"A plain with no herd. Not even a bird. When one side is hot, the other side of the moon is not. It's just like a ride, maybe some time they'll make it a ride..." The Pixies from "All Over the World"
The nurse and I hunkered down last night with a big bowl of popcorn, two Dixie Cups of color enhancers, and watched the opening ceremonies to the Olympics. We found the show, at least the first part, extraordinary. And it got us talking about some of the weirdness.
Saudia Arabias team is made up entirely of men, women are not allowed to drive and must obtain permission of a male guardian to work or travel. Meanwhile the United Arab Emirates had women on the team for the first time, though they were the daughters of the countries prime minister. What a world, huh?
The entire population of the country of Andorra would fit inside the beautiful stadium the ceremonies were held in, named the Birds Nest. With the entire Andorran population seated, there would still be 18,000 empty seats. Rhode Island would beat the crap out of them in Risk.
The team from Jordan had more women then men, 4-3. And the girls were really hot. I guess they are in the bikini competition, wait, what do you mean it's called Women's Beach Volleyball, I just want to watch them tan. Damn it. Stupid competition rules.
Guam had the largest competitor at 6'0", 399. One of the largest Olympians to compete ever, and the dude does Judo. I gotta see that.
If the teams from Oman and Aruba fought it would be a tag team event. 2 athletes each. Let's get that tag team match underway.
The Jamaican team should not be tested for weed as pot is not a performance enhancing drug, that is unless Hot Dog eating is now an Olympic event, in which case, I have been training for years, watch out London 2012.
The Latverians were not lead in by Dr. Doom as was expected, what, oh Latvia, never mind.
Great Britain brought a delegation of 324 athletes and not a straight tooth amongst the group.
How many Polish athletes does it take to carry a flag? You write the punchline.
The Puerto Ricans showed up in one car. It broke down twice.
The United States had more athletes competing than some island nations had citizens. If we could just export some of our less attractive athletes to those sunny climate zones, they would fair far better in the games, and we would be rid of the WNBA, but on second thought, no, let's just kick some ass.
Honduras has 7 and a half million people and has never won an Olympic medal. Don't they got one guy that can throw a discuss? Or a pole vaulter? If I was ruler of Honduras I would start a national Archery program until that 0 became a 1.
After the Americans entered W. looked like a bored kid wondering where the ice cream sandwich vendor was.
The Irish showed up drunk off their asses, go figure.
Swaziland is known as the Switzerland of Africa, who would have figured that out?
It was hard for the Mongolian team to get together since they are mostly a nomadic people, but damn is their barbecue tasty.
The Italians showed up, being that it is a large public event, any number of vendettas were taken care of back in the homeland during the parade. They too had some scorching hot women, go figure.
The Mexico delegation was 85 strong dispelling the myth that anyone that could run, jump, or swim was already in California.
Really, I'm almost done.
The Germans showed up. And have switched to an Eastern German approach too, ow, Jenny Finch is so hot, I'm sorry where was I, the Germans, yeah, the medal count has been slipping since the wall came down so it's back to the Gulag for the participants.
Speaking of hot women, hello Australia. Even Kevin Rudd, the PM of Australia couldn't help but get a boner.
The last team in, China. I know I have said it before, Asian girls are hot, we all know this, but seriously, how scary is it to watch Yao Ming carry the flag. The dude is a giant.
Anyway, 17 days of games and no Wheel of Fortune. I love the Olympics, it's weird for me. Anyway, thanks for letting me take you on this silly odyssey.
Dixie Cup of Love: The Participants.
Saturday, August 9, 2008
Friday, August 8, 2008
How I Roll
"If you believe in me. like I believe in you. You wouldn't be tellin' me things that weren't exactly true. Now everythin' changes ain't nothin' the same, I'm gettin' the strangest feelin' baby I can't remember my name" Aerosmith from "Round and Round"
For a moment when the nurse brought me my dose of Quicker Picker Uppers I thought that I had stumbled into a P.T. Anderson movie. No she didn't drink my milkshake, for that I'd have shaken the Skittles out of her, as I don't hit women. No, frogs did not start falling from the sky, that, I was told, was just a hallucination. But she was on skates. Was my Rollergirl fantasy about to come true? Of course not, couldn't be that lucky, but her skates did get me thinking.
