How To Make A Traditional Irish Dinner

We all know how this will end. With that in mind, let's get to it.


Step 1: Find corned beef.
Step 2: Boil corned beef.

Step 3: Wash potatoes.
Step 4: Prep cabbage. If potatoes take an hour to boil, cabbage takes 10 minutes. It cooks very fast. I like to cut it like thus:

...leaving about half an inch of connective tissue near the root. Then just before I'm ready to boil it I cut it the rest of the way. That 1) looks cool, 2) makes you look cool, and 3) takes less space. I like to cut my cabbage a couple hours before I'll be cooking it, so storage is an issue. Maybe that's just me.

Or, you can leave it connected with the connective tissue and boil it "whole." That makes you look great, but you need a rather large cutting board to put the cooked cabbage head on to finish cutting it. And you need a big pan. I use the 4-gallon pot, works fine.


Boil beef, potatoes, and cabbage until done.

Serve with 6-pack of beer per person. Alternatively, just boil a potato and serve with the beer. And that's your traditional Irish dinner.


I bet it's hard being Irish. Seriously, though- look at the Patricks ads. You'll see some green stuff, then a WHOLE SECTION dedicated to beer. It's about a 1:2 ratio of food-to-beer in Patricks Day ads. Kind of lends credence to the whole joke, y'know.

Save The Environment, Step 1: Exact Change

Some people have some very strange ideas on how to go about saving our environment. There's even a wacky sect that doesn't care at all. Keeps rambling about creation and Jesus Christ and stuff. Let's not discuss those ones.

We know that every single day, 25,000 trees die of asphyxiation and being cut down and such. Not only that, but 200,000 crickets are eaten by frogs per day- that's not an exaggeration, those are the cold, hard facts! And in just one 24-hour period!


Now, trees shelter the crickets, which prevents the frogs from eating them. The only problem with this is the thousands of frogs which will die periodically of cricket deprivation; but there's a balance to everything and we will find it eventually. For now, I'd rather see 20,000 frogs die each day than 200,000 crickets. Crickets are tasty.


So. How do we save the 25,000 trees? Simple. Exact change. Try this:

Go to convenience store. Buy a drink. Maybe a canned coffee product. Those am (sic) expensive. Now, checkout.

What happened? You paid with a $100 bill (or at least this is how it went in my fictional completely true experience), and they gave you change back. Then you climbed back in your Jaguar to return to your high-paying CEO job and realized...they also gave you a receipt.


Every day, more than 1 billion receipts are printed in Kansas alone. That amounts to about 400 billion receipts per day worldwide. Every 1,000 receipts weighs an average of 15 lbs. That's 1,050,000,000 pounds of paper I think- a lot of useless paper, filling up our landfills and killing all the crocodiles that usually call those landfills home sweet landfill.

Each tree weighs an average of 38,000 pounds. That's roughly 27,500 trees worth of paper we could save if we could eliminate these vile receipt-fiends.


I have a solution. Brethren, we have vic'try:

Provide exact change! With exact change, there's no loose ends to tie up, so you have a fun, safe, frog-loving paperless transaction. Otherwise, they have to print up the receipt to see how much money to give you back. This also takes time.

Think of the shoplifter: in and out of store very fast. No receipts for them; they're actually halping- oh my, I have no idea what just happened, sorry- they're actually helping the environment by shoplifting.

You- yes, you- can be just like a petty thief if you provide exact change. All you'll need for this Step is to carry around 100 pennies at all times, preferably leaving the house with...400 billion receipts = 100 per person per day, maximum of 99 pennies needed per receipt...about 9,900 pennies for your 100 transactions, max of 99 pennies needed per transaction. (Be prepared.) You can do it. For your children. For the frogs...for those tasty crickets.

Second thought, who could possibly blame those frogs?

Cardinals Lose, 2009

This is the post that was posted before I meanted it to be posted. It goes thus:


Yep, the Cardinals lost. The only surprise for me was that the Steelers toyed with them so much in the second half...remember when the Steelers intercepted what should have been a touchdown, ran the entire field and scored a play-of-the-game touchdown? That was great.

Then the Cardinal's coach, when interviewed before halftime, offered this explanation of their game plan:

"The other team got the ball, that was a mistake. Then they got a touchdown, and we really should have stopped that. So what we need to do is get some points for the second half, and try not to let them get too many points, if they're OK with that, I hope, I mean, if their defense is OK with that, I mean."

Taking that genius statement into account, let's see how I can make this a positive post.


Um...well, they really, REALLY suck, so it's great that they made it this far. I mean, just the fact that they were able to...make it this far, you know.

How many years have we watched as our team repeatedly, consistently lost? Remember the time that they practiced with the Sun Devils and got beaten 24-10? That might be understandable if we were talking about the Sun Devils football team; but I'm talking about that time that they practiced (football) with the Sun Devils Women's Softball team and got trounced (at football). That was embarrassing.

The only saving grace for that instance is that the players are not only terrible at football, they're also quite stupid, so they thought they were playing the Sun Devils football team and their pride was not damaged.

Uhhhh, that um, is an example of their good, positiveness as a team. It's just so amazing that they made it as far as they did. I get mad every time I see a Steelers fan. I say, "What's wrong with you, man? You're like the guy at a mixed horserace that yells, "GO HORSES! I hope you really outrun and beat that inbred mule!"...what's wrong with you, you jerk?"

It always shames them. I like to think of the Cardinals like an 8th grade team that somehow is playing in the Rose Bowl.

Alternatively, I think of them in the lowest of their glory getting knocked around by a college women's softball team. :\

Circuit City Goes Poof

Yeah, so I was chillin', right, like always, right?

Then I went to Circuit City's website. It appears that they are going out of business. I really have to stop stumbling on things such as these; they really interrupt my chillin' time. But since I'm here, I guess I should say something lovey-dovey, nostalgic, and witty about Circuit City. Here goes.


