I seldom get outraged (well, only about two or three times a day) but my feathers were rudely ruffled this morning while I was surfing the Internet. A glaring headline hit me: Tips for a Healthy Super Bowl Menu.
The author of this travesty of justice had the audacity to suggest that we serve carrots, celery sticks, and broccoli to our guests while watching the Super Bowl tomorrow.
The suggestion itself tells me that the author is one of those perky, health-conscious, self-righteous, tree-hugging, save-the-condor, naturalistic, non-smoking joggers - - who wants to impose their demented vegetarian lifestyles on all of us.
Holy crap, Jon! Did you get up on the wrong side of the bed this morning, or what? You're making enemies by the dozens.
Hey, enemy-making is one of my many specialties. It's a gift.
This is the same kind of annoying alarmist spoilsport who advises us to hand out carrots, celery, and broccoli to trick-or-treaters on Halloween. And to eat a soymeal turkey substitute on Thanksgiving.
Here's some food for thought to that electric-car-driving Bozo:
the very foundation of America is based on the unwholesome, the unethical, the unhealthy, and the unreasonable. Don't try to ruin it for us now.
I am in favor of a detrimentally toxic Super Bowl All-American feast:
greasy sloppy joes, cheap hot dogs with ingredients unknown, six-pound hoagies, heavily salted pretzels & peanuts, popcorn smothered in real butter, nachos with enough cheese to kill a herd of Tanzanian elephants. All washed down with sugary soda and gallons of beer.
And for dessert, a triple-fudge Super Bowl Sunday topped with real whipped cream.
Does anybody ever see humor in my inane ramblings? If not, I'm sorely missing my mark.
You're missing your mark, Jon. Among other things.
May I offer anyone a change of subject?
I am still extremely (and I mean extremely) upset at the number of things missing from the stash of stuff that the movers delivered. I appreciate all the words of optimistic encouragement from my readers (all two of you).
However, after several searches, I'm still coming up short. Among the missing items are:
My three-drawer toolbox, with ALL my important tools.
All of the piano music that belonged to my mother and grandmother.
My mother's scrapbook.
Thirty of my private, handwritten journals & diaries from California.
A box of my antique books - - some from the 17th century.
It seems bitterly ironic to me that my very favorite possessions are missing. It may sound melodramatic, but I'll never recover from this.
I'm going to search one more time today but I have zero optimism.
Yesterday I forced myself to drive into town to get groceries. I miraculously made the fifteen-mile drive home in eleven minutes. It's amazing what courage a few cans of beer can provide........
The long road home