Back in the day, which according to Dane Cook was a Wednesday, back before there was Reagonomics, when there was a huge wall that divided Germany between east and west, back when people like John Denver and Dan Fogelberg could be rock stars I spend many a day just cruising around in an oval. No, I wasn't a NASCAR driver, though I'm sure to the observer it was just as exciting and mind numbing. Millions of people may watch the Daytona 500, but the fifty or so people that populated Skateland on any given day were far more judgemental. Their eyes always seemed to be following my graceful hulking mass, waiting for the right moment, when I would fall, and the pointing and laughter would begin. And of course, it would happen.
The thing about it was that the constant disco audio assault on my rock-n-roll lobes threw my balance off. It's true. When the music in your head is "The Ocean" by Led Zeppelin and the disc jockey is spinning "Disco Inferno" by the Tramps the war that will break out in ones head is enough to cause even the primo ballerina to suffer through a dizzy tizzy. So there I was, wobbly in the knees, pre-pubescent but certainly aware that those bumps under her, and by her I am speaking of the generic she, peasant blouse were something that I definitely wanted to get my hands on. Skating skills would have certainly helped, but alas I am left handed and therefore unable to skate backwards, or so I have been told. No skills, thus no girls would ask me to skate during "Ladies Choice". Those spats of rejection at Skateland haunted my self esteem for years to come.
Now, during "All Skate" or "Reverse" I was Jimmie Walker dyn-0-mite. As long as I was facing forward and tuning out the so called music, I was a gladiator on eight plastic wheels. Once I got my momentum going there was no stopping me, like the Juggernaut. I would, however, take the occasional break to fee the furnace at the snack bar. Two slices of pepperoni and a soda for one dollar twenty five cents. Those other three quarters were a pivotal part of any session at the rink, for the arcade was chock full of pinball machines, a lifelong vice.
I suppose the other thing I remember about skating round the hardwood would be the fashion show that was on display each and every day. At Skateland clothes made the man and the ladies dressed to impress. Countless hours must have been spent working that Farrah hair to look just right. The jeans were tight, the legs flared, the accessories of the sea shell variety, at least they were in California. For us boys it was Ocean Pacific or Lightning Bolt, no other brand would do. The colors were like a rainbow, the collars wide enough to land a small aircraft on, and our hair was just as Leif Garrett feathered as the girls. It was a great time to be a skater, even one that still, to this day, can't skate backwards.
Got skating stories? Where were you spending time in your youth?
Dixie Cup of Love: Sam Andeasdale, proprietor, Skateland, circa 1977.
For a moment when the nurse brought me my dose of Quicker Picker Uppers I thought that I had stumbled into a P.T. Anderson movie. No she didn't drink my milkshake, for that I'd have shaken the Skittles out of her, as I don't hit women. No, frogs did not start falling from the sky, that, I was told, was just a hallucination. But she was on skates. Was my Rollergirl fantasy about to come true? Of course not, couldn't be that lucky, but her skates did get me thinking.
Back in the day, which according to Dane Cook was a Wednesday, back before there was Reagonomics, when there was a huge wall that divided Germany between east and west, back when people like John Denver and Dan Fogelberg could be rock stars I spend many a day just cruising around in an oval. No, I wasn't a NASCAR driver, though I'm sure to the observer it was just as exciting and mind numbing. Millions of people may watch the Daytona 500, but the fifty or so people that populated Skateland on any given day were far more judgemental. Their eyes always seemed to be following my graceful hulking mass, waiting for the right moment, when I would fall, and the pointing and laughter would begin. And of course, it would happen.
The thing about it was that the constant disco audio assault on my rock-n-roll lobes threw my balance off. It's true. When the music in your head is "The Ocean" by Led Zeppelin and the disc jockey is spinning "Disco Inferno" by the Tramps the war that will break out in ones head is enough to cause even the primo ballerina to suffer through a dizzy tizzy. So there I was, wobbly in the knees, pre-pubescent but certainly aware that those bumps under her, and by her I am speaking of the generic she, peasant blouse were something that I definitely wanted to get my hands on. Skating skills would have certainly helped, but alas I am left handed and therefore unable to skate backwards, or so I have been told. No skills, thus no girls would ask me to skate during "Ladies Choice". Those spats of rejection at Skateland haunted my self esteem for years to come.