Lovey-dovey. Circuit City? Yeah, definitely my favorite place to shop. You know how Target has that...uh, target, and it makes women shop there because women are inexplicably attracted to targets? I'm not sure if that's true; that's just what my dad says. He says a lot of things, if you hadn't guessed. Anyways, yes, their hackneyed logo really plucks the strings of my heart. I'll totally miss it.

Nostalgic. Wow, I remember buying so many neat things from Circuit City. Things that make your bake shake. I mean...your...shake bake. Yeah. It bakes y...the stuff Circuit City sold, bakes your shakes in the oven. My laptop, my awesome headphones that make me feel like RoboCop and Geordi La Forge with a broken neck at the same time...and my most memorable purchase, my loved voice recorder, the Olympus WS-311M. It also bakes my shakes in the oven. Then it goes au gratin on 'em.

Witty. Oh, wait, now that I think about it, I actually bought all of that stuff from Best Buy, their largest and direct competitor! Oh, silly me, I completely forgot!


Wow. My bad.

The Horrible Day, Week 1: Garbage Has A Disposal

There I was, ordering stuff online with someone else's credit card. I was a bit sick, but not too sick to order stuff online with someone else's credit card. Anyways, then I heard over the phone system: "Jen to the kitchen, please."

I sat up straight in my chair. I was already sitting up straight, so hindsight, I must have overcorrected and actually leaned backwards in the chair. I then set out to find the cause of this summons.

You see...we're expecting Hector the Health Inspector to come by any day now, so I'm extra paranoid. I went out the back door and checked the parking lot. No Hectormobile. Mrs. Jen (Jen is her first name), or The Boss, is the one who deals with the inspector. She knows him the best and it keeps things from getting confused.

No idea why they don't use The Vixen for this. Not that I would agree with that, but still. More on The Vixen later.

Seeing no Hectorial car, I entered the building. Cautiously. I peeked around the corner...I saw Mrs. Merry with a mop and bucket. There was a water spill. Whew, I thought. That's all it is. No inspector. I'm terrified of the inspector. The inspector has a habit of beating you with health violations. Physically.


Anyway, Mrs. Merry, our janitor/head chef, has a temper. Some people have bad tempers, some people have horrible tempers. Hers is just...broken. After screaming at me for what seemed like two minutes, she handed me a mop and asked me to help. The good thing about Mrs. Merry is that once she expends all of her hatred, she's really nice as she mixes up more of that vitriol. Sometimes she'll attack others and be nice to you, sometimes she'll attack you so that she can go be nice to others. And she'll be in a really good mood if she can attack two people at once. It's give and take with Mrs. Merry.


Yesterday evening, as I was cleansing the refrigerator of the kitchen, I had to throw out three gallons of hot sauce. I didn't want to throw it in the dumpster (if I did that to our dumpster, we'd have half the boogeymen in the county after us, but I guess it's different in the city), so I put it down the garbage diposal. It was something to do with the hot sauce being too readily available and going down the pipes too fast, then sitting overnight, and it clogged the system up something fierce.

There was only ten or so gallons of water, but it took an hour and a half to clean up. As I'd later discover, Mrs. Merry's mop could absorb three times as much as mine, and when she left it to me to finish mopping, I continued with the bad one. For another forty minutes. After that I had to go finish ordering stuff with that credit card. Nothing makes you feel better faster than ordering something with someone else's credit card. Think about it: It's buying something with money that isn't yours, that isn't the other person's, either!

I was so happy. Then I got the news. I was informed that a plumber was on the way.

Then I got the bad news. I'd be paying.


So long, stillborn first pay check. I loved you 'ere I knew you.

Betty Breakdown

Ever had to deal with people? I have. And do. Not often. But one of those people is named Betty.

Betty Breakdown. As they call her.

They made a jingle:

When you hear whining down the halls,
It's Betty Breakdown's wa'try falls!
When you hear sobbing and wish it'd stop,
It's Betty Breakdown - go get a mop!
When you get the feelin' you're being watched
Turn to see those cheeks all teary an' blotched
When you walk faster but a little too laaate...
It's Betty Breakdown! (someone at this point begins a mocking sob)

People apparently don't get any nicer with age. You should see the jingles they made for Patrick the Annoyingly Faced Irishman. Actually, they didn't make any for him, sorry. By the time they say his name it's time for the next part of that verse. Example:

Patrick the Annoyingly Faced Irishman is,
Patrick the Annoyingly Faced Irishman to,
Patrick the Annoyingly Faced Irishman faced,

See? There's only room for one more word after his name. Betty Breakdown is much easier. Anyways, yes, Betty. I've been told by the resident Kev Guard (or 'person that tells Kev things he just can't grasp') that I'm a good target.

Kev. A shoulder to cry on.


I hear her approach. Tap, tap...slower taps. Silenced shuffling.


Sniffling. A knock. My door's open. The knock wasn't necessary.

"Mr. Kev?" she says. I'm twice her junior. No idea why she calls me "Mr." I look up from my keyboard. They're really nice keyboards, but I'm used to laptop keyboards and for a while I'll need to hunt and peck. I'm averaging two words a minute. Long words.

"Mrs. Breakdo- Agh! I mean, Mrs. Betty!" I say.

It's too late. She's sobbing, eyes halfway closed, unfocused and spewing tears. Mumbling. Mumbling something. Maybe an ancient curse, I think. Hopefully. No, darn it...just sob-speak.

She pulls up a chair. I hastily stow any vulnerable items; papers, my laptop, the desktop's tower and monitor, the keyboard and mouse...my voice recorder which I keep in a pocket...

Nothing is holy to Mrs. Breakdown. Not even pockets with sensitive electronics in them.


The best defense you have for Betty is to put your hands on her shoulders and try to hold her back. She fights like a drunken, angry bear, however, and is known to angle her head backward so that tears gather in her eye sockets. This allows her to fling her head forward and drench you with the "stored" water.

Betty...


Yeah...I think I'll keep my door closed from now on. Or invest in a stun gun.

Kzzapow.

