Halloween

Yep it's today.  Today a bunch of kids I don't know, will come to my door and beg for sugary treats, then leave without saying thank you. 

I must be getting old.  Of the hundreds of kids that came to the house last year I remember exactly one costume.  It was awesome, this little girl had on a huge clear plastic garbage bag stuffed with small multicolored balloons, her head poked out the top and had a big tin-foil dime on top of it.  Best gumball machine I've ever seen.  Kudos to you, random girl with an imagination!

Other kudos have historically gone to my cousin, whose Halloween ideas hail from a lifetime of academic influence and from being generally warped. 

Examples:  If I dress all in camouflage, face, hands... everything, then wear a spoon on a string around my neck, what am I?  A spoon.  If I wear a sandwich sign with the words "End It" on one side, and "You Missed, You Bastard!" on the other, what I am I?  A suicidal pedestrian.  If I wear all black with a dotted yellow line going up the middle of me, what am I?  A road.  The list goes on and on. 

In my (fairly extensive) experience, adult Halloween costumes are almost always better than kids costumes.  It's a great opportunity/excuse for grown women to wear skimpy clothes and go as sexy this or naughty that, and for grown men to dress like grown women, or Vikings, or grown Viking women.

We're a strangely repressed culture, aren't we?     

-TSN

Sniper

I saw him clearly in my scope
and he saw me in his
our fingers light on triggers bare
we watched each other watching there
and neither took a breath

He looked a lot like I would look
If I were in his skin
no hair disturbed by passing breeze
we knew that just the slightest squeeze
would mean the others death

Somewhere back behind his eyes
were faces of his past
they peered at me and understood
we'd all be different if we could
but couldn't then forbid

We had that single moment
to share and understand
his face conflicted; mine was too
we each knew what we had to do
and that is what we did

-TSN

Live Nudes

Even if there were pictures in this blog entry, the title would still be a lie.

It's just that there's something wrong with a sign that says "Live Nudes".  It begs the question:  What else would they be?  Dead Nudes?  That's not cool. 

And what about this:  Nude isn't a noun, it's an adjective... right?  That makes it hard to pluralize!  We're not supposed to go 'round pluralizing adjectives and whatnot!  What next, possessive future-tense proper nouns?  I can't even think of an example of what that would look like. 

Nude means the same as naked, so it could read "Live Nakeds" just as easily, which actually seems like it makes a little more sense for some reason... but I understand how expensive neon signs are so I get why seedy un-incorporated club owners go with the shorter version.    
 
If people are clothed you don't call them "clotheds", or at least I don't.  Are dressed people "dresseds"?  Nah, that would be dumb.  Garmenteds?  No.  Covered-ups?  "Live Covered-ups"?  Definitely not. 

It should read "Live Nude People", or just "Nude People" with the given assumption that they are alive.  If you put a comma in there it reads "Live, Nude People!" (vs "Die, Nude People!"), which is quite a bit different. 

If I were to wear a sandwich-sign in downtown anywhere that read "Die, Nude People!" on it, I wouldn't make many friends.

Pertinent question:  Are animals nude?  If you shave a monkey is he more nude than he was before?  I don't get more nude just by shaving... shaved or unshaven I'd still be equally nude, so why should it be any different for a monkey? 

If I was a pet store owner, I would totally put a neon "Live Nudes" sign out front. 

TSN

Fun With Lots of Bent Lines

Here's an optical illusion I drew accidentally while playing around in MS Paint:

It's approaching... or it's skeeving away, I'm not sure which.  Either way, I can work miracles in Paint, apparantly. 

I should really learn a more versatile imaging doctoring software... actually there's an in-the-box copy of photoshop right on my desk that I never installed, I should totally install that.  Then there's no end to the compromising situations I can put people in!  HAAAAA! 


But seriously.  Ha.  More to follow on that, eventually. 

Did you hear about the guy from **insert town name here** who shaved off his mustache, then went home and didn't recognize his family? 

TSN

Subtitles

I watched a movie on Netflix instant que (which I get my moneys worth out of, believe you me) about a fighter who aspired to be world champ.  It was a boxing movie, in Korean, so I had to read the subtitles and whatnot.  Pretty good movie, I can't lie.

It made me think about subtitled movies.  I think there are a lot of folks who don't watch movies because they have subtitles, and I'm here to tell you there are some damn good movies out there NOT in the English language.  Jet Li if you're reading this, TESTIFY brother! 