Now, during "All Skate" or "Reverse" I was Jimmie Walker dyn-0-mite. As long as I was facing forward and tuning out the so called music, I was a gladiator on eight plastic wheels. Once I got my momentum going there was no stopping me, like the Juggernaut. I would, however, take the occasional break to fee the furnace at the snack bar. Two slices of pepperoni and a soda for one dollar twenty five cents. Those other three quarters were a pivotal part of any session at the rink, for the arcade was chock full of pinball machines, a lifelong vice.
I suppose the other thing I remember about skating round the hardwood would be the fashion show that was on display each and every day. At Skateland clothes made the man and the ladies dressed to impress. Countless hours must have been spent working that Farrah hair to look just right. The jeans were tight, the legs flared, the accessories of the sea shell variety, at least they were in California. For us boys it was Ocean Pacific or Lightning Bolt, no other brand would do. The colors were like a rainbow, the collars wide enough to land a small aircraft on, and our hair was just as Leif Garrett feathered as the girls. It was a great time to be a skater, even one that still, to this day, can't skate backwards.
Got skating stories? Where were you spending time in your youth?
Dixie Cup of Love: Sam Andeasdale, proprietor, Skateland, circa 1977.
Thursday, August 7, 2008
Paying For Pixels
"I can't distil you from my blood, you're a hungry germ inside of me, you're my lover, you're my heroine, my conscience and my voice, and I know that I have learned to let you in I will lever have to be alone" Bad Religion from "Television"
The nurse and I were having a discussion about our favorite television programs, and the rise and fall of networks over time, it seemed like a topic more suited for my Geek Squad friends than the nurse, but I humored her as she brought up lame show after horrible show. She has taste, it's just all in her mouth. But the thing is the nurse just isn't a thinker when it come to the boob tube, she wants escape, not a cranial workout. That's where we differ, well, there and the fact that I don't have huge sacks of silicone stuffed in my tits. But the conversation got me thinking.
Remember when HBO original programming was a powerhouse and Showtime was like it's retarded cousin? It wasn't that long ago, certainly no more than 10 years, but a lot has changed in a decade. Showtime has stepped it up with a few of the bravest shows on television, while HBO is on the brink of losing all it's respectability. From once a juggernaut of a channel that one must have, to an "I only keep it for the boxing" stance that I have now. Can HBO rebound? Let's look at the past, and the present.
For it's part, HBO brought us a few amazing shows. The Sopranos, Rome, Deadwood, Carnivale, Six Feet Under, Oz, The Wire, Mr. Show with Bob and David, and a few more. My favorite being the Sopranos, even though the ending of the series has left a permanent black spot on my heart, I still love the show, miss the characters coming into my living room each Sunday, and I still want to hang at the Bada Bing. Deadwood was an achievement that I thought saw it's end far too soon. Amazing characters set in a muddy, broken down camp of a town. There was nothing in the world better than a Sopranos-Deadwood double bill.
Now, Showtime, well, the shows are now starting to garner my interest. Weeds is simply the greatest half hour of the week for me. I love me my Nancy Botwin. If you haven't peeked at this show about a single mom trying desperately to support her family you really should. Then there is Dexter. What a brilliant idea for a serial killer. I'm just now getting into it and it's fantastic.
Coming soon are two premieres, one on each channel that I am looking forward to. First, Entourage will be returning to HBO and that's a very good thing as I have enjoyed that show from the very beginning. And Showtime is gonna pony up Californication season 2, which, if you haven't seen season 1, is one of the most well written shows on the tube.
So, I ask you, has HBO lost it's hold on pay-per-view TV? What shows, network or otherwise, would you actually pay to see week in and week out?
Dixie Cup of Love: Hank Moody.
The nurse and I were having a discussion about our favorite television programs, and the rise and fall of networks over time, it seemed like a topic more suited for my Geek Squad friends than the nurse, but I humored her as she brought up lame show after horrible show. She has taste, it's just all in her mouth. But the thing is the nurse just isn't a thinker when it come to the boob tube, she wants escape, not a cranial workout. That's where we differ, well, there and the fact that I don't have huge sacks of silicone stuffed in my tits. But the conversation got me thinking.
Remember when HBO original programming was a powerhouse and Showtime was like it's retarded cousin? It wasn't that long ago, certainly no more than 10 years, but a lot has changed in a decade. Showtime has stepped it up with a few of the bravest shows on television, while HBO is on the brink of losing all it's respectability. From once a juggernaut of a channel that one must have, to an "I only keep it for the boxing" stance that I have now. Can HBO rebound? Let's look at the past, and the present.
