m sick of your paper! the world is not paper with words written on it! file this! copy this! print this! read this! THE WORLD WILL CONTINUE WITHOUT YOUR PAPER. YOUR PAPER IS AN ARBITRARY CONSTRUCTION WITH NO UNIVERSAL SIGNIFICANCE. YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO DENY ME LIFE BECAUSE I DISREGARD YOUR STUPID PAPER!

I was looking for something I typed a few months ago about meat, and I found that, from early 2005 or thereabouts, and I can’t remember what it means.

That is totally the wrong attitude to have. I started eating occasional hamburgers four months ago, and I quickly remembered why I stopped. Well actually, the thing I’m complaining about is the meat content; I originally stopped because I vomitted on the floor beside the door,* and I recall that being related to my not trusting the white american cheese slices my home food-preparer used, to the extent that it irritated my vomit mechanisms, but I was too embarrassed to say anything about it, and eventually I forgot and just thought I hated hamburgers in general.

*this was before the house was remodeled; it’s possible the stain was unremovable and that’s why we blocked the way with electronic junk and used the kitchen door for ever after that.

If we didn’t, surely the people who bought the house have by now.

But these days, I must report that on the whole, the beef to bread ratio I encounter in hamburging foods is intolerable. I think during the 1990s there was a lot of bickering and name calling over which establishment used the most meat, and I missed the transition entirely. And a lot of these places will put extra layers of their oversized beef layeroids in there, so not only can I not take a proper bite from it, what I do get just tastes like a big glob of death. I might as well eat it with a fork. In some instances I might as well eat the fork. Back when I was afraid of noodles, whenever we had hamburger helper I would just have the meat in sandwich form, and that worked, because of the magic flavor dust helping the hamburger. Cheese is nice and all, when it’s not white and american, but it’s no dust. Also, the filling wasn’t all stuck together, so there’s less meat density. Any excess that shouldn’t be in there will fall out through the natural forces of the world. At some point before I die I would like to eat a manwich.

They don’t look like that. Come on, lettuce and wonder bread? You can’t trust wikipedia.

Verily, there’s no quality like grip quality. I can’t imagine why anybody would ridicule anyone involved with this.

pog knows we don’t want grips frowning on us. One thing that’s never changed since I’ve been on the internet: “lazy” is the ultimate comic strip promotion tool. I’m impressed the writer spelled “too” properly.

If your children are so fussy that they demand meat shaped like characters which remotely resemble vegetables, perhaps you should try feeding them actual vegetables.

Likewise, if they insist on this sort of thing, yet one more reason to boycott Nestlé, I recommend serving them actual swamp.

Getting back to the other box, though, which on any other day would be the most frightful picture I displayed, I never understood how it was ever considered an appealing notion to eat small versions of fictional characters, vegetable shaped or otherwise. I once had a big cookie shaped like the head of The Monster, Akayay Frankenstein and… it was a good cookie, but I felt bad about eating the poor bloke’s head. It didn’t help that it appeared to be a sort of sad and confused Frankenstein. And why not? His head, which I have to assume has already seen its share of trauma, having been assembled from bits of other heads and forced to accept a completely different brain than it’s used to, has now been severed, flattened, shrunken and coated in sugar. Poor Frankenstein. And then there was the time Burger King inexplicably made its chicken tenders™ be shaped like the Rugrats cartoon characters (which I gathered from circumstantial promotional evidence and not the shapes themselves). At least vegetables are other types of food. Rugrats are neither rug nor rat, and half as appetizing as neither. Never you mind that I was embarrassed to suddenly get these things, they were so frightful that I had to eat them without looking at them or placing a big enough grasp on them that my fingers became aware of the shapes, and that was quite depressing, if I recall with accuracy.

And maybe you think “good, serves you right, cowardly carnivore. If you fill your fat, jiggling abdominal sack with the tortured, mutilated product of wasted, captive lives you deserve to be miserable.” So what, then, excuses

?
I think someone in my house bought these once, –I don’t know, maybe the store was out of every other frozen potatish product–

which reminds me, I want to dump this whole four pound bag’s contents on to a tray, heat it up and then see how long it takes me alone to eat that all. I may eat nothing else nor pursue other eat-unrelated activities prior to finishing. If I don’t die in the process I’ll definitely jump or intentionally fall out of a window afterwards, assuming I can lift myself up and through one. I took this picture so I could tell you that.

But the SMILES, thankfully, they were consumed before I ever saw them, but, as often happens, one secretly escaped from the bag en-route to the oven and I saw it later and nearly screamed.

Imagine if the mask from Super Mario Brothers 2* that chases the people who steal its key was waiting for you in your freezer, except you hadn’t stolen a key and had no reason to be expecting it. Also, instead of sinister dents where its eyes should be there were just empty round voids with nothing behind them. Like somebody hole-punched right through their nigh 2 dimensional heads. And then I think about there being some vat in Idaho filled entirely with little potato flavored eyes and ewwwwwwwwn. These things have been around for a few years, which alas means some people somewhere are buying them on a fairly regular basis. Well, stop it!

KFC Famous Bowls are like Hungry Man dinners without the organizational skills

…I typed out of apparent whimsy a few weeks ago. Yesterday, I discovered that not only did I lump all parts of a Hungry Man’s smorgasbord together into one section, I also prepared it beside chicken meat-like-products. Not pictured: the leftover Wendy’s salt packlet I emptied in the vicinity of food-stuffs that were already 80% sodium. There’s probably more nutrition in the oven mitten. How have I survived this long?

And before you go home tonight from the grocery store trip reading this has no doubt inspired thinking that I, Quilfip Unidar Earvanbib Glinkob II can only eat two Jose Ole (great food with an accent!) brand taquitos, I should inform you that they come 15 to a box and of the items you see before you those are the only ones my sister also will eat so I hate to hog them. I can’t imagine what she finds off-putting about the rest of it.

This reminds me:
For years, in various supermarkets I’ve seen Hungry Man frozen bad dinners and Hungry Jack frozen bad breakfasts.I wondered quasi-recently, what precisely is the difference between Hungry Man and Hungry Jack? At this time I have but a theory.
Jack gets so hungry at night that he forgets his own name. He is now just a man. A hungry man. Jack has become a meat-eating beast with no identity. What does he hunger for? I don’t know what it is, but it’s inside a thin cardboard box and can stay there for years without spoiling. Jack’s affliction doesn’t… afflict me; I only eat good frozen rubbish.

I always make sure in advance that it’s at least approachable.