"Give your wife a kiss for me!"

Ever realize something? Such as the meaning of the word 'sweet' (which evaded me for 19 years), or the meaning of the word 'excavation'? Ever created an alternate way of applying the word 'excavation'? For example, "We're going to excavate your entire fleet," and they're like, "Well there are a lot of walking dead bodies in this city, want us to knock them down?" and you're like "Actually not really lol hahah whew" then they say "Back off then lol weirdo ina box"


Anyways, I was listening to Christmas music. Nothing gets you in the Christmas spirit faster than listening to the same 15 songs for 30 days straight beginning the day after Thanksgiving...not like there is a need for new Christmas music, if all of you artists are wondering. Nope, we have about 10 classics (half are weird and one is ) and 5 hangers-on and that'll do for the entirety of the world's supply of Christmas music. We're sittin' pretty in a PRIDE, as they say, so don't apply any creativity to creating more songs. Jerks.

Anyway, the song Holly Jolly Christmas was on. Something hit me about the lyrics:

Say hello to friends you know
and everyone you meet

Oh, the mistletoe hung where you can see
Somebody waits for you, kiss her once for me

It's been said that you'll sing something you'd never, in a right mind, say. Ever noticed that last line?

Last I checked (which was never, bear with me), it wasn't cool for you to ask someone to kiss their significant other for you. In fact, I think that's quite creepy. Don't think so? Fine. Go to your boss and say, "Hey, could you give your wife a kiss for me tonight?" and see what happens. A sudden increase in creepiness is what will happen.


Or...something else might happen. Like, the phrase "No way, that's creepy! Eww!" and then a sudden increase in creepiness. When you make your boss use the words "No way" and "Eww!" in the same phrase, you know you've said something creepy. Yet, the lack of the word "fired" implies that it wasn't psychotically creepy.

I think the line between creepy, really creepy, psychotically creepy, and rose trimmer creepy is fine. Actually there are three lines. They're all pretty fine. And creepy. Especially those rose trimmers. Horrible, wretched, evil people, who do horrible, evil, wretched things. They deserve death and death finds them in disparaging ways. The *...oh, I won't describe it. That's not kempt.


Where was I going?

I forget. Point is, the guy who wrote this song: creepy. But not psychotically creepy. Just really creepy.

He's the kind who would pull a gun on you, but not the kind who would use it, in other words.


*-extinguish the candle just after they realize it's burning

Real Princesses Don't Seduce Protagonists

Had two minutes to post this; I wrote it several days ago:


And they don't go semi-catatonic and respond to every query with a flat "giggle-laugh", either.


Oh, I can feel the darkness approaching. Its appendage-like sinews stretching and grasping, trying to find their way into my veins to capture my motor functions and, ultimately, dreams and desires. Its mouth, if you could call it that, is like a maw in the dirt, gnawing on nothing, ceaselessly grinding its teeth of stone.

That shiny, black fiend.


Anyways, yes, real princesses never seduce protagonists, and when they do, they always turn out to be evil beings in princess garb- and therefore not princesses at all. And this is especially so when they go catatonic on you, even if their dad, the King, had just died. Because there won't always be a pirate nearby to save you.

That's the lesson of the week.


Yep.

Flue on The Election, Part 1, "Obama HUSSEIN and the Poppy-Peanut Crop"

Flue says that Obama (Hussein Obama) may have the ears of an elephant, but if you rearrange the name 'Hussein' you can spell 'stupid.' (Flue can't read, if you're not able to tell, and he can't follow a thought process through to the end half of the time.)

He also says that Bill Ayers is just the tip of the Obamaburg, and that Ayers is just cover for Obama's more sinister allies, such as the Osama Al Panthers, which distribute poisoned circus peanuts that are tasty "beyond reproach" yet oh-so-poisonous to the trunk.

And Obama's a Muslim, too, due to his name 'Barack.' Flue says that if you don't believe that Obama's a Muslim, just rearrange the letters in the name 'Barry.' If you move one of the Rs, you will have the word 'Muslim.' "Pretty freaky, huh?" he asks enthusiastically. "Yeah...that's just scary," I reply flatly.


"And that's not all," Flue continues, certain that he's wooing his audience proficiently. "Obama actually founded Al Qaeda, but then turned it over to his young apprentice, Joe Biden, who turned it over to his apprentice, Osama Bin Laden. Ever wonder why Obama picked Biden? That's why!" he declares proudly.

"Then he set his sights on the presidency- not the presidency of the United States, but of Vietnam. The main stream media won't tell you this," he says conspiratorially, "But that's why the Vietnam war occurred. We were in there trying to hunt down Osama - I mean O- Obama because he caused..." (McCain appeared on the television for a second and broke his train of thought.)



(After McCain was over, he continued:)

"You might have heard a lot about the oil fields burning in Iraq," he said, eyes still on the screen, "but you never heard about the decimated peanut crops in Afghanistan. Obama- who has had previous names such as Cain, Judas, The Masher, Hitler- decimated all the peanut farms by sowing a poppy crop that mixed with the peanuts, creating a hybrid poppy-peanut crop, which caused a hallucinagenic daze when eaten.

"I ate my way through a quarter acre of those wonderful delights before I realized I was eating poppy-peanuts. By then it was too late, and I was hooked. Even Dr. Phil couldn't snap me out of my hallucinations, and Benny Hinn prayed the prayer over me to halt the cravings, but I couldn't stop.

"After those failed attempts, as I was living up my lifestyle with reckless abandon by 'poppy-peanut surfing,' I was abducted by baby Afghani tribesmen and forced into a newspaper cocoon.


"As I thrashed my way out of the newspaper cocoon- they added more layers daily to keep me confined- I began to lose hope, and the poppy-peanut cravings nearly drove me mad. The only comfort I received came in the form of villagers reading the newspapers that formed my cocoon. Through this I learned that I am the Republican Elephant, and once this set into my mind, I was a Pachyderm with Purpose. This gave me the strength..."


