Prologue:
Franklin D. Roosevelt, fondly known by contemporaries as Ol' Legs Don't Work, once boldly promised FOUR THINGS to a country ravaged by the despair of a broken economy. Oh, you all went to grade school and saw those atrocious Norman Rockwell affronts to good taste. Let's say them together!
1.) Freedom of speech and expression.
2.) Freedom of religion.
3.) Freedom from want.
4.) Freedom from fear.
Now, these are not such lofty or novel ideas. The first two are, in fact, guaranteed in our own Bill of Rights. The third goal essentially wrapped up his bizarre idea that people should have federally funded potted chickens and garaged cars. PSH! Number 4 requires an interesting historical analysis. New reports seem to suggest that FDR was, in fact, a Time Cop who posed as a crippled Depression-era president in order to learn more on the whereabouts of the infamous Evil Time Pirates called F.E.A.R. - Federation of Errant (time) Argonauts or piRates [it here should be noted that this will be considered a reasonable acronym in the year 802,701 A.D.. We weren't to fear a war in Europe or complete economic collapse. While commonly quoted as, "We have nothing to fear but fear itself," Roosevelt actually wrote, "We have nothing to fear but F.E.A.R. itself." But I digress.
These freedoms are largely the product of a great speech writer editing Roosevelts inane doodlings on a cocktail napkin from the night before - a night filled with booze, cigarettes in tortoiseshell holders, more booze, and a transgendered prostitute known to modern historians as Eleanor Roosevelt-Roosevelt. The original fears, only corrected during a massive, strange Roosevelt hangover (commonly called a Bank Holiday nowadays) were.
1.) Freedom from Japan.
2.) Freedom to give me five bucks so I can pay this painfully attractive transgenduhed hookuh. [Roosevelt wrote in his famous highbrow New York accent when drunk.]
3.) Freedom from F.E.A.R..
4.) Freedom from Lunchlessness.
Body:
Throughout our magnificent history, we human beings have sought the best of "free" things. We pen fancily scribed declarations to mad kings on small faraway islands asking for "freedom." We futilely quest towards harnessing "free" energy from the UNIVERSE. We will knock down fellow human beings when smiling costumed sports mascots fire "free" t-shirts from dangerous pneumatic firearms at us during the 7th inning stretch. FREEDOM is the ULTIMATE GOAL of MANKIND!
There is an old saying supposedly attributed to a science fiction writer back in the 1930s - and we all know that ALL THINGS WRITTEN BY SCIENCE FICTION WRITERS (especially L. Ron Hubbard) ARE TRUE! That saying is "There ain't no such thing as a free lunch."
Free country. Free energy. Free... LUNCH?!
We have our Free Country! And Free Energy is nothing but an idle daydreams best left to Mormons and obese steampunk fans. But free lunch?
I THINK THIS IS A JOB FOR (future) MAYOR OLSEN-HOEK!
And ladies and gentlemen of the scientific world, I here present conclusive evidence that I, WILLIAM C. OLSEN-HOEK, have discovered FREE LUNCH!
It was not so hard as you might think. Whilst sitting in my rocking chair pondering the mysteries of the universe, I thought of the long-term benefits of harnessing FREE LUNCH. Free lunch would mean the end of midday hunger for all humanity forever. The economy would benefit from a workforce required only to produce TWO meals per day. Just think of all the peanut butter and jelly (resources vital to the development of cold fusion as per the December 1987 issue of Scientific Proof Magazine) we could save! And just then I came back to reality - I have to go to a student teaching orientation tomorrow and have no idea what I need to bring.
I wrote to Natalie, my instructor for this semester, asking what I would need to bring. It should here be noted that the meeting will take place at Theodore Roosevelt's Fortified Midtown Bastion-Castle of Learning and Technological Achievement - renamed the American Museum of Natural History by an asthmatic boring middle aged tweed-wearing knucklehead who obviously had no concept of who Theodore Roosevelt was. I received the following email:
"No, I have everything we need...just a pen and some paper for notes. We
will also give you a voucher for lunch in the cafeteria there.
N"
VOUCHER FOR LUNCH?! Just then I threw open the windows and shouted to Mr. Watson insisting I needed him! I decoded the Rosetta Stone and fell backward in my chair yelling EUREKA! I left my excommunication trial and shouted "E pur si muove!" Just a short pondering and I INVENTED FREE LUNCH! Humanity may bow down and praise me! the Nobel committee will be visiting Brooklyn this year! I have yet another accomplishment to add to my campaign! And so world! I have given you free lunch!
Conclusion:
Comrade Derek wrote me today informing me that basketball personality Karl Mallone has a car dealership in Salt Lake City. This brought up a conversation about how the Utah Jazz can retain the name after the team left New Orleans being that Utah had no part in the history of jazz. I said they ought to have changed the name to the Utah Absurd Cultists.
Notes:
This ends my consortium on FREE LUNCH.
STAY TUNED NEXT WEEK - for I will mention the late Sen. Daniel Patrick Moynihan (D-NY) in my next entry!
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Wherein I Metamorphose into a Television Cooking Personality...
