Fasting food

I like a fine meal of quality kibble just like most old dogs, but usually for sustenance, I’m reduced to scraping the mold from bread heels and over-ripe jars of Cheese Whiz. You needn’t worry - I can afford the ‘good’ cat food; it’s just that I tend to be a ‘fast grab n’ go’, garbage grinding, eaten’-freak . Hey at least I’m not finicky and anyway can I help it that I happen to have a seven course appetite with only the attention span of an appetizer ?

Now the real problem is that the foods which are typically easy- prep ‘mono-meals’ for most, prove to be akin to rocket science for me. Though any kid can toast one, my wife refuses to buy ‘frosted’ Pop Tarts now, since the smell of my frequent stinky sugar fires triggers her un-naturally sensitive Pavlovian gag reflex. Curiously that Pavlov dude and I have a lot in common since THAT reaction is almost identical when my wife READS my ‘gags’ too.

Even the ubiquitous blue-collar and blue-box favorite ‘ Mac n’ Cheese’ puzzles me. No matter how hard I try to cook this gunk I always wind up to my elbow macaroni in a pan of slimy flavorless pasta paste. I think if they marketed a ‘head cold’ in a bowl it would certainly look just a delightfully pale yellow and as a bonus, might even a taste a tad more satisfying too!

Hey don’t whine to me about my unhealthy fast-food eating habits, because if I could just grab a ‘salad on a stick’ without all that drippy dressing, I would try to eat that too. At least I’m not sponging off my friends, sucking down protein shakes daily like those pasty-faced, movie teens and their ‘Type O’ positive personalities. Yes only Vamps, plants and Starfish are fans of liquid diets, and anyway is it too much to ask somebody to make some chow to chew that doesn’t take a Masters degree to masticate!

Throw 'Throws' Away!

Who is the bright bulb that came up with the idea that decorative frayed bar doilies should be called ‘throws’? Oh sure these things are marketed as small blankets, but not to brag or anything but I have loin cloths bigger than most of these diaper-sized quilts. How can I be expected endure more frigidity in my life and yet make the correct ‘Sophie’s choice’ between a chilly chest and frozen feet with these 'tinker-towels' in tow?

Except for teenagers, don’t regular folks tend to FOLD larger hunks of fabric rather than THROW them all over the place anyway? Hey I’m not a monster, I understand the necessity of dragging around sheets by your teeth and leaving them in a spitty rumpled heap if you don’t have hands. But for the rest of us, save for the occasional wild HARE burrowing in my 'tum-button' lint, I expect a moderate degree of order for all of life's things that are warm n’ fuzzy.

I continually pinch my proboscis and learn to suck up the effects of ‘chaos theory’ when attempting to butterfly 'onesies' & fold oversized terry robes into crisp-cornered towers of happy linen. Despite advanced age and a graying dome of memory-foam, I HAVE softened my stance a tad on the evils of swiss-cheesed snuggie-smocks and their impossible-to-tame fleecy appendages. I have even given up trying to force fitted sheets to heel demurely in the linen closet without their defiant, wrinkled fuzzy tongue-flap sticking out at me!

But forgive my lack of compassion for the ‘rectanglely-challenged’ squares out there who find difficulty in lining up four corners of their decorative knit-napkins posing as Grandma’s favorite thigh-sized Barcalounger blankie. Do me a favor and suck down an ipecac smoothie and throw up heaps of those ‘eau de tiny-towelettes’ or at least toss ‘em out the window on Flag day. Yes it’s high time that somebody really low like me stood up for snappy stacks of Kong-sized king blankets; to BOTH warm the calloused cockles of my toasty toes and fend off the frappe' frost from my nose!

Trix is for Cereal Killers

Don’t worry, I’m not here to pass judgment or ‘graham-bash’ your precious grainy breakfast favorites. No in fact, the gang around here seems to thrive on their morning ritual of whole wheat leaves, shredded twigs, and some kind of indistinguishable gummy shriveled n’ wrinkly, dehydrated ‘Franken-fruit’. I would probably even learn to love this stuff myself if I wasn’t always the last one to pry a near-empty carton of stale sugar coated corn meal and ‘flakettes’ out of my pantry’s lifeless and ventilated wiry grip.