Then he grabbed the remote and started flipping through the channels, utilizing his trunk with great skill. He can't count, so he has to just keep flipping channels until he gets to Fox. He wanted to go vote with us so badly today, you could have swore he was having a poppy-peanut episode. He stopped chasing the van after about 300 yards.

More as the day progresses...

What To Do When Protein Isn't Enough

I may have to apologize for this post. My mind is out of it. I can't think straight. I can't operate sufficiently. I am unable to determine whether or not material is inappropriate or grammatically correct with any amount of certainty. I think I have been poisoned.



So, have you ever been a woman? And you're like, "Oh, my bones. My children have taken all of my calcium whilst they were greedily developing in my womb. I am going to die. Uh-huuuuuurg, blegh. I am dead now."?

Well, I have a solution. Here's your normal Breakfast of Champions:

Eww. Sorry, nobody actually eats their eggs like that. That's just sick.

There we go. Much better! I don't know what kind of person eats their eggs whole without blending them. A weird person, that's who. But still...what do you do when protein isn't enough? Such as an woman who produces offspring which devour her precious nutrient reserves during gestation, leaving her calcium-deprived bones crumbling? What do they do?

Well, you know that these are chock-full of calcium, right?


Yeah! But the problem is, they're so hard to eat like this. But think about it: the egg contents are hard to eat whole, too! So of course it follows that the shells are the same! I can't believe I'm like, the first person to figure this out! OK...

First, get your eggs in your blender. Then blend them!


Mmm-mm. Don't be surprised if half the house wakes up because of what I assume to be the wonderful smell of calcium-enriched Breakfast of Champions! Although it doesn't really have a smell. So I don't know, maybe it's just some cosmic allure that wakes them up when I make calcium-enriched BoC, some instinct that tells them: Woo! A perfect breakfast awaits!

Now, scrape all the calcium into your glass, like so...

And add a straw!


To all the midwives and calcium deprived out there, you're welcome.


Tune in next week when I reveal the secret of calcium-rich omelettes. You won't believe it.

Tuxedo Mask is soooo dreamy

OH WAIT, WHAT AM I SAYING?!?! I HAVE TO GO!

The Birthday List 2008

I don't really need to post this, but seeing how slyly letting my main gift buyers know what I want for my birthday is a big part of my original intent for WENDs, I really should. This is really just a formality, and if you really have an itch and want to get me something (and can't think of anything), contact my mom and she will assign you an item to get me. Really. But feel free to just send me a card with $5 in it. I love $5. Without further ado, we're off.


Ahem, me-me-me-me-me-me-me-meeeee!


OH, whoa is me. SIGH. My laptop is getting old. SIGH. I've lived for two years on an 80 GB hard drive. It sure would be nice to have a bigger hard drive. It's totally an ATA and I need at least 250 GB because I have grown to detest spacial limitations. And I totally know that spacial doesn't mean that kind of space. Totally.

Oh, and the battery is so worn down and old, I am lucky if I get 15 minutes from a full charge. WHOA IS ME. I MEAN WOE. I sure do wish I had a new battery, I'm about to run amuck, but it would only be a 10-15 minute amucking, because I don't have much battery life.

Completely unrelated, but did you know that it's been two years since I got that fabulous knife sharpener? Totally. And the stones are starting to wear down. It's so sad trying to sharpen knives with flat stones that it makes my ears spin. And that's weird.

You know how much I love books? No? Oh, I guess I don't really love books. But I don't dislike 'em, especially ones on murder. I mean brainwashing. I mean I better stop digging the hole deeper.

Oh, darn, another pen just died or had died or something SIGH. How I wish I had a pen which could last forever unto eternity. Like that one pen I used to have.


I think that's about it. And you all know how much I love knicks and knacks, too. But that's beside the point. I have to go!

I don't believe you - you're a man!

Well, me and my dad had a "discussion" last night about how much my brother loves hip hop or R&B or jazz or whatever that fast-paced bass-heavy music is. Notice how when I put discussion in quotation marks it makes it seem like it was a fight? I love it!

Anyways, we discovered that my brother doesn't and hasn't had a radio, despite his fleshly affection for fast-paced bass-heavy music. It makes him happy. And it's always good to feed the fleshly lusts. We have DirecTV, and DirecTV gives you free XM radio, I guess. It's like a normal channel but there are no videos.


So...I was awoken today by the cries of some guy on the "teleradio" blubbering out these words:


"WHOA, WHOA, WHOA, I'M A LADY!"

"I'm a lady! Whoa, whoa, whoa, I'm a lady!" he blared. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, I'm a lady! ... Listen to me baby, I'm a lady!"


On and on and on.

I don't know who it was, but sir, you are officially NOT the kind I'd like to flaunt and take to dinner.

Excessively High Cheese Prices: Dad Has the Details At 9

It started about a week ago. My dad went into a Walmart. "Oh my gosh, cheese is $8 a pound!" was his shrill scream. I'm going to enjoy this blog post. >:)


Then he went to a Bashas. It was $14 a pound. This was apparently a sure sign for him that Armageddon was right around the corner, and I think George Noory had something to do with this thought. He promptly filed into a Fry's and bought 25 (twenty-fire) pounds of cheese while it was "still" $3 a pound. A guy asked him, "Do you know something I don't know?"


Then it was confirmed (there's a story on the word "confirmed," I'll tell you some day) that cheese prices were astronomically high, comma splice, when the stores didn't send out their ads. That is, that the stores didn't send out their ads was proof of his theory. "Hah! I told you!" he bragged. "They didn't send out their ads! Stupid!"

I said, "You're telling me that they didn't send out their ads just because they are charging more for cheese?" "No, fool!" he replied. "It's all dairy products - farmers are just now buying their Summer feed, and the gas prices have driven it all up, up, up to the moon!!!" he rattled off, as his eye developed a progressively worsening twitch.


I decided I should leave it at that. Maybe he's right for once, I thought. It does make a lot of sense...could he be right for once?


