How to properly ask out a lady in two easy steps:
- give her a lamb
- immediately ask her to marry you*
*In the event she says no, say “well good day then” and calmly excuse yourself forever.
This youtube clip: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o8vLW-qE0VI
Fuck it, either way is fine. The government will require broadband providers to give consumers equal access to internet content, or they won’t. Do what you gotta do, man, that’s what I’ve been saying since freshman year of college when I realized exuding a faux zen detachment helps get chicks.
Truth be told, I don’t understand this “policy” talk. Words like “‘internet” and “telecom” and “voting” mean nothing to me. I’m an apolitical potato blogger, tilling my digital fields and minding my own affairs. If the words on this webpage take 13 minutes to load, that’s just the way things are and there’s nothing I or anyone can do about it, as far as I know. Peace.
You know all I have is love for you. You see it in the way I show up each day (on the days I show up), how I write, the way I drive to the hole, cutting and zagging, dropping outré adjectives along the way. I don’t need to remind you what I’ve done for the Rehashed Potatoes Franchise. Granted, we’ve had more highs and lows than a pair of crystal-meth-addicted newlyweds hashing out their religious differences on a Six Flags rollercoaster. But we’ve also had steady times (like the months I typically go between blog postings). So it is with a heavy heart that I write to tell you I demand a trade. I can no longer work effectively with Spuds. Chalk it up to creative differences. Also he keeps leaving me voice messages of nothing but deep breathing. I am willing to waive my no-trade clause, though if I have any say in the matter my preferred destination is another potato-themed blog or the LA Lakers.
In days to come, many pundits will comb over the past and reexamine Spuds and my relationship with a fine-tooth comb, like a determined public school nurse on a manhunt for head lice. But really there’s nothing more to say. It’s like 10% creative differences and 90% the heavy breathing. Hopefully you will always remember the good times, and conveniently forget the rest – e.g., Spuds’ constant backstabbing, incessant whining, childish squabbles, empty threats, coffee-shop nutshots… seriously dude, I’m reading a book while holding a hot mug of coffee, why would you do that? In the end, life’s too short to be stuck in the past. So once I finish documenting all the reasons why I no longer want to be here, which may require a few more posts as things come to mind, I’m moving on. It’s time. I don’t know what lies ahead, there’s no way of knowing, but it’s time to get going. It’s like that catchy Tom Petty song: And I’m a bad boy, ’cause I won’t even miss him / I’m a bad boy for breakin’ Spuds’ heart…
And I’m free,
But how far is it as the fly crows?
Do you check your iPhone compulsively early in the morning, late at night, and every other godforsaken hour of your pathetic existence? Want to stop? No problem. Legal disclaimer: I’m not a doctor, addiction expert, or self-sabotaging Apple executive, but here are 5 foolproof suggestions for curing your pesky iPhone addiction.
- Develop a far more expensive addiction, like snorting cocaine mixed with gold flakes, that leaves you so depleted of funds the phone company suspends your service.
- Mutilate your favorite pet in a wildly savage and appalling manner, then snap a pic and make it your lock-screen photo. This will deincentivize you from checking your iPhone.
- Develop meaningful friendships with the people around you, then just use their phones.
- Channel your energies into more productive endeavors, like reading up on psycholinguistics or building a mausoleum.
- Switch to a Samsung Galaxy S.
Check back first thing tomorrow for 5 more suggestions.
I woke up today at 8:13. Peed, then got back in bed for another forty minutes. I didn’t go back to sleep, I just stared at the ceiling fan. Then I got up, washed my face, brushed my teeth and dressed. I was out the door at 9:15, ready to enter the world.
im getting real good at this living thing.
I wonder how many of the kids who grew up with Reese Witherspoon called her Reese Witherfork or Reese Witherknife or even Reese Witherspatula just to make her feel bad.
And shame on the one who throughout 6th grade called her Knees Witherspork, that was just cruel.
When it comes to deli sandwiches and burgers, only a few cheeses reign supreme. You know the slices I’m talking about: American, Cheddar, Swiss, Mozzarella, Provolone. Those are your top five. You could make an argument for Monterey Jack’s cousin Pepper. Gruyere slinks around in the background, but it has a reputation (perhaps unfairly) for being snooty. Then there’s the Halley’s Comet that is Muenster.
With that dairy landscape, I’d like to offer up a cheese for your future sandwich and burger consideration: Havarti.
Yes, Havarti. It’s fantastic. Flavorful and full of well-melting fattiness. All it needs is the right marketing. And, for Havarti producers, you’re in luck because I have a real zinger. In the same vein as ‘Wanta Fanta‘, I offer: Hava Havarti.
The moon is almost full, but not quite
not sure whether it’s waxing or waning
smarter creatures than I probably know
based on the side
from which the thinnest slice
but I just tilt my head up and gaze
how many more of these sights I have left
An almost full moon, alone in the sky, like an ice cream scoop
with a teaspoon size bite
taken out—it’s good enough.
Snowflake floating down
melting against covered skin—
winter white whirlwind.
Cat paws on wood floors
fireplace burns the smell of pine
yellow eyes take flight.
Red leaves a-dangle
roads awash in memory