Words are Weapons, Sharper Than Knives

I was asked recently how I came up with my ideas and what is the process I use before I post them on my blog. Ok, ok. I really wasn't asked this by anyone...real. My imaginary friend Eduardo came up with it. However, I thought it was a good idea so I would like to tell you about it.

It usually starts out slowly. I like to play around with an idea first before I decide that I need to be really committed to it. This usually involves laying the idea out and touching every aspect of it. I slowly and gently check out every curve and pattern. As I touch them some parts get overly aroused. I tend to spend some extra time on those areas because of their reactions. After awhile I will move a little more quickly to other areas of the idea. This cannot be rushed too fast but done only in cadence with the building stimulation.

Remember not to neglect anything in this process or the entire experience could be wasted and turn into an embarrassment. For example, you don't want to post something prematurely. I have learned to control this impulse because no one likes a blog that is done too quickly.

As I continue on I make sure to caress each area of the idea. Every part of the post must be ready. Pronouns, verbs, nouns, conjunctions, and dangling participles move into their places like a choreographed anthem.

At this point you know the idea is ready to be inserted into place. A connection is made that brings me to such an enthusiasm it motivates me to give the post all the energy and stamina I have. I spend a long time working and reworking the whole post. All of the words and punctuation are put into place so that you can feel the full eloquence and passion of the essay.

This process continues until the total work falls into rythym with the idea that has expanded from just as seed and is now in full blown ebullience. Propelling final thoughts on this idea back and forth I finally know that I cannot give anymore to it. The intensification of the moment drowns out all reality until I finally ascend to the zenith of emotion when I publish the post to my blog in a climatic finale.

Coming down from this publication I rest peacefully knowing you have found pleasure in my blog and wish to return.

That is how it works for me anyway. What about you?

On the Hunt Tonight, For Love at First Sting

Hurricane, hurricane, hurricane, blah, blah, blah.

Everything in the news lately has been about the hurricane. Even if the Superdome does have a hole in it's roof, it is not like the Saints are going to win any games this year. Besides, what is the big deal about a hurricane? It is just a lot of wind and water. All that does is remind me of a girlfriend I once had.

Speaking of a girlfriend, we were in New Orleans once for mardi-gras. She kept lifting her shirt, but instead of beads, people threw hammers at her. She wasn't happy about that, no.

In seriousness, I hope things are good with Bennet. Although he wasn't necessarily near the eye of the hurricane he was pretty close to the shoulder. If you have ever been near the shoulder of a hurricane you would know that when she lifts her arm a rank smell of BO eminates out and destroys things faster than 165 mph wind (which, for my Canadian friends, would be 265.5 kph - Unless you are from Alberta. There it will be converted to 'Durn Fast').

If the hurricane is of the European type then watch out. That underarm hair will lash out at you faster than a whip from Devo (Before the cream sits out too long, You must whip it). Also, not that I want to tell stories out of school, but it should not be surprising that Blog Ho has a dream that the vagina of a hurricane would pass over his house. I am, with everyone else, awaiting his post on that topic.

So, in conclusion, a big heart-felt hug goes out to all those affected by the hurricane. Now can we get back to our regularly scheduled programming?

Decision 2008 & FFF

I know there are still 3 years left until the next presidential election, however, I feel I finally know who a I would vote for without any hesitation.

A delicious eclair.

Sure, the eclair is an inanimate object (not a very strong argument against this by the way) but I like eclairs a lot more than any person either party would nominate. As a matter of fact I really don't see a difference. Either party is about the same in my opinion. So why not vote for something that is nothing but decadent pastry goodness? Mix in some creamy filling and a chocolate topping and you have the best damn president since...ummm...


Vote for an eclair in 2008! Actually, why wait, vote for one for senator or mayor or governor or your local town council. In most cases (except in some parts of West Virginia) you will be better off.

---

Full Frontal Friday
This whole FFF thing is going crazy. I love it. Thank you. The hard part is staying creative with it. So I decided to steal something from DaVinci. From his best selling book, The DaVinci Cod Piece I present this...

Click on pic to get full effect.

Please see below those who are willing participants in this extravaganza. I love you all! *smooch*

1. CaCa Boy Bares All
2. Oh great One Goes Hairless
3. Crackbaby Gets Religion
4. Debi Does...umm...a whole farm?
5. Freedom Girl Spreads It
6. Ragko Tied Up (or something similar)
7. Dementia Goes Invisible. :-)
8. Ben Steals My Photos - I am calling the cops.
   