Seriously though, if you haven't seen "The Bodyguard 2", and you appreciate a good ridiculous slapstick action comedy, you're missing out.  If you like a good fight movie and haven't seen a Tony Jaa movie, you're missing out.  If you like crazy movies in general and haven't watched a Stephen Chow movie yet, you're missing out!  Check out "Shaolin Soccer". 

When I watched the last Lord of the Rings movie I was in Korea.  It was subtitled twice and was still awesome.  I slept on a random floor that night and wasn't even upset about it...

Our culture isn't the only culture.  Much less are we the only ones who enjoy the myriad of emotions that make us human, or describe stories we've encountered in our cultural history.  Embrace the movies of other cultures even if they're not your own and I think you'll be pleasantly surprised.  I know you will.

TSN

Problems - Part 2

If you didn't read the last one now would be a good time or this won't make any sense.  It probably won't make any sense anyway.  Reglardless, here is the second segment of the story, submitted by me.  Reading this it occurs to me that I might be a nut-bar.

Here it is. 

"I realized that as bad as I had smelled before, I hadn't even come close to smelling as bad as the people getting off the boats in Boston Harbor.  It was really, really bad.  The pollution wafting from those cabins was some of the most eye-wateringly pungent aroma that had ever assailed my nasal cavity, and that's saying a lot as I was watching from a distance through binoculars.  As I reeled and gagged and tried not to let anyone notice my discomfort, an idea dawned on me.  I decided to hit the time machine again, but this time opted not to travel via horseback, since I was limping and bowlegged enough from the beating I had undergone already.  Luckily my clever uncle had included a nifty device that synced my DNA up with a biological algorithm in the inner workings of the time machine's CPU and allowed me to use it remotely.  He had also added a security device to the protocols:  In order to access the mainframe, the operator had to be reminiscing fondly about watching "Back to the Future" or the machine wouldn't work, it would just repeatedly print out crock-pot recipes.  This prevented non-time travel lovers from mucking around in the past and ruining it for everybody.  

After one or two failures which pleasantly enough resulted in my learning a nice stewed dumpling recipe, I conjured up my most powerful Michael J. Fox-in-a-life-preserver memory, accessed the machine and was whisked to Philly, circa 1888.  It was here and now, I remembered from my 7th grade U.S. History class, that an unknown inventor had first offered up the idea for deodorant.  Little had I known at the time of the class that I myself would later, in the past, be that unknown contributor to the invention.  After looking around for some time for a place in which to plug my crock-pot and not finding one, I settled for some beef jerky and set about my task.  I tell you, gas station beef jerky of 2010 is no match for real smokehouse beef jerky purchased from a vendor cart in 1888.  So as not to tear the fabric of space-time I casually dropped some hints with some local scientific communities (while remaining anonymous, lest the gravitational disturbances induced by a continuum-freakout drag the entire dimension into a realm of pure psychedelic wormhole tomfoolery), and snuck ever so nonchalantly back to the time machine.  Here I reflected on my contributions to olfactory desensitization and the fact that thanks to me, social acceptability and general hygiene would form a sort of chemical dependence for at least another hundred and twenty years.  I didn't mind, overmuch, since my next stop was..."

I sure do enjoy a good comma splice!  See how I used the time machine remotely there?  I must have realized the mistake the last guy made of using it as a teleporter and tried to compensate.  Worked out nicely I think.        

I know, it's ridiculous... but that's how I like it.

TSN

We Have A Serious Problem - Part 1

Last fall I took an online class in creative problem solving.  My online group assignment was for one person to start a story with the line "After my uncle invented a time machine..." and write two paragraphs of a story.  Then the next person would pick up the story from there and so on. 

I was really bummed out by the performance of my peers, to say the least.  The next paragraph was copied and pasted directly from the forum.  Bear in mind that this is a college course.  It begins: 

"After my uncle had invented a time machine, I had decided to explore it to see where it could take me? What a chore to decide where to go and explore first. To the future or the past?  Do I want to see history or be the first to see some amazing thing in the future?  I decided I wanted to go back to the 1700’s and see what everyone went through when coming to America for the first time. I set the dial for my destination and off I went. “To be a pioneer and get the chance to explore uncharted territory would be amazing,” I thought to myself. When I arrived in Philadelphia it was July 2, 1776 and those involved in writing the Declaration of Independence was putting the final touches on it. That same day British troops arrived in America and it was all quite scary. However to see the Declaration of Independence read out loud for the first time on July 8, 1776 was a great thing to see."