The number four movie this past week was Nora Ephron's estrogen-soaked "it's never too late" comedy Julie & Julia. The premise revolves around a self-involved inhabitant of the Empire of Queens (a well-known rival of my own superior borough of BROOKLYN) who decides that life being a telephone operator who takes angry phone calls from post-9/11 suffering New Yorkers isn't noble enough a career. In attempt to make herself well-known, she begins a challenge wherein she tries to cook every recipe in Julia Child's Mastering the Art of French Cooking. Needless to say, I only went for the aspects of the movie related to Julia Child and was disappointed by Meryl Streep's Aykroydesque (and here I point out that Ephron needed to include the entire SNL skit wherein he bleeds on a chicken and hammers home the importance of "keeping the liver" in order to reel out young male laughs) portrayal of one of my most cherished culinary heroines. Also, they ripped off Douglas Adams' famous line about deadlines and the whooshing sound they make as they go by. Honestly? Get your own goddamned material. The makeup of the movie audience was what everyone should expect; that is, most of the aisles were blocked by walkers, the most common conversation outside the theater was how the showing would be $6 instead of $5 due to a Sony Pictures rule, and it was nearly impossible to hear the film over the hum of respirators, pacemakers, and obnoxiously loud observations like "THIS IS ABSOLUTELY TRUE! ABSOLUTELY TRUE! SHE WAS A SPY!".
I need not mention now that I WAS SPIRITUALLY INSPIRED BY THIS FILM!
Now, it's no secret that I love television cooking. I currently own autographs from Iron Chef Masaharu Morimoto, Anthony Bourdain, Alton Brown and - apropos to this entry - Paul Prudhomme, head chef of K-Paul's Louisiana Kitchen and author of Paul Prudhomme's Louisiana Kitchen. I don't pretend that Prudhomme is as famous as Child, but I do argue that with his patented white golf cap, propensity to GUAR-AHN-TEE that we'll like a dish, and his immense girth that ultimately caused him to cook entirely from a Rascal scooter, he has changed the way we look at cooking. Not to mention his book is considered an essential of New Orleans creole and cajun cooking.
Thus far, I have cooked 2 recipes directly from his book - Gumbo and Rice Pudding. To give unfamiliar readers a sense of Prudhomme's buttery influence, the rice pudding required folding in meringue and the seafood and the gumbo requires that you first DEEP FRY the chicken. Yeah baby - that's my kinda cooking.
So in the spirit of Julie Whateverhernameisbutirefusetolookitupbecausei'mmuchfunnierthanheranyway, I have decided to star the OLSEN-HOEK-PRUDHOMME PROJECT! I here outline what this will require:
1.) I will cook all 214 recipes in Paul Prudhomme's Louisiana Kitchen in a time period defined as from this point until the Milky Way collides with Andromeda and Time for the Human Race Matters No Longer.
2.) I will gain no fewer than 300 pounds, though not as a result of cooking crawfish etouffée in butter sauce. This will be undertaken PRIOR to the event, first requiring the purchase of a Rascal scooter.
3.) I will purchase 19 white chef's coats, 22 stretchy white chef's pants, and 38 individually wrapped and numbered golf caps.
4.) I will do everything in my power to whore up my blog so that I get as many hits as is humanly possible. This will require the help of my readers. Also, you may as well just start forking over the cash. I mean, I'm unemployed and all this tasso, andouille and lobster isn't gonna pay for itself now, is it? How do I set up a Pay Pal thing?
5.) I will enlist the help of Ron Howard - NO! - Steven Spielberg - NOOO! - I will reanimate the fetid, rotting, fat corpse of Stanley Kubrick as punishment for proclaiming that Eyes Wide Shut was the best movie he ever made. He will direct, write, and STAR in the blockbuster movie adaptation, which will be titled Mastering the Art of Getting Fat; or How to Get Paid For Being Prentious. Because I found Julie & Julia so boring, I will add the following improvements and - ahem - elaborations about my story.
I will keep you all updated as things progress.
I need not mention now that I WAS SPIRITUALLY INSPIRED BY THIS FILM!
Now, it's no secret that I love television cooking. I currently own autographs from Iron Chef Masaharu Morimoto, Anthony Bourdain, Alton Brown and - apropos to this entry - Paul Prudhomme, head chef of K-Paul's Louisiana Kitchen and author of Paul Prudhomme's Louisiana Kitchen. I don't pretend that Prudhomme is as famous as Child, but I do argue that with his patented white golf cap, propensity to GUAR-AHN-TEE that we'll like a dish, and his immense girth that ultimately caused him to cook entirely from a Rascal scooter, he has changed the way we look at cooking. Not to mention his book is considered an essential of New Orleans creole and cajun cooking.
Thus far, I have cooked 2 recipes directly from his book - Gumbo and Rice Pudding. To give unfamiliar readers a sense of Prudhomme's buttery influence, the rice pudding required folding in meringue and the seafood and the gumbo requires that you first DEEP FRY the chicken. Yeah baby - that's my kinda cooking.
So in the spirit of Julie Whateverhernameisbutirefusetolookitupbecausei'mmuchfunnierthanheranyway, I have decided to star the OLSEN-HOEK-PRUDHOMME PROJECT! I here outline what this will require:
1.) I will cook all 214 recipes in Paul Prudhomme's Louisiana Kitchen in a time period defined as from this point until the Milky Way collides with Andromeda and Time for the Human Race Matters No Longer.