9. Let me know of anyone else. I just woke up so I am a little groggy.
   

Tires Spitting Gravel, I Commit My Weekly Crime

I remember one day trying to find a place to eat lunch. It had been a long day, you see. There had been constant harassments from the client, "Do this! Do that! Why the hell did you do that? I meant do this!" Of course, I just answer with "Yes my liege" and immediately do 'that'. Ten minutes later I hear, "That is not what I wanted!!"

I am not entirely sure they found the body.

A place to eat was finally found. The name was not familiar to me but it had a familiar look.

The friendly hostess seated me in a corner. The waiter, equally as friendly as the hostess, soon arrived to take my order. "Howzit goan, eh?" he said. I returned what I thought to be a greeting and proceeded to order a meal containing the staple of life. "A hamburger and french fries please." He smiled and said, "Good deal! With oat a doat, eh?"

I was pleased to see my meal come quickly. Friendly AND quick. I must note this place for later, I thought to myself.

Unfortunately, something was missing. I searched my table and the surrounding tables. My object of desire was not there.

"Excuse me," I asked the waiter. "Could I get some ketchup?"

"Eh?" was the response.

"Ketchup," I countered. "For my french fries."

"Oh! Hoe aboat some gravy, eh?"

Gravy? For my friggin' french fries? I was puzzled. I looked around at the others in the restaraunt. To my own disbelief I did indeed see people dipping their french fries in gravy. Who puts gravy on their french fries? And it wasn't just any gravy, it was brown gravy. This is the worst kind of gravy. I would rank it as the most evil of gravys.

Was I eating in Lucifer's Bar & Grill?

Before you label me as a racist and want to call the NAABG (National Association for the Advancement of Brown Gravy), go down to your local Cracker Barrel and check out their southern white gravy. Boy howdy, that stuff is good eatin'. Especially on the chicken fried chicken! To top off the experience buy some lovely crafts in the country store. There are some items that would look good on my office door...if I had one.

My head hung heavy as I was leaving the establishment. What happened to "Friendly and quick"? Who among the sane of humanity would put gravy on their french fries?

The dawning of realization hit...

Oh yeah, Canada.

I erased my note I made earlier about the place and went back to work. I had some 'thats' to fix.

Let’s Plug a Bomb in Everyone’s Arse

I need inspiration. Or a good colonoscopy. I know people that have that procedure done every spring and fall just to "get the cobwebs out". I prefer to do it about once every 4 years. Usually I do it right around the time of the Olympics. However, it has become really hard to decide which Olympics to synch it up with. At one time I had it done right between the winter and summer games. Then they decided to split them out every two years. Whoa boy, was I ever hurting.

Back to the inspiration part...

I sit here looking at a blank blogger post screen. Sure, there is the crap above about my regular "cleanings". But everyone does that. And there is now this...stuff...ummm...I am.......w...riting...NOW. That was weird.

But who really wants to read this? So I need help. I, seriously, really need help.

This doesn't happen very much to me. I usually have something to say. Not today. It is like the "Magical Writers Block Fairy With a Purple TuTu" has come to my home and sucked any grey matter that was left hanging around discussing Plutarch at the local Starbucks into its "Magical Sucking of Ideas Vacuum-Type Thingee". Let me tell you, when the fairy sucks we all pay the price.

Therefore, I beg not only for your forgiveness but help in inspiring me to post something useful. My only goal in life is to make you happy. I can't make you happy if I am not happy. And when I am not happy I start hiding WMD's in various locations around my house and wait patiently for the UN inspectors to be paid off by the Oil For Food For Old Issues of Penthouse people who will then, in turn, say I am only a misunderstood dictator who just needs a good colon cleaning.

Bennet actually gave me a good idea for a practical joke. He said that it would be funny to create an air freshener spray that would smell like crap. I think that many of the major sprays already smell like crap. Actually they smell like flowers that a bird has crapped on. However, I began to sense the idea. The spray would smell like actual human feces.

The can would be placed in a public restroom. Probably in a men's office restroom because we all know that women don't stink. They just make 'foofing' sounds then everything smells like Georgio.