Aside from the sentence structure, punctuation, tense, subject-verb disagreements etc. etc. etc... there are a few things things I just can't get around.  First, how can go back in time and discover new territory?  If you're from the future all you can do is go back and steal credit from whoever did it before.  Second, it's a time machine, not a teleporter!  If you weren't in Philadelphia already, you're not going to arrive there in a time machine.  But I split hairs.  Let's see what happens next...

"I then decided to go to Boston to see what all happens there. “ Wow off to see the ships coming to America for the first time, an unknown place for everyone who arrives,” I thought to myself as I hoped on a horse cart heading that way. Traveling by horse is not its all cracked up to be. It took days to get to Boston and boy did I smell bad! Once I was able to get all cleaned up I went to the harbor. There was many people that arrived on one boat. They lived for months on a boat with all these other people just to go to a new place for a new start. How scary yet exciting. Just then I realized something…"

I like the premise, but is this college level grammar?  COME ON!  Alright.  Red pen - deactivate!  Maybe I should join the grammar police.  Tomorrow I'll post the next two paragraphs, which consequently were submitted by me.  I promise not to edit them, so if I made errors I'll deserve any criticism I get! 

TSN

Thirty-something posts and I'm still a NOOB at this

Apparently there has been some difficulty leaving comments on this blog.  The interface kept looping people around endlessly through sign-in pages, so I've made some changes to the settings. 

So that's that, hopefully it works now.  Naturally I won't know until someone tries it.  Actually, if someone tries it and it doesn't work, I still won't know.  Or if someone tries it and it works and they tell me, but don't tell me if they'd tried before and had it not work, I wouldn't know then either.  Damn, what a predicament! 

In unrelated news, here's a thing that I thought of that I hope nobody ever does to me: 

Step 1:  Replace the contents of a bottle of hand-sanitizer with contents of the left half of an epoxy syringe.  Step 2:  Replace the contents of the bottle of soap in the bathroom with the contents of the right half.
Step 3:  Wait ever so patiently. 

Here's what could happen:  Victim goes for hand sanitizer after sneezing, coughing, etc.  Goo that comes out is weird and sticky, so he heads for the bathroom to wash his hands.  He applies water, but that doesn't seem to help.  He applies soap and rubs vigorously.  This action completes the epoxy mixture which only gets thicker and thicker and more and more difficult to wash off. 

Hahaaaa.... Take that, random person! 

Here's what would actually happen:  I'd get punched in the face.  D'oh. 

TSN

Strut Yer Butt, Grover

I saw a bird walking around the other day and I thought "What a waste."  Then I concluded that birds walk funny, with their heads bobbing forward and back all the time with every step.  Not all birds, probably, but this one was certainly doing it. 

It was probably a Pterodactyl, or something like that... Give me a break I'm no member in high standing (or any standing) of the Autobahn Society.  Although I do enjoy being passed at 114 miles per hour by little old ladies who give me the stink-eye as they blow by for being such a road-slug.

Holy McCrappenstein, I spelled Pterodactyl right on the first try, I'm giving myself a gold star for that one.  I'll put it on the fridge. 

Anyway that bird strut got me wondering.  Every time he takes a step does the world zoom in and then zoom back out, and if so, does he hear the Grover voice in his head saying "Near.... far!  Near... far!"? Because that's what I hear whenever I walk like that. 

Which is often. 

TSN

P.S.  Spell-check has nothing whatsoever to suggest as a replacement word for "McCrappenstein".  It didn't even try.

A Story With No Beginning And No End

"Would you like to order desert?" asked the man in the tweed jacket.  My keen awareness of my surroundings kicked in immediately:  This question seemed out of place... possibly because I was half asleep on a midnight bus to Utah. 

"No..." I said hesitantly, confident that my leg was being pulled harder than the groin muscle of an elderly, out-of-practice dwarven kick-boxer. 

After a moment of silence, I soon realized that during my in-the-moment, lengthy comparison between my condition as a potential con-mark and the difficulties of being a small martial arts professional, I had taken so long to answer that the man in the tweed jacket had begun to suspect Forrest Gump could easily best me in a battle of wits, if not comma-spliced, run-on sentences.   

It seemed like a good time to allow his train of thought to build up steam, so I disregarded the nagging feeling that modern trains no longer run on steam and commenced to grinning like I'd just watched a donkey buck a high school bully through a stained-glass portrait of our lady of blessed irony.  