I should tell you a story about a "gift." It "keeps on giving." Actually, I shouldn't. I want to keep this post short. Ideally, I should have posted about this story before. It'll come up again, I'm sure.



Anyways...a few days ago he told me that...well...turns out, cheese prices didn't remain $14 a pound. And gas is even down a little. And today I found the ads for all four major Arizona stores. I guess one of us brought them in but forgot. I called him and told him. He got real busy real quick and had to go...strange.


The only thing going for him now is that apparently they changed their pricing structure. Now they're charging per yard!


Picture circa January 2008.

Stacks of Notes and Green

The other day, I went through and sorted almost 10 months of study notes. It took 2-3 hours...it was a trip down the Lane of Memories.

I also needed to acquire a list of hymns, so I entered almost every song we've sang since we've gone to church. There are approximately 15,260 of them. We use 83 hymn books.

Here are the notes!



Yes, yes. Pages and pages of ink, arranged by date, masterpieces which will surely be stocked in the Heavenly Library, to be read, re-read, and eventually not returned by legions of angels, and even more legions of heavenly hosts.


Then, there's the green notes.


Ah, looks like I'm going to buy myself a brand new pair of roller skates!

Since I was a small child, anytime there's a large sum of money, it goes to bills. Invariably. It's never given to Kev. It never turns out to be my birthday money, or roller skate money, or money that I can use to buy my own Party Store, where I can spend my days airing up helium balloons. If it IS for any of the above, it turns out to be a fake check, which I should have caught on to, because it had Disney cartoons on it. Ruined my 17th birthday when I tried to cash it.


OK, we've been through Notes, then fused Notes and Green with Green Notes, bridging the gap between Notes and Green. Now for the Green!


Yes, we had another squeeze load delivered today. It's a new provider. They were...sort of...well, they had crowbars with them, and I'm really glad I had the money with me in cash, let me put it that way. He seemed real glad I counted the money out for him, in the "You're lucky you didn't give me a reason" way.

I put the dogs in the goat pen, as usual. One of the guys asked if we were selling any goats. I said, "Uh, I'm not sure of the price, we can get the information to you." I then had my dad call him with our rates, which I had to call mom to determine. It's $50 for the babies, and $100 for the big ones. If someone doesn't buy them soon, we're going to have them executed at the local slaughterhouse. "Well, we usually do hawks, dogs, cats, antelopes and rats, but I think goats are like the same. They're all alike once you decapitate their tails."


As my dad says, "If you can give them away, do it!"

Jailhouse Stew

As you know, my dad spent half a year in jail in 2006-2007. During that time, he picked up this recipe. It has no real name, but I like to call it Jailhouse Stew. OK, honestly, we've only made it twice, but I have an image to uphold, here. Meet the ingredients!

• Corn nuts - anywhere from 1/3 of a bag to an entire bag; these will soften very nicely
• Fritos - These can be used instead of corn nuts, but it's not the same. They do well used in conjunction to corn nuts.
• Sausage - I used 3.5 ounces of summer sausage, and 1 ounce of Slim Jim sausage. Beef jerky or any other type of sausage or meat can be used.
• Ramen soup; for every 3 bags of soup, use 2 seasoning packets - save the third to make "Jailhouse Tea"...
• Chili with or without beans - 1 15 ounce can
• Cheese - It's preferable to use some sort of processed cheese.
  

OK, bottom line, this stuff is cooked in a washing machine, inside of a garbage bag. The ingredients will last in the sun for weeks. It's great for camp I assume, because like I said, it's made in a garbage bag.

Begin by breaking up your Ramen noodles while they're in the bag. Otherwise, they could poke you. You want most of it crushed pretty good, but you also want a good amount of 1" by 1" by 1/3" pieces. These provide texture. See below.

See the biggest piece? The biggest piece needs to be broken in half. The piece at the far bottom of the picture is perfect. The other piece- at the far left- needs its sides whittled off, then they'll all be the perfect size. Remember, you still want about 70% of the Ramen noodles to be in 1/4" pieces. Then you want 30% in the size described above.

Add your seasoning packets (I used one too many) and corn nuts, and have your dad hold the chili above them. I'm using a bowl here because I wasn't cooking the stew for several hours and I didn't want any flies getting caught in the garbage bag during that time. It's preferable to just make it in the bag.

Then cut up your sausage and cheese. I'm bad at adding cheese- I put too much or too little, so decide for yourself. And use processed cheese if possible. These can be "chopped" by simply breaking them apart with your fingers.

OK, now I'm finally making it, so I add the noodles and seasoning and corn nuts. By the way...this is an official Joe Arpaio garbage bag. We keep these clear 50+ gallon sacks around just for making Jailhouse Stew. It's more authentic, like making New York pizza with sewage water. Also, this should give you a better idea of how big to make the noodles. Most of them are crushed, see?

Now add your sausage, cheese, and the can of chili. If you have a pop-top can of chili, you won't need a can opener. See, this is great for camping. Now, mix it all around. This can be challenging. It's like spinning a pizza- they don't let you until you've been adding the sausage and cheese for at least five months.

When mixing, you will need to add between 1/2 and 1 cup of water. I used about 3/4 cup. You want it very thick in the end, so do not overdo it. Now, add it to your washing machine, and fill it with the hot water.

...or just fill your sink with hot water. You want to push it out into a round like a pizza so that it cooks faster. You can do this in the sun, on a hot rock, or you don't even have to heat it at all, unless it's very cold where you are. Ideally, you want it to reach a toasty internal temperature of 105 degrees Fahrenheit.

Yay! It takes about 20 minutes to cook. The noodles may get oversoaked if you let it go too long. For the final finishing touch, you need to eat it with disposable items...specifically, a plastic or Styrofoam cup. No bowls; using disposable ware is to jailhouse cookery what chopsticks are to Chinese food.