2.) I will gain no fewer than 300 pounds, though not as a result of cooking crawfish etouffée in butter sauce. This will be undertaken PRIOR to the event, first requiring the purchase of a Rascal scooter.
3.) I will purchase 19 white chef's coats, 22 stretchy white chef's pants, and 38 individually wrapped and numbered golf caps.
4.) I will do everything in my power to whore up my blog so that I get as many hits as is humanly possible. This will require the help of my readers. Also, you may as well just start forking over the cash. I mean, I'm unemployed and all this tasso, andouille and lobster isn't gonna pay for itself now, is it? How do I set up a Pay Pal thing?
5.) I will enlist the help of Ron Howard - NO! - Steven Spielberg - NOOO! - I will reanimate the fetid, rotting, fat corpse of Stanley Kubrick as punishment for proclaiming that Eyes Wide Shut was the best movie he ever made. He will direct, write, and STAR in the blockbuster movie adaptation, which will be titled Mastering the Art of Getting Fat; or How to Get Paid For Being Prentious. Because I found Julie & Julia so boring, I will add the following improvements and - ahem - elaborations about my story.
- Boat chase sequence involving Nazis.
- EXPLOSIONS! FIREWORKS!
- Mike Piazza as my father.
- Gratuitous depictions of SEX and VIOLENCE!
- A magic wand duel at Weehawken.
- Daleks.
- M. Night Shyamalan TWIST ending. The twist? It was all just a DREAM! No... everyone but me is a ROBOT!
I will keep you all updated as things progress.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
In Which God Smiles Favorably Upon a Motley Crew...
The Automatic Blogging Device (ABD) has auto-generated the fact that my astrological sign is Pisces - the fish. Being that I put about as much stock in astrology as I did in Florida land speculation prior to the Stock Market Crash of 1929, this information seems senseless and superfluous. However, perhaps the gods of stellar divination sought my attentions... AND HERE'S HOW!
On Sunday afternoon last, the Brother Captains Michel & Michel invited me and a crew consisting of Jonathan, myself, and the beautiful and voluptuous Maria out for a promenade en bateau across the Great South Bay, a small saltwater lagoon between the kingdom of press-on nails, hairspray and broskis named Long Island, and the Eden-like homosexual romping grounds called Fire Island. Perhaps it was my having a water sign (bullshit) but I have felt a spiritual connection to this body of water my whole life. My great grandfather, a Dutchman by the name of Adrian Hoek, was a well-respected oysterman and clammer on this beautiful lagoon. His superior genetics in the area of ravaging bivalve populations seems to have gifted me with an extraordinary love and ability for collecting clams. Our crew made for the flats of the Great South Bay where clamming is its very best. Along the way, my eyes espied something black bobbing up and down in the water. Thinking it was a backpack that we may return for a reward, Captain Michel the Younger turned the craft around. As we approached, we recognized the item as a soft-sided cooler. Having been waterlogged for some time, it was immensely heavy and it took both Jonathan's and my own strength to salvage the floating treasure from its watery prison. The heavens opened and bathed us with an ethereal light - a seagull which is interpreted as the Holy Spirit descended upon us. We opened our treasure to discover A FRISBEE-DISC, a WATER-LOGGED ROAST BEEF SANDWICH, a BOTTLE OPENER, and (calm yourself ladies and gentlemen for the next revelation) BEER! Now, all of us being of a certain age where finding strange consumables on the open water doesn't prevent us from consuming them went ahead and enjoyed the fruits of our bounty, toasting whatever Divine Clockmaker deigned that we should quench our thirsts on cold, frosty, FREE BEER! And off to the flats we sailed, singing shanties and singing our own praises.
Folks, I must say that in past years, the clamming situation had waned precipitously, no doubt due to pollutants running off from the immaculately tailored front lawns so coveted by the adult male constituency on Long Island - also probably because god wished to punish that Sodom & Gomorrah that is Cherry Grove. However, in just one hour Captain Michel the Younger and I dredged 84 clams from the bay bottom! Again the Whore Goddess that is The Great South Lagoon found favor in our sight! After a refreshing and relaxing respite at Sailor's Haven beach, the Captains Michel and we made back for Long Island, where by our combined culinary talents and using a book authored by a pedophilic ex-Episcopal priest, created a sumptuous dish of linguine in white clam sauce, using the natural bounty of clams in their own liquor - torn from their protective carapaces with my own deft skills with a clam knife (thank you Popeye Hoek) - and victory garden chives & parsley. Surely nothing beats feasting by the sweat of one's own labors - especially when wine is involved!
In other news, I have seen the film Julie & Julia with Maria. It was a subpar film that I feel the necessity to make fun of. As such, I WILL USE THE SAME PREMISE IN MY OWN BLOG! As Julia Child's Mastering the Art of French Cooking has already been used, I instead choose Paul Prudhomme's Louisiana Kitchen. I will discuss this idea...
NEXT TIME!
Until Then,
Bon Appétit... or should I say Good Cooking, Good Eating, Good Loving!