He looked at me.

"I'm Ed." he said.

"Neat."  I said.

And that's it.  Nothing else happened.

TSN

 

A Beard Does Not a Survivor Make

** The scene:  A lonely desert island.  It's the same sort of 10' x 10' tiny desert island with a single scraggly palm tree that you'd see in a Far Side cartoon.  On it sits a single man.  We know that he is single because his Facebook status lists him as such.  He has long flowing hair and a huge unkempt beard.  
- Discuss.

At first glance it would seem as though he'd been there a while, but his circumstances and the apparently scarce nature of his survival conditions coupled with the inkling that there's no way he'd have been able to survive on that island sustained by only that single palm tree for long enough to facilitate such a respectable amount of beard growth begs a few questions: 

Was he already sporting the hipster look already when he landed?
How many coconuts are currently available on the tree? 
How many were there? 
If he's been surviving on coconuts alone, how did he crack them? 
Does he posses superhuman strength or telekinetic abilities? 
Is there edible aquatic life in the surrounding waters? 
Can he communicate with said aquatic life?
Is he wearing glasses? (I ask because Gary Larson would have undoubtedly drawn him wearing glasses, so that's how I imagine him)
If so, is his prescription such that he might use the lenses to focus a beam and burn coconuts open? 
Does he wish he had glasses?
Is he bummed that he chose contacts, or that he had corrective laser surgery? 
How far away is he from the next nearest island/landmass?
Does Dominoes deliver to this particular island?
Are there factors unbeknownst to us that would contribute to his beard and hair growing faster than usual? 
Has he shaved since he got to the island?
Did he by chance wash up with a boatload of non-perishable provisions which have just now run out?
Is there a nest in the palm tree from which he can harvest a daily egg?
Does he have an artificial limb that includes a Swiss Army Survival Kit complete with salt water purification tablets and a fishing pole? 
Why doesn't said limb also contain a Coast Guard beacon system of some sort?

The existence of the previous questions leads me to believe that it is impossible to ascertain any usable information about the bearded man on the island without first being provided further information.  In a nutshell:  "I don't know, it depends."

TSN

Technology

I could almost buy a new laptop for the amount of stupid money I just spent on parts for my old one. 

Could I have found them cheaper?  Yes. 
Do I know where?  No. 
Do I want someone to tell me, now that I've already bought the parts?  Definitely not. 
Why not?  Because cheese cubes are hard to stack on a moving armadillo, now quit asking me questions. 

I'll remain blissfully ignorant if you don't mind, most of the parts already came in the mail. 

Of course, the part still floating somewhere over the mid-Atlantic is the one that has to go in first.  By the time it arrives, I'll have completely forgotten how to reassemble the thing, which is at this moment in a thousand pieces on the shelf next to me. 

Here's a picture: 

Panel "a" goes into slot "28.10 sub-component 9d-33".  Skip.
Wire "842" plugs into jack "half broken and easily missed".  Skip.

It may never work again, but if it does, at least there won't be as many screws holding it together.

My creed:  If it ain't broke; fix it 'till it is. 







TSN

A True Story of Tragedy and Suspense

I was floating around in a pool one time, by myself.  I wasn't dead or anything, just sort of floating around like the last Crunchberry in a bowl of milk, slowly getting a horrible sunburn.  It was very, very quiet.  I could hear the tiniest ripples striking the walls of the pool. 

It was scorching hot in the sun, so I'd floated into a little shady spot where I happened to spot a fly, stuck on its back in the water and struggling to get out.  I was just inches away. 

Not wanting him to suffer, I gave him a bit of a nudge towards the wall.  I watched him climb up, over the lip of the pool and onto the pavement. 

He slowly and carefully dried his legs and wings, got them un-stuck and got his bearings.  He shook his head, cleaned off his eyes, turned around... and walked straight back into the water.  Bloop!

I was like... "Dammit..."

So I gave him a bit of a nudge toward the wall.  He got a purchase on it, climbed out, over the lip, dried himself off... legs, wings, eyes.  It all took quite a long time.  Still too soggy to fly, apparently, he started walking along the pavement.  I floated soundlessly in the pool next to him, mesmerized by the spectacle of it, my face still just a few inches away watching his little life unfold before me. 

I saved his life twice.  By that time I felt that I had a vested interest in the affairs of this particular fly.  He and I had been through so much together!  I wonder if he was grateful? 

