ratcat pff

I was walking my dog this morning and this horrible mess of a woman came running up with her hand (and stank) stretched out shouting, "Lookit the little ratcat!" Well, we looked at each other and didn't know where to run or hide. I was hoping Elvis would have bitten the c-word (ew, gross, sorry, just kidding, not her actual c-word, but referring to the lady as the c-word...I don't want my dog biting actual c-words, really), but he's too nice. I was like, "Excuse me?" And she was all, "Noooo, I have one too and I call it a ratcat." I thought to myself, "We are talking about your hairdo, right? And I think we should refer to it as a rat's nest. Okay? Have a nice day ma'am."

(How dare shea?)

joy to the dishes in the deep blue sea, joy to you and me

So I have finally made the switch that is all the rage. No. I dropped my landline in the 80's. No. I read the paper online. (Also try Kindle, my mom swears by it.) I have done gone green another way. I now only buy one kind of detergent - DISH - and use it for everything. If it's good enough for your dishes and great on your hands then it's got to be great for your body and good enough for the rest of your household. I just showered in three pair of underwear with my dishes and cleaned my mildewy bathtub all at once. I must say my hair looks amazing, my underwear smell da bomb, and both my bathtub and my dishes are squeaky clean. I really saved time, water and money. Come on by for dinner and we can discuss it over a home cooked meal. *winks*

(Joy. It does a body good.)

Kraut

Because of my other blog (please read it too, link upper right), I looked up the spelling/definition of kraut. I normally use dictionary.com, but the Merriam-Webster's online dictionary said, "Often capitalized usually disparaging." Now I'm not wholeheartedly sure what that exactly means, but found it odd and automatically felt a kinship to it. Is the kraut often disparaged or the capital K when used? Why would anyone disparage either? It's actually sauerkraut, so the k would not be capitalized. So it must be the capital K that is disparaged. Poor K. (Jejeje, por que'.) However, by all means do not go by what I think. We all know that when God was handing out grammar, and I got in line, he goofed and gave me gram-mammary. A saggy old lady boob. That's what I carry round in mine brain to helps me with my readins and ritins, so I use it as sparingly as me can. Therefore, coincidentaldamly, my gram-mammary is often sparaged. In other words, I try not to use it, butt when I do, I use it wisely.

HOLD THE PRESSES. I suddenly get it. Duh. Kraut is a slur and disparaging to Germans. Waaaiiit. Hold on a minute. I'm German. Now I'm PISSED off! Better to be pissed off than pissed on I suppose. Unless of course, you're into that sort of thing.

(I know. So dumb. But I go there sometimes. No really. I go there often. It's fun.)

Bastard = Fish Poo

Must I break it down again? Bass. Turd. ===> Fish Poo!

Markoff and Madoff; Jerkoff and Jackoff

Who do you hate more? Markoff or Madoff? Well I hate both of these assholes. One killed Craigslist. The other killed investor faith, and instilled in me such an intense fear of being ponzied (I may have coined a term here) that I decided not to even invest in Girl Scout cookies this year. And you know those little tramps have tricks up their sleeves too. Be careful and beware. It's only a matter of time before we're reading about a good Girl Scout cookie scandal. No institution is sacred or safe. I've lost faith in humanity. You will too, soon.

(Such a lie re GS cooks. I bought one of every kind. Invested $28 big smackers. I'm pretty popular at the office right now. Comic above is Fredo and Pid'Jin. Funny schtuff!)

Mustard = Take Shit

Again, breakin' it down for ya. Must. Turd. ===> Take Shit!

Does God Exist?

Holy fuck yeah. Does the Pope shit in the woods? Ah, praise to Jeebus, now I'm cornfoosed. Okay. Ask me that question again tomorrow when I really need something and I'm praying to dear God for it. Like lottery numbers or something else equally sacred. Oh Lordy Lord Lord.

(I was reading the Metro on my way to work this morning and this very question was posed to a young artist/musician, Asher Roth, and his lame answer was this: Yes. But it has much more to do with faith and belief than a man in a robe with a beard. It starts with ourselves and the energy we convey. --And I thought to myself. C'mon. I could do much better than that. So I tried here. How'd I do?)

Custard = Fuck Shit

Okay folks, let's break it down. Cuss. Turd. ===> Fuck Shit!

Andy Capable

I've always wondered why nobody was ever pissed about Andy Capp, the licensed Hot Fries spokeswhore. Well let me tell ya, I've been incensed all these years while I been lovin' me some delicious, crunchy, corn-potato-y snackies. (Side note: I was born in 1971 and so were Andy Capp's Hot Fries - We Belong Together.) Anyway, back to the issue at hand. If you know me, you know that I ooze political correctness from every fiber of my being, and I'm utterly offended that his name has yet to be changed to Andy Capable. Wait. I think I may have finally found my calling. My cause. My purpose. Is this law material? Andy is hot as shit, and I don't think he looks like a retard at all. Not one iota. Okay. Maybe a little dumb in the head, yeah, but that doesn't make you retarded. Does it? At least not everyone. Right? Hmm. I wonder who would win in a bowling match? Andy Capp or Wimpy? I 'spose it would depend on their handicaps. Ba-dump-bump. I know. Had to take a cheap shot, even while discussing something serious. What in sam hell is my problem?