-BillChas
On Sunday afternoon last, the Brother Captains Michel & Michel invited me and a crew consisting of Jonathan, myself, and the beautiful and voluptuous Maria out for a promenade en bateau across the Great South Bay, a small saltwater lagoon between the kingdom of press-on nails, hairspray and broskis named Long Island, and the Eden-like homosexual romping grounds called Fire Island. Perhaps it was my having a water sign (bullshit) but I have felt a spiritual connection to this body of water my whole life. My great grandfather, a Dutchman by the name of Adrian Hoek, was a well-respected oysterman and clammer on this beautiful lagoon. His superior genetics in the area of ravaging bivalve populations seems to have gifted me with an extraordinary love and ability for collecting clams. Our crew made for the flats of the Great South Bay where clamming is its very best. Along the way, my eyes espied something black bobbing up and down in the water. Thinking it was a backpack that we may return for a reward, Captain Michel the Younger turned the craft around. As we approached, we recognized the item as a soft-sided cooler. Having been waterlogged for some time, it was immensely heavy and it took both Jonathan's and my own strength to salvage the floating treasure from its watery prison. The heavens opened and bathed us with an ethereal light - a seagull which is interpreted as the Holy Spirit descended upon us. We opened our treasure to discover A FRISBEE-DISC, a WATER-LOGGED ROAST BEEF SANDWICH, a BOTTLE OPENER, and (calm yourself ladies and gentlemen for the next revelation) BEER! Now, all of us being of a certain age where finding strange consumables on the open water doesn't prevent us from consuming them went ahead and enjoyed the fruits of our bounty, toasting whatever Divine Clockmaker deigned that we should quench our thirsts on cold, frosty, FREE BEER! And off to the flats we sailed, singing shanties and singing our own praises.
Folks, I must say that in past years, the clamming situation had waned precipitously, no doubt due to pollutants running off from the immaculately tailored front lawns so coveted by the adult male constituency on Long Island - also probably because god wished to punish that Sodom & Gomorrah that is Cherry Grove. However, in just one hour Captain Michel the Younger and I dredged 84 clams from the bay bottom! Again the Whore Goddess that is The Great South Lagoon found favor in our sight! After a refreshing and relaxing respite at Sailor's Haven beach, the Captains Michel and we made back for Long Island, where by our combined culinary talents and using a book authored by a pedophilic ex-Episcopal priest, created a sumptuous dish of linguine in white clam sauce, using the natural bounty of clams in their own liquor - torn from their protective carapaces with my own deft skills with a clam knife (thank you Popeye Hoek) - and victory garden chives & parsley. Surely nothing beats feasting by the sweat of one's own labors - especially when wine is involved!
In other news, I have seen the film Julie & Julia with Maria. It was a subpar film that I feel the necessity to make fun of. As such, I WILL USE THE SAME PREMISE IN MY OWN BLOG! As Julia Child's Mastering the Art of French Cooking has already been used, I instead choose Paul Prudhomme's Louisiana Kitchen. I will discuss this idea...
NEXT TIME!
Until Then,
Bon Appétit... or should I say Good Cooking, Good Eating, Good Loving!
-BillChas
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
In Which I've Gone and Done It This Time...
Dear Readers,
My former roommate and trusted adviser - Jonathan - and I took a brief but lovely sojourn to Robert Moses' paradise on Earth, namely Jones Beach State Park. There we enjoyed an entire six-pack of Red Stripe Beer and 4 liters of Kentucky Colonel George's Meier's Patented Southern Style Sangria. Combined with the August heat and saltwater, we certainly made merry ourselves on strong drink. But I digress.
Normally I don't bother my intent readers with the trivialities of my daily life. But today, however, I found out something regarding a personal physical issue.
Back on a cloudy, rain-threatened April day, my sister and I decided to play a game of catch. She, being of superior genetics and having far more capable facilities in the realm of baseball throwing, trounced me thoroughly and I went inside to have a small relaxing sit down. Upon getting up afterward, however, I found an intense pain in my right knee that I attributed to a lack of warming up prior to our early-spring catch. As the weeks passed, the pain waxed and waned directly proportionately to the amount I used the knee; generally weeks where I stood on it more, the pain increased, while more restful periods saw the pain nearly disappear. I noticed that trips to the beach where clamming, climbing, running and swimming were involved, the pain became intolerable, to the point that I visited my goodly physician, Dr. L.
She suggested that I get an X-ray, which was inconclusive. Next, a magnetic resonance image, a technology perfected by my own imperfect alma mater - Stony Brook University. I telephoned Dr. L today and discovered the nature of my injury - a torn lateral meniscus of the right knee. This setback may require that I have physical therapy or, in a worst-case scenario, arthroscopic surgery.
Alas, my previous employer known as DEATH STAR COFFEE in this blog, which is (in point of fact) a coffee company named after a lesser character in a painfully long Herman Melville novel, has severed its ties with me. As such, I shall lose my health insurance benefits (which are required things to all my non-American socio-communist readers of European principalities) and will not be able to maintain a salubrious course of action that alleviates the pain of my right knee. Thankfully, my future (BETTER) employers ought to be more understanding of the situation, being that said employers will allow such novel innovations as UNIONIZING and COLLECTIVE BARGAINING and other such employee protection, which Heywood Schwartz and his rag-tag bunch of soulless, unthinking degenerates so hatefully fear.
So until then, I promise to entertain you with my inane, megalomaniacal ramblings which you so love to hear.
I think I shall talk about school mascots.
Anyhow, godspeed and good luck to you all.