He never said anything.  Just walked down, turned the corner and BAM!  Got nailed by a spider.  It scared the ever-loving crap out of me.  The spider jumped him from just out of the corner of my vision, inches in front of my face; wrapped him up and hauled him off to parts unknown.

I am still emotionally scarred from that experience.  That poor unlucky bastard.

TSN

The Economy

Can you exist without corporations and government support?  I can't.  I need to buy groceries from the store, which gets loans from the banks, which borrows from the federal reserve, the chair-people of which somehow find the time to go on hunting expeditions to shoot wildlife, as if they couldn't afford groceries. 

I need the truckers who live on the road to bring ice cream to my local distributors.  I could make my own ice cream I suppose, but where would I get my sugar?  From bees?  I need the fishermen who pull in the nets, and the entire infrastructure that gets those fish into my freezer. 

If everyone in this town suddenly had to go out and hunt/gather  their own food the wildlife around here would be gone in a month.  We realize that I think, as a people.   

The whole federal reserve thing, it's a system that sort of works for now... we use it, it works to keep the truckers and fishermen in beer money.  If it stops working, wouldn't you think that the intelligent people who exist in the middle echelons of society, the people who actually solve the problems and do the work that keeps things happening, wouldn't they know enough to stay the course and eventually find a solution to the problem? 

Or are we really that excitable and hopeless a race of people that we'll riot at the first sign of trouble and plunge the entire system into oblivion?   

I want to get out from under that big thumb.  I don't want to depend on the system.  I want to be free!

TSN

PBJ - Part 2

Amendment to step 1 from the previous post: --Acquire (through legal means) and physically posses either a knife designed for spreading or a tea/table spoon.  They are to be of standard restaurant proportions with only minor variances in size (up to +/-10% in each dimension). 

Continuing:  Until further notice, all instructions that follow are to be carried out by the designated sandwich maker.

4:  Align the two slices of bread such that the side forming the 2 dimensional plane described in step 2 is facing opposite the center of the surface towards which gravity would pull the bread if dropped.  While maintaining its gravitational alignment, place the bread upon a clean counter top or tabletop (referred to henceforth as "the work surface").  Let both slices remain within comfortable reach. 

5:  Manipulate the seal on the container(s) of jelly such that the contents are accessible.  Repeat the previous sentence, substituting the words "peanut butter" for the word "jelly".

6:  Designate one of the slices of bread as the "jelly slice", and the other as the "peanut butter slice". 

7:  Wield the utensil acquired in step 1 with the dominant hand.  Carefully plunge the non-handle end into the jelly and retract it in such a way that the following measurement (in ounces) becomes true: 

         0  <  Amount of jelly on the surface of the utensil  <  4

8:  Transfer the jelly from the utensil to the upward-most surface (as defined by the surface furthest away from the work surface upon which it rests) of the "jelly slice", and spread it amongst the confines of the outermost limits of the surface plane for a period of time no greater than 8 seconds.   

9:  Repeat steps 6 and 7 until the amount of jelly on the bread covers an area no less than 85% and no greater than 100% of its surface, without exceeding a depth of 1/4" at any point. 

10:  Perform steps 7 - 9 again, substituting the words "peanut butter" with each occurrence of the word "jelly".  In the event that the chunkiness of the peanut butter is such that maintaining a uniform depth of less than 1/4" in step 9 is impossible, allow for uneven spots that may protrude above the non-chunky parts up to an additional 1/8". 

11:  Place the utensil on the work surface.

12:  Raise the "peanut butter slice" and maneuver it into the space above the "jelly slice".  Taking special care not to disturb the peanut butter (with, for example a thumb or finger), carefully invert the "peanut butter slice" so that the peanut butter on it defies gravity above the "jelly slice" by use of its adhesive properties alone. 

13:  Lower the "peanut butter slice" until it rests upon the "jelly slice" such that the peanut butter and the jelly that were spread on the surfaces of their respective slices make contact in as many points as possible, forming a "sandwich". 

14:  Without separating the slices or disturbing their alignment with reference to one another, invert the entire sandwich such that the peanut butter slice is on the bottom.  This minimizes dripping. 

15:  Take a moment to enjoy the completed sandwich.  Appreciate its beauty, its aesthetic grace and its simple elegance and deceptively intricate design.  Relish the memory of its construction and prepare mentally for the glorious consumption of what must surely be the most meticulously crafted culinary delicacy you have eaten since breakfast last. 