I believe in ‘choice’, I really do but not if it ends up killing me. How many types of cereal does a big pre-sweetened mouth like mine need open at the same time for one’s life and gut-bump to feel truly fulfilled? Since I’m married and already an old 'frosted flake' by nature I do my best not to cavort with every random honey puff and marshmallow bit that I come across on the floor. But just once I’d really like to know the pleasure of a hairless, plain-Jane & palpable pablum in lieu of my normal morning ‘hodge podge trough’ of multi-sourced and generously gritty grains.

It’s really not a lot to ask to KNOW what goes into the cereal bowl you are eating every morning is it? Now honestly aren’t you a little bit curious if All Bran simply looks like gerbil food, or if it’s Really that tasty? What kind of nefarious contraband and fruitful goo-chews are they really hiding under that iced candy coating on the shredded wheat and extra puffy rice? I don’t know about you but I don’t trust that scoff-law Trix bunny since he is nowhere to be found whenever I have to finish off the dregs of a box of Bran. I'm SURE he’s hiding something and wants to harm me … Yes sometimes raisins can be suspiciously TOO fresh & uncomfortably plump!

Resolv-olution!

Hey what’s the big deal with resolutions and New Year’s Eve? Honestly last time we hung out with EVE didn’t we learn anything after that little ‘apple incident’ back in the days of Eden? Wouldn’t you know it though, like everyone else, just before that big dumb glitter ball drops, I can’t help it – I want to start resolving stuff too!

The problem is that one minute into the New Year and I immediately begin to lose my resolve to actually follow through with those lofty-topped resolutions. I mean it’s tough trying to keep my vows and stop eating my own weight in chicken wings – especially since the farm ‘chicks’ I hang out with are never ‘down’ with that. Oh sure it would be nice to replace our clog-prone commodes with those bowls that will swallow buckets of golf balls; but whose got that much time to pilfer from the driving range?

We don’t need some arbitrary end-of-year date to tell us what to do and how to better change our ways. Anyway, isn’t December already kind of packed full of holiday hoe-downs and expensive excesses without the added burden of tired self-reflection and relentless regret rituals? Maybe my first resolution this year will be to dissolve the resolve of New Years Day and start a ‘Resolv-olution’ of sorts!

Just think how great it would be to face the upcoming year guilt-free while wearing any ol’ quirky lampshade you care to slip on? Even that fat, pink n’ ‘nekkid’ sash-ensconced New Years baby could eat anything and would appreciate the freedom from making hefty life decisions so early in the year. Without lofty goals or high-brow standards to get in the way, I could do darn near anything today and worry about those nagging consequences and restrictive resolutions tomorrow. Or better yet how about next month, or maybe next YEAR during some memorable & special event in time? Hmmm … why not when they drop that shiny New Years ball at Midnight – now that’s a revolutionary resolution solution!

Conephobia

Ever since I donned my first dunce cap in a dark n’ dreary corner at grade school, I have never been a fan of cone shaped objects. Think about it, whenever cones shows up outside a party it almost ALWAYS means trouble - or at least a lot of traffic congestion. Yeah, it may be hip these days to condone garden gnomes and worship Harry Potter’s talking wizard topper, but let me tell you nothing good (especially my grades) has ever come from pointy-head geometry.

Oh sure you can use your Cone-dome to single-out South East Asians who truly love their Mekong rice-paddy hats to keep and look cool all at the same time. Remember though, not so far away pimple-popping Pacific peaks freely spit-up lava in your face, like a bad baby brimming with gut-gas and a craw full of over-ripe pineapple pablum. Yep, the only comely Cone-y that a big APEx like me will pony up to at a table, is one slathered in mustard, onions, and oh so fashionable neon-green relish.

Also, what ‘dim-tin-tin’ dog of a marketing ‘goo-roo’ decided that ice cream is far more fun in a pencil tipped ‘sugar cone’ rather than in the confines of a safe, sane, and POINT-LESS ‘cake cup’? Does this waffling world of ice cream wimps REALLY need two types of edible receptacles; especially when the one with the bayonet for a body makes us dig a hole FIRST before we can sit the drippy mess down?

Double ditto for phony-coney coffee filters – after all these years, other than the Easter Bunny and his marshmallow nougated ilk, what’s the ‘prob’ with packs of flat n’ happy BASKET cases? Remember though, since I’m from the Midwest, you have to slice me a scintilla of slack. Because around these parts, both alley dwelling funnel clouds and funnel cake blowhards like myself have been known to run amok on occasion which often leads to great damage of both the tree-line as well as my waistline!