-BillChas
My former roommate and trusted adviser - Jonathan - and I took a brief but lovely sojourn to Robert Moses' paradise on Earth, namely Jones Beach State Park. There we enjoyed an entire six-pack of Red Stripe Beer and 4 liters of Kentucky Colonel George's Meier's Patented Southern Style Sangria. Combined with the August heat and saltwater, we certainly made merry ourselves on strong drink. But I digress.
Normally I don't bother my intent readers with the trivialities of my daily life. But today, however, I found out something regarding a personal physical issue.
Back on a cloudy, rain-threatened April day, my sister and I decided to play a game of catch. She, being of superior genetics and having far more capable facilities in the realm of baseball throwing, trounced me thoroughly and I went inside to have a small relaxing sit down. Upon getting up afterward, however, I found an intense pain in my right knee that I attributed to a lack of warming up prior to our early-spring catch. As the weeks passed, the pain waxed and waned directly proportionately to the amount I used the knee; generally weeks where I stood on it more, the pain increased, while more restful periods saw the pain nearly disappear. I noticed that trips to the beach where clamming, climbing, running and swimming were involved, the pain became intolerable, to the point that I visited my goodly physician, Dr. L.
She suggested that I get an X-ray, which was inconclusive. Next, a magnetic resonance image, a technology perfected by my own imperfect alma mater - Stony Brook University. I telephoned Dr. L today and discovered the nature of my injury - a torn lateral meniscus of the right knee. This setback may require that I have physical therapy or, in a worst-case scenario, arthroscopic surgery.
Alas, my previous employer known as DEATH STAR COFFEE in this blog, which is (in point of fact) a coffee company named after a lesser character in a painfully long Herman Melville novel, has severed its ties with me. As such, I shall lose my health insurance benefits (which are required things to all my non-American socio-communist readers of European principalities) and will not be able to maintain a salubrious course of action that alleviates the pain of my right knee. Thankfully, my future (BETTER) employers ought to be more understanding of the situation, being that said employers will allow such novel innovations as UNIONIZING and COLLECTIVE BARGAINING and other such employee protection, which Heywood Schwartz and his rag-tag bunch of soulless, unthinking degenerates so hatefully fear.
So until then, I promise to entertain you with my inane, megalomaniacal ramblings which you so love to hear.
I think I shall talk about school mascots.
Anyhow, godspeed and good luck to you all.
-BillChas
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
In Which We Give Shit Away and Still People Bellyache!
Allow me first to thank Heywood Schwarz, president of DEATH STAR COFFEE, Inc. for the brilliant Free Pastry Giveaway day today. Surely he hatched this brilliant plan with the finest of intentions! Give every overweight American yet another free pastry perfectly parch their insatiable eating holes so that they crave MORE black caffeine infusion. While it made my day busier than usual, I did take a small measure of joy in refusing pastries to patrons who arrived at 10:31am, one minute after the offer expired. So too did I relish telling people that they required giving me a tangible coupon or else show one to me on their handheld device - charging full price for anyone who failed to produce. This brings up yet another wonderful thing about working for DEATH STAR COFFEE, Inc. - taking people's money!
When I joined the corporation, I was told they were looking for "genuine" people who kept it real. People who genuinely smiled and thanked people for their patronage. I mean, my smile is so genuine that I'm TOLD to give you one! Did you know that I am spoken to in private if I don't smile enough?! So ENJOY my GENUINE smile in the morning!
Another illusion is that I joined DEATH STAR COFFEE, Inc. for the wonderful health benefits for which people think I should be so appreciative of. Well, considering an emergency room visit on July 4th for a nasty cast of conjunctivitis cost me handsomely, and the fact that I believe health insurance a birthright in this great nation, this reason for joining DEATH STAR COFFEE suddenly seems insignificant.
No. I really signed on for TAKING YOUR MONEY!
MONEY MONEY MONEY! I love taking your money and giving you less money in return. I love swiping your credit card in the magnetic reader and depleting your already annihilated debit account. I anxiously await the next time I can charge you 50¢ for soymilk (which is actually juice) - 35¢ for extra syrup - 40¢ when you ask for caramel on your beverage which isn't supposed to have it. I love when you pick up one of my overpriced sandwiches, add a Frap to that and rack up a bill of something like $11.79! I love the ridiculous faces you make when you incredulously ask me "Is that total right?" after buying you and your whole family my delicious, sweet coffee treats! I FUCKING LOVE TAKING YOUR GODDAMNED DELICIOUS MONEY!
Just imagine how it pained me to give you a free treat this morning. Well, enjoy it while it lasts because tomorrow, that donut is going to be $1.25 once again.
Until we meet again.
I'll see you in Coffee Hell.
When I joined the corporation, I was told they were looking for "genuine" people who kept it real. People who genuinely smiled and thanked people for their patronage. I mean, my smile is so genuine that I'm TOLD to give you one! Did you know that I am spoken to in private if I don't smile enough?! So ENJOY my GENUINE smile in the morning!
Another illusion is that I joined DEATH STAR COFFEE, Inc. for the wonderful health benefits for which people think I should be so appreciative of. Well, considering an emergency room visit on July 4th for a nasty cast of conjunctivitis cost me handsomely, and the fact that I believe health insurance a birthright in this great nation, this reason for joining DEATH STAR COFFEE suddenly seems insignificant.
