Trying Again At The Recipe

Alright, what was in the thing I was going to cook yesterday? Tree nuts? Gluten? No, that would end up killing too many people. Why is everyone allergic to nuts and gluten all of a sudden? Time was, that’s all we would get for Christmas. Now, if aliens invade Earth, all they have to do is pepper the major landmasses with flour and peanuts, and this world becomes theirs. But not me. I’ll gladly eat the free peanuts falling from the sky. I’ll find a use for the flour. In the post-apocalyptic world, perhaps it will become a form of currency. I’ll invent some sort of vacuum device to suck all that grain dust from the lungs of the deceased, using peanut energy to propel me from body to body, siphoning the respiratory gold that lies within the airsac of each corpse. The remaining humans, those who haven’t swollen to death or sworn allegiance to the new alien government, will gladly follow my lead. But I won’t want to be their leader, and I won’t share the flour I have hoarded. So they’ll all disperse and kill each other off. Then it’s just me versus the otherworldly troika regime of Blandox 3000, Drunvalo 458,739,457, and The Everlasting Fluff, (Fluff has a different meaning on Ungerstudt, the oddly German-sounding planet these aliens hail from) the fate of Earth floating in the balance.

Maybe the recipe had alien poison in it?

Now that I mention it, I think the recipe actually did have something to do with both nuts and gluten: perhaps I do desire a dash to power after all, maybe a yearning for Armageddon. I don’t know.

While prepping for this post, I did find a ripped piece of paper, containing what I believe to be half of the recipe, with the words ‘pollen’ and ‘bee stings’ written on it. Beneath that it reads ‘marinate in cat hair and lactose juice.’ Hmmm. The missing half of that paper probably lists all the required seasonings, because what I have in front of me does not sound like it would please the palate.

Looks like I shot my wad early again. No recipe today. Sorry.

A Blocked Spam Comment

This came up in the old Akismet spam queue the other day:

“It’s really entry degree with respect to black color metallic without reserving unyielding love to suit another purpose. Phantom’s cries are actually characteristic in the style, which includes long distance given to its cruelty.”

Interesting.

2014 Resolution: Be a Jerk

I’m too nice.

That’s why I’m going to become a jerk.

The first step:

Today I helped an old woman at the grocery store reach some items in the freezer. Pretty nice, si?

But wait. I only did it because I thought she was going to give me a little bit of money.

You see, old ladies always have nickels and trinkets burning holes in their musty pockets, eager to rid themselves of the excess weight and shove the coveted objects into the hand of a strapping lad who is towering over them, rubbing his index finger and thumb together, in the international ‘where’s my tip’ signal.

A ‘seasoned jerk’ would have refused altogether, and informed the ancient beast that the frozen chicken dinners would just pump her full of preservatives, and we don’t need old people who can’t grocery shop being preserved any longer than necessary. But I’m still new at this.

So I handed her the dinners, then went into newfound Jerk Mode, and told her next time I wouldn’t be so helpful. Except that I forgot to say that out loud, instead telling her that it was quote, “No problem.”

She had to have gotten my vibe though. Body language is 90% of communication, and 90% of body language is conveyed through the face part of the body, and 90% of that part of body language is expressed in and around the eyes and mouth. And if that old bag’s macular degenerated eyes could have seen my face, she would have seen a friendly smile. But it was a smile that only looked friendly. The 10% of the rest of my body language, i.e. my actual body, was giving off a kind of motion that said, ‘Hey, I don’t really have anywhere to be right now, or even tomorrow, but let’s hurry this up.’

I can just picture her nearly blind eyes conveying the message to her rapidly deteriorating brain: ‘Wow, I asked this dark blob for help, and it turned out to actually be a person. I think it put something in my cart, and I have no clue if it was the item I really wanted, but somebody acknowledged my existence.”

So all in all, I really blew it with that lady.  But there’s a lot of 2014 left to go.