So it must be in a mans bathroom. A man comes in and does his...umm...doody. It is a real scorcher of a doody too (or is it spelled 'doodie'?). Of course, he doesn't want the next guy to come in and think the fragrance came from him so he sees his way out with the can of 'air freshner'. The can would have pictures of pretty flowers on it even though a real man would actually not use a can like that. Maybe if the can had pretty flowers being held by a hot, big-chested, blonde or brunette. That would do it.

When the can is sprayed only a fecal smell would eminate from it. Here is where it gets funny...hold on...here it comes...ok...the guy would keep spraying because he would think his 'business' was really that bad smelling. He goes on spraying to try to cover it up only to make it worse. This would go on, probably another 10 minutes, until his boss comes in and fires him for
just being stupid. Everyone in HR would laugh a good hardy laugh because they are always the ones who do things like this. Don't let their "look at me, I work in HR and my foofs don't stink" attitude fool you. They would eat their own puppys if given the chance.

There you have it. I have nothing. I have resorted to stealing other peoples ideas. You might just want to visit Bennet. I owe him at least that.

And Lisa, I am sorry. I am probably not very hilarious anymore. But I will continue to try. Maybe after my colonoscopy.

The Blind Men Shout Let the Creatures Out

I apologize to everyone for not posting very much this week. It has been very busy. I decided to take some time off from work but work didn't take time off for me. Which, if you think about it, is very rude. Then again, it is an interesting thing that I actually post more when I am actually at work than I do when not. Go figure. I bet none of you are like that...no.

FFF is now a growing internet phenonmenon. If you consider the fact that Hillary Duff has a greatest hits disc out then I can say anything I want about FFF. Therefore, FFF has become the greatest thing since sex. I will give you an update on those who 'bared all' as soon as they have the courage to show themselves.

**UPDATE - THOSE WHO HAVE DARED TO BARE**
(The rest of you are just plain wussies.)

1. Techy Mike - Rock Hard
2. Debi - You might just toss your cookies with this one.
3. Robin (aka Binsk) - Beware of the camel toe
4. Corinna - NOT SAFE FOR WORK
   
5. Crackbaby - Doing it with Daisy (not Daisy Duke)
6. Dementia - Trashy
7. Anyone else??
   

For my post today I have decided to do something a little more risky yet titillating. I scoured the internet for 'Oprah Nude'. Unfortunately, the following is the best I could come up with. Please don't call the police.



Have a wonderful weekend.

Under the Anvil of the Sun

The other day I took my normal lunch break during an unusually difficult day at work. Walking out into the warm sun was, at first, disheartening. The last thing I wanted to face was sweat running down the sides of my face trying to escape to the corners of my neck. Relief came over me as a cool breeze moved pass my face. It was going to be a nice lunch break.

Everyday I need to spend at least an hour out of the office. This day I was very tempted to make it an all day affair. Deadlines were not being met, responsibilities were being dropped, technical issues becoming overwhelming, and no one accepting any accountability was the order of the first half of the day. The cool breeze was refreshing.

Though it was a nice day I decided to eat my lunch in my car. However, pre-requisites to this are the windows will be down and the sunroof open. I pulled the car into a remote and shady part of the parking lot. A ham, turkey, and cheese sandwich never looked so good.

As I crumbled up the packaging that once held my lunch a few minutes before, I noticed an older man approximately 20 yards ahead of me. He was working diligently trimming the hedges of the office landscaping and cleaning out the flowerbeds. He must have been working hard because he was sweating profusely. It was as if the cool breeze did not reach him.

Then I began to wonder. I hate it when I wonder about things, because it makes me face ideas that only create feelings of insignificance in me. My resistance was weakened and the wondering began.

Was this hard working man any different than me? He works his butt off to beautify the surroundings in order for the company to display a professional appearance to its customers. I wondered if he enjoyed his job. Does he face landscaping problems like uncontrollable insects that destroy the lawn, dying trees and flowers from lack of rain, trash left by inconsiderate employees, and having to work in extreme weather conditions? Of course he continues to endure this in order to bring home a 'reward' so he can feed, shelter, and clothe his family.

The feared thoughts followed the wondering. What I do is not much different than this man. Just because I sit in an air-conditioned office, wear comfortable clean clothing, and work in a high profile job, I was in the exact same position. I, too, worked by butt off to make sure the company looks good to its customers. Sure, I may make a little more money than this person, but for what satisfaction and in the end does it really matter? We push hard to try to get 'ahead' but in reality all of us are doing the same thing but at various levels. Society then dictates who is a higher life form.