This concludes the instructional portion of this segment.  All that remains is to eat the sandwich. 

Bon appetite

TSN

PBJ - Part 1

My 5th grade teacher once challenged us to write out a procedure on how to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and to make it as descriptive as possible. <-- key words. 

The next day, she awaited us in class with a table full of the necessary ingredients.  As I recall, only one of us succeeded in getting the bread out of the bag before she smeared jelly all over it.  My failure on that day disappointed me so much and has eaten me up inside for so long that at long last it has come to this.

The following is an attempt at a PBJ self-redemption: 

How to Make a Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwich

By ShadowsNose

1: Legally acquire the following ingredients:

-- Bread;  Let x represent the number of slices of bread where x is a positive whole integer which satisfies the equation: 1 < x < 3.  Each slice should exhibit a physical property wherein all points on at least one side fall on a single 2 dimensional plane, and wherein the plane has an area y (measured in inches squared), where 9 < y < 64. 

-- Peanut Butter;  1 jar containing between 10-30 oz of peanut butter.  As an alternative, at least 5 level tablespoons of peanut butter, in a container which is sealed, but which is penetrable by a single human adult using only physiologically available tools.  The consistency of the peanut butter should exhibit a crunchiness level to be determined by he or she who is to consume the finished sandwich.

-- Jelly; A sum total of between 1/16 and 1/4 cup of non-nasty (defined by the objectivity of the discerning tastes of the waiting hungries) jelly in a container adhering to the same criteria as that of the peanut butter and of a flavor pre-determined by the would-be consumer. 

2: Designate a block of time in which to construct the sandwich. 

-- Let the variable T represent a block of time not earlier than present time, wherein the following is true: 

                    last mealtime <  T < time of death due to starvation. 

-- Let the end of the designated time-block occur on a timeline before the earliest expiration date printed on any of the ingredients.

3:   Ensure the ingredients and the sandwich-maker are co-located conveniently in space-time such that the sandwich-maker could physically grasp the ingredients, and/or the containers housing the ingredients with his or her hands should he or she choose to do so. 
 
----------------------------  To be continued  --------------------------

The more I think about it, the more technical and in-depth it gets!  It's already out of control.  I've just now situated the sandwich maker and the ingredients into the same room.

More to follow, but not tonight. 

TSN

Butt Seriously...

I had a friend once who was a gnome.  I met him one day during an experiment to see how much coffee I had to drink before I met a gnome.  Turns out it was a lot .

He'd held a part time job standing in a little old lady's flower garden, endlessly showing people the top 1.5 inches of his butt.  The pay was good, but I remember him telling me that he didn't get a lot of job satisfaction out of that.  He said he had plenty more butt, but nobody wanted to see it. 

I wasn't surprised, but it did get me wondering.

How elegant of a garden decoration is a gnome-butt?  Is there a golden ratio of flowers to gnome-butt that denotes the perfect aesthetic home garden viewing experience?  What is that ratio?  Is it Phi? 

That's probably it. 

Imagine the guy giving the tour of the royal gardens of some extravagantly elegant and exotic zen garden somewhere... and having to include gnome-butt.   

TSN

And Cloth Napkins Too!

I spend a pretty good bit of time thinking about food.  The minute I stop thinking about it, my phone rings and it's the Mrs. wondering what we're going to do for dinner.  I normally come out of that one on the losing end, since it's easier for me to stop at the store on the way home than it is for her. 

--Riiing! (Here I substitute the customary "ring" sound, because it's easier than typing out all the Sir Mixalot lyrics)
"Dammit."
--Riiiiing!
"Dammit."
**... and a round thing in your face...**
"Grooooan, fine, geez!"
*boop*
"Hello dear :)"
"Hey douche-bag.  Whatchu wanna do for dinner?"
"What, are we out of rotisserie-style, wadded-up caribou face already?"
"No, but the baby threw a few handfuls of sand into the meat pit and now it's all gritty."
"Well shit."
"I know."
"Alright... um... how about duck lips, are we out of duck lips?"
"I think there's a can in the pantry behind the cheese-weasel."
"Oh yeah, I forgot about that cheese-weasel, sweet.  And we can make deep-fried, bacon-wrapped salted sticks of frosted garlic-butter for desert!"
"Yes!" 
"K. Loveyoubye."
"Loveyoubye."
*boop*

Time to put on my grillin' shorts. 

TSN