No. I really signed on for TAKING YOUR MONEY!
MONEY MONEY MONEY! I love taking your money and giving you less money in return. I love swiping your credit card in the magnetic reader and depleting your already annihilated debit account. I anxiously await the next time I can charge you 50¢ for soymilk (which is actually juice) - 35¢ for extra syrup - 40¢ when you ask for caramel on your beverage which isn't supposed to have it. I love when you pick up one of my overpriced sandwiches, add a Frap to that and rack up a bill of something like $11.79! I love the ridiculous faces you make when you incredulously ask me "Is that total right?" after buying you and your whole family my delicious, sweet coffee treats! I FUCKING LOVE TAKING YOUR GODDAMNED DELICIOUS MONEY!
Just imagine how it pained me to give you a free treat this morning. Well, enjoy it while it lasts because tomorrow, that donut is going to be $1.25 once again.
Until we meet again.
I'll see you in Coffee Hell.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
In Which We Lament the Death of the English Language... Then Have a Viking Funeral For It
My post was originally going to be about this article. Independence Day is when we communally celebrate the birth of this, the Greatest Nation on Planet Earth*, by crossing state borders to illegally purchases fireworks, drink excessive amounts of alcohol, and acquire third degree burns on our right index and middle fingers. That isn't actually a third-degree burn... it's the burn of liberty coursing through our veins. At no point during an awesome display of violent, colorful firepower intended to percussively remind us that our country was baptized in the fires of bloody conflict did I wonder - hey, is this good for the environment? I could go on, but I will merely leave this with an &c. and talk about English.
My beloved girlfriend, Maria, informed me that the morning news (you know, where everyone smiles and laughs at each others terrible punny jokes to the point whether you wonder if the first qualification for appearing on the morning news is the removal of ones central nervous system) reported that Merriam-Webster added a few "questionable" words into the hallowed, sanctified halls of the English Language. Among these additions include:
5. Açai: a small dark purple fleshy berrylike fruit of a tall slender palm (Euterpe oleracea) of tropical Central and South America that is often used in beverages ; also : the palm
This is offered in many health drinks in expensive smoothie shops, including Jamba Juice, the SWORN ENEMY OF DEATH STAR COFFEE. I have recently taken a hatred to smoothies because of DEATH STAR COFFEE's introduction of V---o Smoothies. Any time someone orders a V---o Smoothie, an unholy orchestra of Demons begins evilly scraping their cursed instruments until I can bear it no longer and throw cups all over the place and curse in French, just to show how intelligent I am and how the occupation in which I currently find myself is well below what I ought to be doing. Also, this is not an English word.
4.) Frenemy: : one who pretends to be a friend but is actually an enemy
ENGLISH HAS THIS WORD MANY TIMES! I suggested the first synonym that came to mind - traitor - to a thesaurus, which yielded such long-standing gems as: backstabber, double-crosser, renegade, fifth columnist, turncoat, defector, deserter, collaborator, informer, mole, snitch, Judas, Benedict Arnold, and quisling. Even snake-in-the-grass, two-timer, rat, fink and scab were accepted as informal. But FRENEMY? It's too adorable to get its meaning across! Try this: next time someone two-times you, try the following sentences on them:
3. Webisode: an episode especially of a TV show that may or may not have been telecast but can be viewed at a Web site
What's so wrong with using the word "episode" in this case? Honestly? And I'm noticing a disturbing trend of "adorably punny blending of words" in recent years.
6. Locavore: one who eats foods grown locally whenever possible
I am relatively certain this word was invented in the trendiest parts of Brooklyn. I can just imagine a person unironically wearing a bandana on her head on the streets of Park Slope, slurping down a $9 Chai latte and proudly proclaiming what an honest "locavore" she is and how important that is for the environment and what a good person she is for being one and why we should be one too.
1. Fan Fiction: stories involving popular fictional characters that are written by fans and often posted on the Internet —called also fan fic \-ˈfik\
It is probably my distaste for the practice of fan fiction that I hate this entry so much. First, it is two words whose meaning is self-evident and does not require elaboration or a place in a dictionary. Secondly, FAN FICTION WRITERS ARE THE LOWEST FORM OF SENTIENT BEING ON PLANET EARTH - and that's using "sentient" very liberally. Fanfickers, especially SLASHERS (person who writes stories about science fiction and fantasy characters homosexually macking on one another) have no place in healthy society. They are not thinkers. They are not doers. They are simply there riding the coattails of (possible) genius as they sit in their darkened rooms brooding about The Tenth Doctor's obvious man-love for Harry Potter who then attempts to time travel to Hogwarts to fill him up with butterbeers and steal his anal virginity. Then they, the slashers not the characters, drink too much, cry about their feelings, and complain about all other slashers on their Live Journals, much to the delight of unknowing Midwestern girls who think the New York slash scene terribly glamorous and attempt to emulate these obese, bad-skinned losers. (I pause here to catch my breath)
2. Staycation: a vacation spent at home or nearby
I had a small stroke when I heard this word. Not only does its atrocious punness rake against my happiness and peaceful state, but seriously... staycation? Vacation comes from "vacate" meaning "to boogie out of town." Ergo and thus, not "vacating" or "going on vacation" means you stay at home. You cannot "staycate" and you cannot go on "staycation"! IT IS NOT POSSIBLE! And now that I have revealed the atrocity of this word to the world, I can only demand that it be CLEANSED and PURGED and if need be BLASTED from the lexicon to prevent future generations from thinking this is a terribly good word to use in their upcoming Doctoral thesis which is probably laden with abbreviated text language anyway! I WILL NOT STAND BY AND ALLOW WESTERN SOCIETY TO DECAY IN SUCH A MANNER! You have stayed at home and done nothing instead of travelling to Switzerland or Jamaica! YOU HAVE STAYED HOME! And I urge anyone who even THINKS of using this word to STAY HOME ANYWAY because you are probably SOCIALLY INEPT and CANNOT BREATHE WITHOUT CONCENTRATING AND WITH GREAT DIFFICULTY EVEN THEN!