Finally, you scoop it out with the cup because in jail you don't have a ladle that you haven't turned into a shank, and we're being authentic. See how I'm holding the plastic fork with my thumb as I scoop it? That provides leverage and is also authentic. It's called "being upfront with what you're eating with, and you haven't turned your fork into a shank yet, so it's safe to sit next to you."


On a completely unrelated note...we're bringing snacks this Sunday.

That's very unrelated.

Fighting the Demon Tonsil

For dinner yesterday, my mom made me some potato soup. It was the garlicky It was meant for one purpose and one purpose and one purpose and one purpose only: to stave off the tonsil demon, which has returned!

I've currently taken out some insurance of my own...a vaporizer. I mean, air humidifier. Yeah, that's it. It's supposed to help in cases of normal swollen tonsils/sore throats, but quite honestly, this is not a normal swollen tonsil. It is a tonsil infected with a possessive case of multi-demon indwelling. The one demon returned with two or more more, and it developed a nostril.


Therefore, as a countermeasure...I filled the humidifier with holy water. Aw, yeah! Take take that, demon tonsil! Sorry about the repetitions and occasional double spaces (which Blogger won't display), it's so humid in my room right now, that if I had a sponge, it would not only develop into a tree (sponges are basically tree seeds), it would develop into some kind of semi-sentient, space-capable flying tree, able to achieve near-relativistic speeds and transport a human crew of 25, all while running on eco-friendly sunshine and massive amounts of nutrients violently pillaged from plots of farmland.



I don't know how well our efforts (to destroy this foul incarnation) are faring. It is now producing pus, which to me seems like the perfect "blood" for demonic manifestations to run off of...therefore indicating that it is "bleeding." Meaning we're hurting it.

However.



It has now developed...it has now developed a mouth. DUNNA DUN DUNN!

See this picture, depicting the Demon Tonsil with pus ebbing out of it (I think the pus is what I taste that I describe as "cadaverous") and with its newly formed mouth. Perhaps it has always had it, but it was laying low, and now it's actually cursing my name. And furthermore, it developed a jaw structure, perhaps formed a second eye (it's covered in thick pus- maybe that's like a developmental sac), and developed scowling evil eyebrows. I expect it to grow those arms and legs very soon...only God knows what it will do at that point.


Then something magical happened...


Its face melted.

Yes, I think the holy water did the trick. It wasn't actually holy water. The only method of holy water makery I know is the "How do you make holy water, you boil the hell out of it" method.


Or if it wasn't the holy-water-in-the-humidifier trick, it was the gargling-with-saltwater trick. Really, most of the time, that will instantly make your throat feel better. I usually gargle several times, then swallow some of it to coat my entire throat, then I don't drink anything for a few minutes to leave the deadly salt in my throat. My mom claims that it will even kill strep throat virals. Maybe she'll comment on that.



For my notes, two days ago I ran defrag. Command and Conquer 3 is my computer performance test, and I think it's running a little faster.

Repairing a Porch

Today I will show you how to repair a porch. Last year- back when my mom finally acquired a Nintendo Wii- I repaired the same spot, but didn't do as thorough a job as I should have. That was on December 22nd, and my dad was still in jail at that point. Now I am reaping the fruit of my not fixing it thoroughly by having to repair it once more.


We begin by examining the spot that needs fixing.

See the large section of wood that's lighter colored? That's the piece that's becoming week. (Weak- we'll get that in editing.) It's cheap wood, and it's thinner than the rest of the porch, so you can understand the problem. Not to mention that it's on the most used part of the porch.


Now, I removed all the fastenings. Several screws, and a nail. I had to look for a hammer; failing, I used the miniature kiddy claw hammer we keep in the kitchen. It only has one claw. The other claw broke off in the process of trying to remove the single nail- this was one of the times I'm very grateful that I wore pants, as because of their protection I'm thankfully still capable of having children. So I had to spend another 10 minutes looking before I found a medium sized hammer that worked.


Take that, you cad nail. See how it looks underneath?

Note that it needs more cross braces. That's one of the most stressed portions of the entire porch, and it has little support. I know this because, well, it's the ONLY portion of the porch we've had to replace. Now we have to replace it a second time. Precious and either Tessa or Penny are in the picture; probably Tessa.

Next, we need a saw so that we can both cut the supports and the new plywood section.

No...that's too old.

AGH, that's WAY too old!

Ah! Just right! Ever used a table saw? I wish I could say "It's really quite simple" but I don't know either. Because I'm unrelentingly smart, I'll figure it out on my own. Oh...and before you think this is all easy fun and games...it's been over an hour so far. It's not easy, fun and games when you have to hunt down every tool you need, most of them not working very well. Pastor says that the only way out of this life is a .45 to the temple...don't have that particular caliber.

OK, here the braces are in. See how I positioned them? That's called a "Y-axis inward end support." So far, it's been another hour- almost exactly another hour, in fact. (It isn't really called a Y-axis inward end support, but why not?)

Now to the pile of wood for the plywood. The pile of wood was supported by two metal sawhorses, and one of them got mercilessly owned during removal of the plywood. I got very angry and frustrated during removal. There were 4 2x12x12's, and 3 1x4x10's, and 3 sheets of 5/8x4'x8' plywood. Then there were two picnic tables on top- yes, picnic tables- and two milk-crate-sized boxes of tools. Then two tarps covering it all.

It was the whole "Maybe I can remove this without removing it all one by one" attitude that owned me. I was very mad. I haven't cursed like that in months! And months! In the course of my cursing, I rethought some of the meanings of the words I was using. Those things are downright vulgar, especially when strung together in just the right way. No wonder I don't like them.

Anyway, here's the plywood cut. I believe it's called "ripped." Because you "rip" a sheet of plywood. I don't know why it isn't called "cutting." It's the 21st century, dudes...we have cool new words to use. Like "cut."

There it is. It's not a very straight cut...I don't think table saws are designed to cut ...er, rip plywood. It's sort of a wavy cut. If I had the circular saw, everything would be fine and dandy, and the Muffin Man would have dropped by with a basket of lemon fluff and orange creme muffins. But my dad has the circular saw at his job. Thanks a lot, Dad. You prevented a visit from the Muffin Man! ...and now I want to make a lemon meringue pie!