(This snack is generally classed as junk food. It also includes the preservative TBHQ which may be harmful in large quantities. Damn it. There I am, fucked again. And do you think it's a coinkydink that the harmful preservative starts with my initials? Tony B Head Quarters, perhaps? This is all starting to freak my shit out.)

this is what it sounds like when pigs fly

Have I missed something? Did The WHO recently get back together and start writing songs about flying pigs? I keep hearing it (or about it) over and over and over again. This is like the comeback of the century, right? Whew. So much hubbub. I need s' wine. A bottle-a red...a bottle-a white...

(For real, someone please make it go away.)

I should have got a Hoveround!

Seriously. I got a telemarketing call on my cell phone this afternoon. It was a prerecorded message that said something like, "do you or someone you know have trouble walking?" Then it continued on into a wheelchair spiel. I thought it was very odd. I actually got scared. I thought, "I'm absolutely not the right audience for this," and my knee-jerk reaction was to hang up. But then almost as quickly as I hung up, I realized I hung up prematurely. Hey. I want a fucking wheelchair, and now I want to see what they had to offer. Don't get me wrong, I don't want to be bound to one, but maybe it would be a nice option to sit and wheel around every now and again. I called the number back and got a busy tone. No call backs. Shit. I lost my chance at my wheelchair deal. And that damn knee-jerk may confine me to wheelchair one day. As usual, I'm fucked all the way around.

(Check out these pics. They're awesome. And this blog. Awesome too.)

Just like Ronnie sang, Bea my little baby...

What kind of person, fan, friend am I for not paying homage to a very dear friend that recently passed? There has been an outpouring of anger for this blatant neglect, and people, I sincerely apologize. Bea, we will miss you! For some reason I'm feeling Eddie Money is perfectly fitting for paying tribute to our fallen angel. You know this whore will be a hot bitch in hell.

Anyway, enjoy here:

I feel a hunger it's a hunger

That tries to keep a man awake at night

Are you the answer I shouldn't wonder

When I can feel you whet my appetite

With all the power to release it

It isn't safe to walk the city streets alone

Anticipation's running through me

Let's find the keys and turn the engine on.

I can feel you breathe

I can feel your heart beat faster.

Take me home tonight

I don't want to let you go till you see the light

Take me home tonight

Listen honeyJust like Ronnie sang

Bea my little baby...

Heil Pitler

Ruth, Velez and I went out for a few cocktails on Saturday night. At one point Ruth lifted her arms to tousle her hair, and Velez thought he noticed a mark of ill repute. Of course, it wouldn't be unheard of and naturally he thought it was a bruise. Ruth was concerned it may have been a spot missed from her first shave since winter. I thought it looked like a mustache. Hitler's. Although, that was a picture of Pringle. I just didn't feel like including a pic of Hitler. I like Jews.

(The fine print says: RELAX. It's just my armpit. And that's all it is folks. Ruth's mark by the way, fortunately turned out to be only a shadow.)

Fromoutta - not fromunda - Fromage

I had the pleasure of spending this past Friday evening with my dear friend Sally - whom I sat next to for three years at Charles Schwab in San Francisco - and her good friend's Linda and Scott - whom I'd like to think of as my friends now. We had dinner at John's in the East Village. The biggest surprise of the evening was the Spedino Mozzarella Romana. (Sally would gladly debate the grammatical gender correctness of the name, but hey, that's how they had it listed on the menu.) It's a baked and deep-fried mozzarella loaf with caper and anchovy sauce. Holy cow! It's from out of this fucking world, and now I crave nothing else. I plan on eating this as often as possible. I also plan on having a heart transplant.

(Honestly, it was the perfect combination of savory and sweet. Like a doughnut with cheese and the perfect sauce. Exquisite photo by Sally. Old elbow in background by Tony.)

P Fucken U

My salad just farted when I opened it. Imagine what's going to happen after I eat it. Seriously. For lunch I went down to our cafeteria - The Lodge - and made a salad from the salad bar. Granted there were some unusual ingredients in there like chili fried tofu and curry cauliflower. Well. I brought it up to my desk, sat down, opened it, and it socked me in the face like a fat fucking fart. Wow. You know you're in trouble if your food farts before you eat it.

(Heh. The things you can find on the ninnernet. I was searching for funny salad farting pics, and this came up in one of my searches. Pretty disturbo.)