Once upon a time there was a codfish named Trent.
Trent daydreamed of taking over the world and having an army of rhinoceroses.
Unfortunately, before his evil plans could be realized, he ended up deep fried on a combination platter.
And he was delicious, even though the person who ate him was allergic to seafood.
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SHODS: "Shards," pronounced by someone who lives in Boston.
VOCODIMM: Someone is trying to ask for Vicodin but their speech is too slurred to pronounce it properly.
HEXTS: Texts with a lot of bad news.
EXOSOD: When kids get so filthy that they actually have an exoskeleton made of dirt.
DENLAMET: The word "lamented", all mixed up. (So... is he really sorry or not?)
WHINO: A rhino, about four years old, in the back seat, constantly saying "Are we there yet? Why can't we get ice cream? Are we there YET? Make the crocodiles stop staring at me!"
STOLO: Tools that are not in the proper order.
PARIER: A partier who had a bit too much, and ended up throwing up the letter "T".
KIRKSA: Kirksa weird guy, but at least he knows how to yodel.
INGINN: Evry kar haz an inginn. Dont furget to add oyl.
TORTEST: What the tortoise flunked.
CHEAR: What we hear from cheerleaders who can't spell.
DISMAC: Dismay upon realizing they forgot to include the fries with your Big Mac.
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1. Alvin's bathtub is leaking motor oil.
2. My name's not Pinky.
3. Good manners never seem trivial.
4. Don't eat green mayonnaise.
5. Cats demand fresh litter... NOW.
6. Always disgusting, dysentery makes people quiver.
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It's almost midnight, and I just realized I have no post written for Monday.
So I'm going to wing it and try to knock out something at least 39% coherent before I collapse into bed and begin snoring loud enough to divert neighborhood traffic.
Lately I've been in a crocheting mood.
In the past week or so, I've made a little pillow, a bigger pillow, and am currently working on a big comfy seat cushion. I worked on it for eight hours today, which is why my hands feel like someone turned them into a big twisted wad of coat hanger wire.
It's fun because there's such a wide variety of things to make, and an even wider variety of ways to make them.
Things the world might not be able to create with yarn and a crochet hook:
1. Band-Aids
2. Ketchup packets
3. AA batteries
4. Decent coffee filters
5. Underwear for Chuck Norris
6. Affordable ink cartridges which actually work in my printer
7. A coherent blog post at midnight on a Sunday/Monday
I promise not to make one of these.
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If they can make paper out of recycled sewage, they should also be able to make really warm socks from the old underwear of professional athletes.
(The socks might not be white.)
They could also make condoms from used ketchup packets.
I'm unsure about whether this would make french fries more popular or less popular.
Time for the very last British grocery item I'll be trying (at least for now).
It's something called "Barley Water".
Have you ever seen Mary Poppins?
Y'know the part where the two kids are singing about what kind of nanny they want, and one of their criteria is that she shouldn't "smell like barley water"?
I never understood that.
I remember asking Mom what it meant, and she didn't know either. Her best guess was that it referred to some kind of alcoholic beverage, and the kids were saying they didn't want to smell booze on the nanny's breath.
This sort of made sense, until I saw an actual bottle of barley water in the British aisle of the supermarket.
According to this, it's made by boiling barley (like you would if you were making barley soup) and using the leftover cooking water as the base for the beverage.
Weird.
It tastes... strange. I involuntarily made a "yuk" face after I tasted it. Then I made another "yuk" face, except that one was totally voluntary.
I tried it diluted in water (as per the directions on the bottle), and also tried it diluted in Sprite.
Bleccchh.
My advice: Save the barley for soup, and throw out the cooking water.
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1. I totally forgot that Friday the 13th was my four-year blogiversary. Hopefully you all remembered and celebrated privately amongst yourselves. Don't worry; I'm not bitter that I didn't get invited to any of the parties.
2. Now that it's slightly (barely) cooler here, I've been able to spend a little more time at the computer, and I finally caught up on answering all your comments. Sorry I took so long. Please forgive me and love me anyway. I can give you a few moments, if you need to sort out your feelings or something.
3. Later this week (Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday), I'll be house-sitting for my parents while they go on vacation. But fear not; I've already got posts ready to drop each day. You'll barely know I'm gone. (Feel free to pretend you missed me, though.)
I'll be back on Saturday evening. :)
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1. This happened again today. You'd think I'd learn eventually.
2. In the comments of this post, Grace alerted me to the existence of "Pim's" chocolate orange cookies. I am happy to announce that I finally found some. :) Thank you, Grace!
3. My armpit itches.
4. In all my life, I don't think I've ever seen a chocolate ferret. Bunnies, yes. Ferrets, no.
5. My nails are currently painted with black and white checkerboard patterns and neon yellow swirls. I did it myself and it took two hours. This morning someone said they could see it from all the way across the room. Excellent...
6. If we DID invent chocolate ferrets, would the bunnies feel jealous?
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Humidity's evil, my friends
Causing leprosy, gout, and split ends
When the sweat droplets gush
And the temperatures rush
Up to numbers so wickedly high
Every pore starts to steam, boil, fry...
Your sweatpants can sweat on their own
Which is why you spend more time alone
Still bathing in ice cream, forgetting the cone
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Time for another British grocery item.
This week it's London Pub Steak & Chop Sauce.
It's in a square bottle which is shaped just like an A-1 bottle.
It tastes pretty similar to A-1 too.
It'd be good on a burger, or stirred into some sauteed mushrooms, or even as a dip for french fries.
I heartily approve.
What I want to know, though, is this:
If I was to sail/swim/fly over to London, and find my way into a real London pub, would there be bottles of this stuff on the tables there? Would they know what I was talking about if I asked for it? Would they look at me funny if I dipped my french fries into it?
(Would it be better if I called them "chips" instead of french fries?)
I started wondering why there's no American equivalent. Oh, sure, we have all kinds of steak sauces, but none named after a specific type of eating establishment in a specific place. Then I realized... Would YOU buy a sauce called "Skanky Detroit Bar" or "Chicago Hole-In-The-Wall" or "New Jersey Roadside Place Which Almost (but not quite) Got Shut Down By The State Safety Inspector Again"?
Worse yet, just imagine the sauce that might emerge from a place like this:
It all makes sense now.
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Calculate the square root of the number of typos Janna made when she was trying to type this.
Add the coefficient of the number of pores that are currently sweating because she has no air conditioning.
Subtract the number of pizzas that no longer exist after she got hungry on Sunday.
Multiply by the number of times the bottle of Diet Coke made her burp.
Divide by the number of annoyingly loud commercials currently being shouted by used car salesmen who really, really want you to know that they can get you financed and will let you drive off in any car you want, as long as you have a job and aren't that attached to your house or your firstborn child.
Extra Credit: Explain why this number is higher (or lower) than the number of kids currently having tantrums in Wal-Marts across the country.
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