Here it is, finally in place. Isn't it pretty? I think it is. I simply screwed it down every so often along the sides. That worked out well. It took 2 hours and 53 minutes to get to this point (not counting break/phone time.) Seems very durable, but there's one problem...


Now the screen door is hard to open and shut. Thus, it needs to have its hangers adjusted; shouldn't be too hard. Also, part of the problem is that our screen door has nail heads sticking out on the bottom- don't look at me, I'm smart enough to use screws- and those nail heads rake across the wood until they've sufficiently cut themselves a groove to move in. That's where the term "Groovemovin" came from, you know. You know, from the song?...no? Come on, everyone knows the chorus to that song! It's as popular as the chorus to "Pear Trees Don't Bloom In August"! ...you know that one, right? About how partridges are left without a pear tree to hang in dur...oh forget it, you uncultured nail.


I was screwing and unscrewing on my merry way to having the screen door adjusted just perfectly, when something happened that I didn't expect.

The bit broke.


Oh, the humanity! Oh, the drama! Oh, the pain! Oh, the nausea, heartburn, indigestion, upset stomach, and diarrhea! HEY PEPTO-BISMAL!...aw man, that completely ruined the whole "disastrous occurrence" effect I was going for. Anyhoo, time to find a new bit, right? E+Z divided by Z, right?

Once more, not that simple. By 1:50 PM I had given up completely. With no more bits to be found- my dad has them all except the ones which are too big or too small- my toiling was found to be in futility. In total, I spent 3 hours fixing the porch today. We'll see how effective my laboring was next year around this time.

Now, I am off to have a bowl of gumbo. Gumbo makes everything better. Including the fact that I should be milking right now, and dinner is nowhere near being started.

Back to Basics

Well, my schedule is filling up slightly. I'm- gasp- involved in ministry work! Can you believe it? Kev, the highly trained procrastinator, the crowd-avoider, the teleprompter-hating candidate for split-personalities is involved in ministry work!


I'm going to go back to a 4-plus-post-a-week schedule. Blogging full-time takes so much of my alloted computer time that I'm barely having enough time to enjoy other's blogs or websites, and I also need to take the time to focus on the transition from Sacrilegious Sunday to Sanctified Sunday. Plus, the guys are always telling me to close down the blog, so I will meet them halfway and cut down on my blogging. That will be 16 posts a month. More than manageable.


I also need to practice my singing. Solo, I sound like a wet dog that got ran over by a cat with its tail on fire (seriously), but I imagine I'd sound OK in a group of 4 or 5. Especially if I didn't sing, but just stood there looking efficient. I look efficient very well. God forbid, I might be able to be taught to sing, but I doubt it. I talked to Kile II about it today; he said that "I [Kile II] sound[s] like a dying cat that's being strangled by a fireman." Fair enough. Since everyone has more-or-less abandoned ship, me and Pastor are going to do duets. Wait...that's not nearly manly enough.

We're going to do "Manliets." That's better. Man-lee-ette- WAIT, the "lee" is too girly. Manmanets. Man-mahnets. That's better. Manmanets.


To better perform these feats of pure unrelenting manhood- not girly duets, or feminine-sounding manliets, but manmanets- I will need to learn to play the guitar. GEEtar. My mom seems to believe in me wholeheartedly. "Guitars are a girl magnet! I'll have grandchildren in no time!" she exclaims. "Yeah, but Mom, I'm not getting married until I'm ready to, and that will be years and years."

"Not if you get to playing that guitar! I'll have so many grandchildren, I'll have to start raising them en-mass like goats!"

"Uhh, yeah. About that...anyway...I'll be heading to the guitar store today."

"The guitar store?! Today?! Wow! That means I could be as little as 9 months from a grandchild or five!"

"Uhm, yeah...I'm pretty nervous, though-"

"Come on, now! You practically went to California alone! You can handle a guitar store! You're a saint of God, now act like you're not going to Hell! GET OUT THERE, AND BRING ME HOME SOME GRANDCHIL...ER...A GRAND GUITAR FOR YOU!!!"


My mom has good pep talks when her receiving grandchildren is involved. I think I learned a thing or two over the weekend. When combined with Bits Kibble's sermon on Romans 1:11- it's on Pastor Crude Justice's website- I learned three things. As he says, we are soldiers. We are in a battle. This is important to understand, as soldiers have much different training than civilians.

Pastor Vertigo- the main speaker last weekend- reminds me very much of a soldier. He is an ex-marine, and he looks the part. At least 6'5", around 260 pounds, and he carries a 15" Bowie knife with him "at all times." His signature greeting is to hold it to your throat and ask if you want to die. When you say "No, sir!" he says "ALRIGHT, just let me know if you want to die in the future," and gives you a card.

This guy is scary. He's the kind of guy who punches through a glass window, and the one left bleeding is the glass. When he goes riding in the wilderness, if the horse gets tired it simply rides him. One time, he took a drink from a lake, and his reflection ran from him. He chased it down and told it not to try anything funny again. He also did this with his shadow numerous times. It is unclear if he can harm either beyond somehow grasping them to keep them from running.

When there's an emergency or hostage situation, the police call him. When the boogeyman goes to sleep at night, he prays to his lonely "wall god" that he didn't scare any of Pastor Vertigo's kids during the night, and then checks his closet and under his bed for "The Vertigan." The Godfather calls him for advice half of the time.

When he preaches, the congregation trembles not from "preaching power," but from his tendency to make entire rows wet their pants from fear. He throws his bowie knife like a boomerang in front of them, and the real scary part is when it comes back behind their heads; defying the laws of physics is not as scary as defying him.

When he used to smoke, he gave the cigarettes "Vertigo breath," and they had to pop mints to keep from smelling like him. It didn't work as well as they'd hope. When he drinked, the whiskey would pass out before he did. He would crush beer cans on his eyes, not his forehead. Thieves break into his house, and end up getting robbed themselves at "fistpoint."