Please, Merriam-Webster, reconsider your great mistakes. You are only doing our great language harm. Until next year when they release even more unspeakable crimes against the lanugage I bid you adieu.
*-Proven in the July 1776 "Scientific Proof Magazine" and ratified by the Convention of Versailles on February 11, 1936.
My beloved girlfriend, Maria, informed me that the morning news (you know, where everyone smiles and laughs at each others terrible punny jokes to the point whether you wonder if the first qualification for appearing on the morning news is the removal of ones central nervous system) reported that Merriam-Webster added a few "questionable" words into the hallowed, sanctified halls of the English Language. Among these additions include:
- fan fiction
- staycation
- webisode
- frenemy
- açai
- locavore
5. Açai: a small dark purple fleshy berrylike fruit of a tall slender palm (Euterpe oleracea) of tropical Central and South America that is often used in beverages ; also : the palm
This is offered in many health drinks in expensive smoothie shops, including Jamba Juice, the SWORN ENEMY OF DEATH STAR COFFEE. I have recently taken a hatred to smoothies because of DEATH STAR COFFEE's introduction of V---o Smoothies. Any time someone orders a V---o Smoothie, an unholy orchestra of Demons begins evilly scraping their cursed instruments until I can bear it no longer and throw cups all over the place and curse in French, just to show how intelligent I am and how the occupation in which I currently find myself is well below what I ought to be doing. Also, this is not an English word.
4.) Frenemy: : one who pretends to be a friend but is actually an enemy
ENGLISH HAS THIS WORD MANY TIMES! I suggested the first synonym that came to mind - traitor - to a thesaurus, which yielded such long-standing gems as: backstabber, double-crosser, renegade, fifth columnist, turncoat, defector, deserter, collaborator, informer, mole, snitch, Judas, Benedict Arnold, and quisling. Even snake-in-the-grass, two-timer, rat, fink and scab were accepted as informal. But FRENEMY? It's too adorable to get its meaning across! Try this: next time someone two-times you, try the following sentences on them:
- "You double-crossing, backstabbing Benedict Arnold!"
- "You frenemy!"
3. Webisode: an episode especially of a TV show that may or may not have been telecast but can be viewed at a Web site
What's so wrong with using the word "episode" in this case? Honestly? And I'm noticing a disturbing trend of "adorably punny blending of words" in recent years.
6. Locavore: one who eats foods grown locally whenever possible
I am relatively certain this word was invented in the trendiest parts of Brooklyn. I can just imagine a person unironically wearing a bandana on her head on the streets of Park Slope, slurping down a $9 Chai latte and proudly proclaiming what an honest "locavore" she is and how important that is for the environment and what a good person she is for being one and why we should be one too.
1. Fan Fiction: stories involving popular fictional characters that are written by fans and often posted on the Internet —called also fan fic \-ˈfik\
2. Staycation: a vacation spent at home or nearby
I had a small stroke when I heard this word. Not only does its atrocious punness rake against my happiness and peaceful state, but seriously... staycation? Vacation comes from "vacate" meaning "to boogie out of town." Ergo and thus, not "vacating" or "going on vacation" means you stay at home. You cannot "staycate" and you cannot go on "staycation"! IT IS NOT POSSIBLE! And now that I have revealed the atrocity of this word to the world, I can only demand that it be CLEANSED and PURGED and if need be BLASTED from the lexicon to prevent future generations from thinking this is a terribly good word to use in their upcoming Doctoral thesis which is probably laden with abbreviated text language anyway! I WILL NOT STAND BY AND ALLOW WESTERN SOCIETY TO DECAY IN SUCH A MANNER! You have stayed at home and done nothing instead of travelling to Switzerland or Jamaica! YOU HAVE STAYED HOME! And I urge anyone who even THINKS of using this word to STAY HOME ANYWAY because you are probably SOCIALLY INEPT and CANNOT BREATHE WITHOUT CONCENTRATING AND WITH GREAT DIFFICULTY EVEN THEN!
Please, Merriam-Webster, reconsider your great mistakes. You are only doing our great language harm. Until next year when they release even more unspeakable crimes against the lanugage I bid you adieu.
*-Proven in the July 1776 "Scientific Proof Magazine" and ratified by the Convention of Versailles on February 11, 1936.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Wherein I Declare Myself Mayor...