For it's part, HBO brought us a few amazing shows. The Sopranos, Rome, Deadwood, Carnivale, Six Feet Under, Oz, The Wire, Mr. Show with Bob and David, and a few more. My favorite being the Sopranos, even though the ending of the series has left a permanent black spot on my heart, I still love the show, miss the characters coming into my living room each Sunday, and I still want to hang at the Bada Bing. Deadwood was an achievement that I thought saw it's end far too soon. Amazing characters set in a muddy, broken down camp of a town. There was nothing in the world better than a Sopranos-Deadwood double bill.
Now, Showtime, well, the shows are now starting to garner my interest. Weeds is simply the greatest half hour of the week for me. I love me my Nancy Botwin. If you haven't peeked at this show about a single mom trying desperately to support her family you really should. Then there is Dexter. What a brilliant idea for a serial killer. I'm just now getting into it and it's fantastic.
Coming soon are two premieres, one on each channel that I am looking forward to. First, Entourage will be returning to HBO and that's a very good thing as I have enjoyed that show from the very beginning. And Showtime is gonna pony up Californication season 2, which, if you haven't seen season 1, is one of the most well written shows on the tube.
So, I ask you, has HBO lost it's hold on pay-per-view TV? What shows, network or otherwise, would you actually pay to see week in and week out?
Dixie Cup of Love: Hank Moody.
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
CSI: Rock Hill
"You tried to tell me it’s his fault because he’s down, And letting loose this Homicide all over the town. I’ll take your number I’ll write it down. What’s your address I’ll write it down. I’ll be in touch so don’t leave town in a big black car" 999 from "Homicide"
Do to the true nature of the this tale the nurse will be back tomorrow.
Yet another day at HellJob yesterday that had me face to face with the grim reality that the world we live in is full of low life scum. As the day started out my partner in crime and I headed out to deliver a TV, then repossess a couch, never a fun thing to do, but if people would pay their bills we wouldn't have to do it. Anyway, the TV delivery goes off without a hitch, day starting out smooth. When we arrive at the couch, the customer who we will call "Penny Lane" wasn't home. However there was a car with the radio still playing parked in her driveway. Odd, but who are we to investigate? We went back to the truck and called her. She said she would be there in a few minutes.
When Penny arrived, she a rotund white woman, had a black fellow we will call "JoJo" in the car with her. As she got out she started talking about how her house had been broken into the night before, and that neighbor is saying that some guy just walked away from their trailer looking suspicious. We didn't care. We just wanted to get the couch so that we could get on with our day. JoJo opened the door and we retrieved our parcel and left. Simple.
About two hours later our boss calls and tells us that the Sheriff's department called and wants to talk to us. Apparently, shortly, and we mean very shortly, after we left Penny Lane's someone got shot. Holy Conspiracy Theory, Batman. As we waited to hear from the cops our minds raced with what might have gone down. If the gunman was in a closet he could have burst out and clipped Kyle and I. And I'm not prepared to get shot over a couch.
So, around 4pm a detective calls and asks us to come back to the scene of the crime. We head over there directly to find the whole place taped off with yellow crime scene tape. The detective walks us over to a shady spot, one where we could get a glimpse of the corpse sitting on the back patio, and we told him exactly what happened. He took the information down and thanked us. As we headed back to the truck Penny Lane comes over and asks what we told the cop. Not that it was any of her business, but the truth as we saw it. Then she asked if we mentioned that JoJo was in the car with her when they arrived. We nodded and she said good. Weird, right?
On the way back to the store Kyle and I got more concerned that we might have left out a key bit of information. Earlier that morning Penny Lane called the store asking when we where going to get to her house. When given a three hour window, and asked if she was going to be home, she stammered and said, she guessed she would. But she wasn't. And why the question about JoJo. Then it dawned on us that the detective said that the guy was probably dead when we got there, which led us to believe she was trying to use us as her alibi.
My neighbor across the street is a sheriff so when I got home I went and talked to him. Within minutes I was on the line with the detective and he agreed that it was kind of fishy.
Don't know what's gonna happen from here, but I'm sure of one thing. I need a new job.
Dixie Cup of Love: My neighbor.
Do to the true nature of the this tale the nurse will be back tomorrow.
