You can read it.
I was walking through the halls at work whistling Eleanor Rigby… I wasn’t whistling the original Beatles version, though, I was whistling the remake by an industrial group (think heavy metal meets grunge) named Godhead. Unfortunately, the original Eleanor Rigby and the new hard rocking Eleanor Rigby both sound exactly the same when you whistle them - about like elevator music.
But in my head, I was really cool.
You know you married a farm-girl when in casual conversation you hear the phrase,
“I inherited the family corn knife.”
Oy Vey!
I’ve been working on several projects (translation = billable hours to feed my family!) and my blogging has fallen a tad behind… I’ll break for a couple days and regail all four of you readers with more inane tales closer to August.
Thank you for your support! Errr… Umm… You support me, right??? 
I really wanted to get the blueberry Pop-Tarts. However, the strawberry Pop-Tarts included a free Cartoon Network magnet. As an adult, the clear choice is to purchase what you are going to eat and sensibly ignore the childish advertising gimmicks. When I got home from the grocery I ripped open my box of strawberry Pop-Tarts - like there should have been a doubt - to find the Power Puff Girls magnet! Whoo-hoo! Bonus!
Oh yeah, and I bought the blueberry Pop-Tarts too.
It’s good to be an adult.
Where exactly on the cigarette packaging does it say, “Okay to litter”? I mean, why is it that smokers are immune from the social laws that say we won’t throw our garbage in the street? Or the beach? Or pitch it out the window of a moving car? There would be a public outrage if the same number of people threw their McDonald’s sandwich wrappers out the window. We’d probably, as a society, even ban together and sue McDonalds - forcing them to help provide a solution to help us take care of all of these social malcontents.
I’d cheer until I was hoarse if I ever saw a cop pull over a motorist for flipping the last burning butt of his addiction out the window in front of me. But I’m realistic - it’s not going to happen. We don’t pay our police officers enough to save our lives, let alone take a tough stance against litter offenders. So let’s just go for another warning on the cigarette packaging itself; right alongside “May cause cancer” and “Do not smoke while pregnant”.
“Cigarette smoking may cause you to be a dumbass.”
My wife and I picked up a new outfit for our one-year-old daughter at a small children’s store. It’s a seventies retro kind of design. Reddish velvet pants and a blue-jean material top with fluffy red faux-fur cuffs and collar (reminds me of an old russion military fur coat). You’ll have to trust me and not just my description - it really is cute. What I was amazed at, though, was right next to what I would call the Baby-Retro rack where we picked up our outfit was another rack full of faux leopard skin, zebra skin, and even a feather boa! I yelled out to my wife several aisles over that I had found the Vegas Prostitute line of baby clothes! I’m not sure if they had any baby leather pants or studded blankies for accessorizing because my wife suddenly determined it was time to go. At the check-out there was a clearence box labled “teething rings” and “nipples” but before I could investigate, my wife pulled me out of the store muttering something about having two children. We only have one daughter so I think she must just have been tired and ready to head home.
Let’s call it truthfully…
Netscape - Something children may read about in history books; until corporations take over public schools and Microsoft eliminates all references to add insult to injury.
Napster - They’re like the porno actress who goes legit and won’t take her clothes off anymore. We all know what made them famous.
Baby Radar Theorem:
Babies are most likely to grab anything within arm’s reach that is not a toy; especially important paperwork, pointy things, or electronic devices%*(
o9p8&P*()(*&&&&&&&&&&******(
Such as keyboards.
Baby Radar Experiment:
Fuzzy Toy Animal
Fork
Fuzzy Toy Animal
Fork
Mommy: “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” (grabs fork, gestures threateningly, and implies our daughter may be an only child)
Science is such a forgotten art.
The hostess at a restaurant was pointing out the specials for the evening. There was a rather delicious looking soup with a name I can not pronounce, let alone try and spell, an appetizer made in part of spinach and topped with a little crown shaped ornament made of crab (where do they come up with these things?), and a dish she called “Smothered Chicken”.
“Smothered Chicken?” I exclaimed. “I thought they just chopped their heads off.”
She either didn’t hear me or wasn’t very amused.
I guess I should have spoken up.