People carry many titles nowadays. Missus. Mister. Doctor. Professor. Captain. Viscount. Archduke. Lord. Her Highness. His Majesty. Darth. Titles let us know who people are immediately. For example, Doctors are all pretentious high-nosed sophisticates in argyle sweaters with stethoscopes about their necks. Lords are all fat and carry watch fob chains dangled with intricately jeweled lorgnettes. Darths tend to try and kill Jedi with glowing light swords. I myself have carried only two titles in my 25 years - Master and Mister. While the former certainly sounds important, when you realize it's merely a tag for a boy under a certain age, it loses no small measure of its grandeur. Mister... the requirements just aren't that difficult. I have sought what I consider the finest of all titles.
MAYOR.
I have been declared by various sources the MAYOR of at least two geographical locations: Montpellier, France and Sayville, New York. Alas, these have been in name only, as neither location has voted for me... at least not to my current knowledge. My Mayordom of Montpellier amounted to nothing more than a brief oration to my beloved onlookers from a balcony on Rue St. Guilhem served with a massive hangover (courtesy of the Shakespeare Pub) and a mouthful of pain au chocolat and café au lait. Sayville offered me a few of the benefits of mayordom including:
1.) Never paying overdue fines at the library.
2.) Free rides on the Fire Island Ferry.
3.) My name shouted out of moving vehicles while I go for an evening stroll.
4.) Complimentary ginger beer from the owner of The Sweet Gourmet.
5.) A "wink" and a "move along" for public consumption of alcohol.
But I want something more. I want to walk around in a three-piece suit wearing an important looking sash boasting my title - THE MAYOR. I want a pair of novelty oversized scissors in my back pocket for any impromptu openings and christening events I may need to attend. And best of all... I WANT TO IMPROVE NEW YORK CITY!
Those who have been in my company know that I have a few improvements already in mind. I HEREAFTER LIST THE IMPROVEMENTS.
NEXT TIME: Of Patriotism, Pyrotechnics, and the Greater Conspiracy for Greenpeace Terrorist Hippies to Destroy Independence Day
MAYOR.
I have been declared by various sources the MAYOR of at least two geographical locations: Montpellier, France and Sayville, New York. Alas, these have been in name only, as neither location has voted for me... at least not to my current knowledge. My Mayordom of Montpellier amounted to nothing more than a brief oration to my beloved onlookers from a balcony on Rue St. Guilhem served with a massive hangover (courtesy of the Shakespeare Pub) and a mouthful of pain au chocolat and café au lait. Sayville offered me a few of the benefits of mayordom including:
1.) Never paying overdue fines at the library.
2.) Free rides on the Fire Island Ferry.
3.) My name shouted out of moving vehicles while I go for an evening stroll.
4.) Complimentary ginger beer from the owner of The Sweet Gourmet.
5.) A "wink" and a "move along" for public consumption of alcohol.
But I want something more. I want to walk around in a three-piece suit wearing an important looking sash boasting my title - THE MAYOR. I want a pair of novelty oversized scissors in my back pocket for any impromptu openings and christening events I may need to attend. And best of all... I WANT TO IMPROVE NEW YORK CITY!
Those who have been in my company know that I have a few improvements already in mind. I HEREAFTER LIST THE IMPROVEMENTS.
- The installation of a monorail. This will be provided FOR TOURIST USE ONLY. All monorails will run local and will dispense little tidbits of (made up) trivia about New York City narrated by the computer simulated voice of Jerry Orbach, thus keeping bumbling confused map-wielding Midwesterners off my more efficient, faster subway.
- Related to the monorail, the Mayor's Mansion will be converted into a HAUNTED MAYOR's MANSION, wherein tourists may ride slowly around a dusty, cobwebbed house haunted by an overly talkative Fiorello LaGuardia.
- The return of the Brooklyn Dodgers and New York Giants to their rightful homes. Since Brooklyn is already a crowded borough, I suggest we build an underwater arena off Coney Island only accessible by a shark-infested fun-tunnel like you see in those fancy aquariums across our great nation. Room for the newly returned Giants will only require selling the Yankees to New Jersey. Deal with it.
- The banning of the following terms, words and phrases: power lunch, OMG, fierce, metrosexual, txt, "he/she 'friended' me on facebook," Google, pow-wow, IDK, "please make me [INSERT NUMBER] Frappuccino(s)," fart, and the infamous "What stop do I get off on," (esp. on the Grand Central Terminal / Times Square Shuttle.
- Improving the oyster population to clean our rivers and fill our bellies.
- The removal of tax on all beer, wine, spirits and poltergeists.
- The Brooklyn Museum will be made into my central Mayoral Palace. The Brooklyn Botanic Garden will be my personal Entertaining Lawn / Croquet Green. Jacques Pépin will be my personal chef in my personal catering hall of Grand Central Terminal.
- The Treaty of Bethesda Terrace - a declaration of peace and goodwill between motorists, bicyclists and pedestrians.
- The building of canals where several choice avenues used to be. The canals will be frozen in all possible months so that New Yorkers may ice-skate to work.
- All non-essential electricity will be shut off and cell phone towers disabled one day per week for Back to Basics Day, when everyone has to learn to love each other without the warm, friendly glow of a television / cell phone screen.
- FREE ICE CREAM AND T-SHIRTS!
NEXT TIME: Of Patriotism, Pyrotechnics, and the Greater Conspiracy for Greenpeace Terrorist Hippies to Destroy Independence Day
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