His children were born with beards and well-developed biceps. This is a scary man. When he goes to the zoo, the predatory species observe him cautiously; the others run. At football games, he is often recruited to fill in for one of the motors that opens the roof of the stadium; typically, they just shut down all the others to save electricity and he pushes it open himself.

One time, he got a flat tire, and he changed it with one hand. While it was going 65 MPH. When he raises his eyebrows, he exerts as much pressure as a full grown man does doing pushups. Once, he knocked a guy cold with a "piercing stare." Three others nearby experienced heart palpitations.

When he would develop cavities, he dug them out with his tongue then chewed steel to fill them. This is a powerful man. His pulpit is made of brick because he stabbed, shattered, and burned the wooden one during a particularly enjoyed sermon.

He chews wood instead of gum (and he can blow a "wood bubble"); he picked this up from his days as a lumberjack in which he would "chop" the trees down with his teeth. He never got accurate enough to make 2x4s, but he did make several rough canes. Yes, he does whittle with his teeth.

He's so much of a man, that all of his children were boys, and one of them may be a new sex that is somehow beyond man, but scientists will not be sure until he fully grows into adulthood, which they expect to be within one year. He is currently two years old.


As you can see, Pastor Vertigo is the kind of guy you avoid, but God forbid if he does find out you avoided him. It's best to not avoid him, but to just not be around him. Call in sick, feign a suicide attempt, whatever you have to do. Hide behind his wife, but don't let him know you hid behind her. Don't shake his hand, because then he's got you. But don't not shake his hand, because then he'll get you. This was the most nerve wracking part of the California trip.


Anyway, I swung by the local Music Planet. They said, "Dude, you need a dreadnought. Classical guitars are for SPANISH PEOPLE!" (I think they're called dreadnoughts, at least.)

Now, I am not a Spanish person, so I have no business in owning a classical guitar. He said that they are classical because you don't play them with a pick. According to Jehoshaphat, my mom's friend who used to work with her, classical guitars are the best to get because they sound a lot better. But the Music Planet guys say the exact opposite. I'm not saying that they couldn't have purposely played the classical quieter, but it sure did sound quiet. I don't see a reason for them doing that.

We'll see how this pans out. Update sometime soonish. I'm still wondering if "pan" is a play on "dish."


Actually, I think I should force questions like that out of my head...ah well...I'll expound on this more later. For now, I am hyper for some reason. I had a burrito for dinner, and a claw machine owned me. To be smart, you DO NOT waste your time on a machine if most of the toys game is hard to get at, but I figured I'd give it a try anyway. I probably could have gotten one if I'd tried five more times.

The NES is not my friend.

Do you play video games? No? Yes? On and off? A little? You've heard of them? Once?

I play video games. I quite enjoy them. Some can get exhaustingly long, that's true. Specifically RTS games, and, to a laughing extent, MMORPGs. Those can be so long that you'll beat yourself over the head with a typewriter. Those are HEAVY things. Have you ever lifted a typewriter? Lift it over your head then move your arms directly to your side very fast, and that will pretty much break any habit you may have formed. It's like defragmenting your hard drive, but it's your brain. (Speaking of which, I'm about to defrag my computer which I've had for almost two years and have not defragged once. Aren't I dumb?)


I'm in the process of redoing my room. Currently, I am packing every spare piece of junk together into boxes, to be "archived" in my closet. In the end, I want to get new carpet in there, and repaint it. The carpet will cost around $150, and the paint will be something expensive as well. I probably won't paint it for a long, long time. But I love that carpet that's 1/4" thick...we had it at our old, old house when I was 5, and I've always loved it. My brother has some. It's stain-resistant! I probably won't get it in there for a few months, but first things first is to make room. Speaking of which...uhh...my room smells like muskmelon (or "cantaloupe"). That is eerie.


So, I run across my old NES. Yes, I played all of two games on this beaut. Super Mario Bros. 3, and the Super Mario Bros. that was packaged with Duck Hunt. Once, on someone else's system, I played Contra. I think. Wait. No. It was a game by...well, there were dogs, OK? The girl kept unplugging the system on me. Seriously, girls cannot play video games. They just unplug it routinely and ruin your fun. It's OK, though. They're in training to become WIVES! Oh, no I didn't! LOLLROFLDOLFTAX PLEASE

That reminds me of Pastor's dilemma. You see, he is married.

That's his dilemma. OH, NO I DIDN'T! Man, I'm on a roll. Anyway, he said that sometimes he is so intent on what he's focusing on, he doesn't hear people around him. That explains the multiple times I've broken 2x4's over his head to try to get his attention. Or maybe I was dreaming that just like that dream I thought I had about Samus Aran but can't see to remember. Ahh. Samus Aran. She makes me happy. I think I had the dream, but I forget if I did. I seem to think that I did, but I don't remember what it was about or even if I did. I've had one dream of Samus Aran before, and, well, let's not discuss those matters. (See the very last section of text, under the last of the pictures. It's one of my blog posts.)

Anyway, I came across my old NES, and it's time to throw it out. I have the connectors...the AC adapter, the ...uhh...oldschool A/V adapter...and the paddle. But it's done. Finished. Kaput (did you know that "kaput" means "incapacitated or destroyed"? Wow). Wii's Virtual Console has all the NES games I could ever want, and my real NES only has one or two or five I don't ever, ever play, despite the fact that I think it still works.

Dammit, dammit, dammit, dammit, I can't get that song "Great is Thy Faithfulness" out of my head! I somehow think that listening to it again will help ease my suffering, but it only makes it worse. Make it stop! Make it stop! OH, NO, I JUST RESET IT TO THE BEGINNING! AHHH!

OH NO, I DID IT AGAIN

I AM POWERLESS AGAINST ITS ONSLAUGHT



CURSE THE DAY I WAS BORN