Yet another day at HellJob yesterday that had me face to face with the grim reality that the world we live in is full of low life scum. As the day started out my partner in crime and I headed out to deliver a TV, then repossess a couch, never a fun thing to do, but if people would pay their bills we wouldn't have to do it. Anyway, the TV delivery goes off without a hitch, day starting out smooth. When we arrive at the couch, the customer who we will call "Penny Lane" wasn't home. However there was a car with the radio still playing parked in her driveway. Odd, but who are we to investigate? We went back to the truck and called her. She said she would be there in a few minutes.
When Penny arrived, she a rotund white woman, had a black fellow we will call "JoJo" in the car with her. As she got out she started talking about how her house had been broken into the night before, and that neighbor is saying that some guy just walked away from their trailer looking suspicious. We didn't care. We just wanted to get the couch so that we could get on with our day. JoJo opened the door and we retrieved our parcel and left. Simple.
About two hours later our boss calls and tells us that the Sheriff's department called and wants to talk to us. Apparently, shortly, and we mean very shortly, after we left Penny Lane's someone got shot. Holy Conspiracy Theory, Batman. As we waited to hear from the cops our minds raced with what might have gone down. If the gunman was in a closet he could have burst out and clipped Kyle and I. And I'm not prepared to get shot over a couch.
So, around 4pm a detective calls and asks us to come back to the scene of the crime. We head over there directly to find the whole place taped off with yellow crime scene tape. The detective walks us over to a shady spot, one where we could get a glimpse of the corpse sitting on the back patio, and we told him exactly what happened. He took the information down and thanked us. As we headed back to the truck Penny Lane comes over and asks what we told the cop. Not that it was any of her business, but the truth as we saw it. Then she asked if we mentioned that JoJo was in the car with her when they arrived. We nodded and she said good. Weird, right?
On the way back to the store Kyle and I got more concerned that we might have left out a key bit of information. Earlier that morning Penny Lane called the store asking when we where going to get to her house. When given a three hour window, and asked if she was going to be home, she stammered and said, she guessed she would. But she wasn't. And why the question about JoJo. Then it dawned on us that the detective said that the guy was probably dead when we got there, which led us to believe she was trying to use us as her alibi.
My neighbor across the street is a sheriff so when I got home I went and talked to him. Within minutes I was on the line with the detective and he agreed that it was kind of fishy.
Don't know what's gonna happen from here, but I'm sure of one thing. I need a new job.
Dixie Cup of Love: My neighbor.
Monday, August 4, 2008
Mecca of Mega
"Hey don't you wanna run and call her name. If I buy her candy, will she know who I am? She's famous. She's the best. cannot lay my heart to rest." Sleater-Kinney from "Buy Her Candy"
As the nurse came in with today's Dixie Cup of utter happiness I caught a whiff of something foreign under her normal blanket of Channel No. 5, which happens to be my favorite scent. What my nostrils detected was a fragrance that tickled my palette. It had high notes of worldly spice, perhaps jalapeno. Yes, I was sure upon further sniffing that what she smelled of was indeed microwave burrito, bulk microwave burrito to be precise. And that got me thinking.
Yesterday SuperMom, my sister, and I made one of the great consumer pilgrimages of our time. We took two chairs out of the back of the Tahoe and headed up highway 77 towards Pineville, North Carolina, home of the nearest Sam's Club. A fine place to shop if one has self control and a plan. Otherwise, it's mayhem.
There is something about a huge warehouse filled with row and row of overly processed foods that will do nothing but increase ones risk of heart disease and poverty, that makes my heart go pitter patter. It may be the cholesterol choking my arteries to the size of Nicole Richie's waist, but I prefer to think it's the adventure causing my cardiac arrest. What strange food like product will I spy in a vat large enough for one of those two headed embryos that adorn the walls of Science classrooms nationwide? What will it be? Onions in sauce? No clue as to what that sauce might actually be. Vienna sausage by the pallet? Who needs that many pickled sausages? The imagination boggles at the mere thought of what is waiting down each aisle.
If the wonder of discovery doesn't do it for you then I know you're there for the free samples. Each weekend an army of hair net clad geriatrics are posted like cholesterol causing Sentries, lobbing deep fried pizza roll bombs at you as if it were the Tet offensive. One will be doling out the appetizers, another a freezer burned fruit substance, one aisle over you can feast on the remains of a convenience dinner, and then you wrap it all off in the bakery section for cookies or cake. It's a four course meal. Go hungry, leave happy. And perhaps you have never tasted an Aussie Pie in your life, after being assaulted by the sample gals sales pitch you are now the proud owner of two boxes of freezer stuffing goodness.
Shelf after shelf of canned this and bottled that, surrounding what can only be described as a fashion center worthy of yard sale greatness. These togs shouldn't be worn by anyone, not the humblest fruit picker. There is far better clothing available at the nearest thrift store. With this fashion disaster is a promenade of "How To" books with enough titles to fill, well, a warehouse. You can learn everything from Butchery to Douchebaggery from these tombs, all for 45% off retail pricing. And isn't knowledge power. The best book I saw there was one on the mortal sins, and that made me laugh. Here is a store that prey's on our gluttony, feeds into our lust, and shatters a few of those coveting sins as well, and they sell a book that tells you how bad you are for making that place your temple. Because it is a religion all to itself, with exclusive members only access. It must be a religion, how else do you explain the never ending lines at the check out counter every Sunday?
For my part, I stuck to my plan of stocking the freezer with steroid and hormone injected meats and poultry. My only splurge item, a huge can of chili to help feed my Jones for chili fries. Hey, you gotta sin a little.
Do you do the warehouse experience? What's the strangest item you've ever bought? Or the greatest splurge purchase?
Dixie Cup of Love: Sam.
As the nurse came in with today's Dixie Cup of utter happiness I caught a whiff of something foreign under her normal blanket of Channel No. 5, which happens to be my favorite scent. What my nostrils detected was a fragrance that tickled my palette. It had high notes of worldly spice, perhaps jalapeno. Yes, I was sure upon further sniffing that what she smelled of was indeed microwave burrito, bulk microwave burrito to be precise. And that got me thinking.
Yesterday SuperMom, my sister, and I made one of the great consumer pilgrimages of our time. We took two chairs out of the back of the Tahoe and headed up highway 77 towards Pineville, North Carolina, home of the nearest Sam's Club. A fine place to shop if one has self control and a plan. Otherwise, it's mayhem.
There is something about a huge warehouse filled with row and row of overly processed foods that will do nothing but increase ones risk of heart disease and poverty, that makes my heart go pitter patter. It may be the cholesterol choking my arteries to the size of Nicole Richie's waist, but I prefer to think it's the adventure causing my cardiac arrest. What strange food like product will I spy in a vat large enough for one of those two headed embryos that adorn the walls of Science classrooms nationwide? What will it be? Onions in sauce? No clue as to what that sauce might actually be. Vienna sausage by the pallet? Who needs that many pickled sausages? The imagination boggles at the mere thought of what is waiting down each aisle.
If the wonder of discovery doesn't do it for you then I know you're there for the free samples. Each weekend an army of hair net clad geriatrics are posted like cholesterol causing Sentries, lobbing deep fried pizza roll bombs at you as if it were the Tet offensive. One will be doling out the appetizers, another a freezer burned fruit substance, one aisle over you can feast on the remains of a convenience dinner, and then you wrap it all off in the bakery section for cookies or cake. It's a four course meal. Go hungry, leave happy. And perhaps you have never tasted an Aussie Pie in your life, after being assaulted by the sample gals sales pitch you are now the proud owner of two boxes of freezer stuffing goodness.
Shelf after shelf of canned this and bottled that, surrounding what can only be described as a fashion center worthy of yard sale greatness. These togs shouldn't be worn by anyone, not the humblest fruit picker. There is far better clothing available at the nearest thrift store. With this fashion disaster is a promenade of "How To" books with enough titles to fill, well, a warehouse. You can learn everything from Butchery to Douchebaggery from these tombs, all for 45% off retail pricing. And isn't knowledge power. The best book I saw there was one on the mortal sins, and that made me laugh. Here is a store that prey's on our gluttony, feeds into our lust, and shatters a few of those coveting sins as well, and they sell a book that tells you how bad you are for making that place your temple. Because it is a religion all to itself, with exclusive members only access. It must be a religion, how else do you explain the never ending lines at the check out counter every Sunday?
For my part, I stuck to my plan of stocking the freezer with steroid and hormone injected meats and poultry. My only splurge item, a huge can of chili to help feed my Jones for chili fries. Hey, you gotta sin a little.
Do you do the warehouse experience? What's the strangest item you've ever bought? Or the greatest splurge purchase?
Dixie Cup of Love: Sam.
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