Then the depression hit. Have I been wasting my life? Should I be doing more? Should I be doing less? Maybe it was even time to change my career? Can I finally do what I really wanted to do? Am I just a specimen in a social laboratory?

Ultimately, I decided that I could either continue the fall into despair or follow what seemed to be the only choice that I had before me. The decision was simple.

I ran over the old man with my car.

Full Frontal Friday

Just when I thought the interest in Full Frontal Friday was waning, Debi and Mike harshly reminded me that someone actually cares. That just warms my heart. *sniff*

So to give you your weekly FFF fix:



She's yellow, she's cute and she's smart.
Laa-Laa is sweet, there's no question about that. She could doubtless talk her way into (or out of) anything, being the little charmer that she is. She's mastered the funny look to the camera, too.

I Never Thought I'd Have an Admirer From Overseas

I never thought it would happen to me. It is almost like that time when I was young and I wondered what sex was like. Then when it happened, I still wondered what sex was like.

You may have heard over the years about the internet "story" of a suddenly rich boy who inherited money from his parents. The dying wish his parents had was that he find someone in the U.S. to help him invest the money properly. In return for the assistance the helper would receive a grand portion of the money.

Well...guess what? I actually received such an email! Really! Below is what came to me...

---

From: Henry Traore
E-mail :henry_traore1900@yahoo.fr
Abidjan, Cote d'ivoire
Tel: +225 0738 8636

Peace Be Unto You

I am Mr Henry Traore the only son of late Mr. Christopher Traore . My father and mother were very wealthy farmers and cocoa merchant when they were both alive After the death of my father,long ago, my mother was controling his business untill she was poisoned by her business associates which she surffered and died .

Before the death of my mother on March 2005 in a private hospital here in Abidjan where she was admitted, she secretly called me on her bed side and disclosed to me about the sum of four million five hundred US dollars thousand . USD ($4.5million ) she left in suspense account in one of the bank here in Abidjan , it was the money she intended to transfer oversea for investment before she was poisoned. She instructed that I should seek for a foreign partner in any country of my choice who will assist me transfer this money in oversea account where the money will be save and invested wisely.

Because of the current political problem here in Ivory Coast I decided to transfer the money to abroad where it will be save and invested. therefore, I am crying and seeking for your kind assistance in the following ways:

(1) To provide a safe bank account into where the money will be transferred for investment .
(2) To serve as a guardian of this fund since I am a boy of 20 years old .
(3) To make arrangement for me to come over to your country to further my education and to secure a resident permit for me in your country.

As soon as I receive your urgent reply indicating your interest to assist me to successfuly transfer the money into your yet nominated account , I would give you all necessary information you may require. I have mapped out 20% of the total funds as mode of compensation for your effort for assisting me with this request. Expecting your urgent response via my email

address: henry_traore1900@yahoo.fr

Yours
Henry Traore

---

Of course, I couldn't just let this go unanswered. The poor boy needed help.

Here is my response...

---

Dear Henry,

What a sad sad thing it is to hear of the demise of your poor mother. I have no doubt in my mind that she was murdered either by the ghost of your father or a jealous lover. Yes, Henry, there would have been many jealous lovers.

It must have been heart wrenching to hear the news that your mother was a very popular prostitute. I assume you already know this. Boy oh boy, she was one of the best, too. She did this little twist move with her hand while making love that just drove her patrons crazy. I was willing to pay anything, ANYTHING, for that move.

She was a good woman (if you know what I mean…nudge nudge).

So now you have inherited her vast fortune from the…err…”cocoa merchant” business. I believe congratulations are in order. However, I must reveal another little secret. It is a secret that your mother told me not to reveal until her death. Henry, I am your father.

I know it may come as quite a shock to you, but it is true. I told your mother I would take care of you and make sure you grow into a gentleman. Have you ever read ‘Great Expectations’? Well, your life will be much like that. As a matter of fact, I shall call you ‘Pip’. You will be ‘My Little Pip’. And I will be your ‘Magwitch’.

It is a hard thing to have to take your mother’s money and raise you to be a man. But I am honored. Please leave the money in a large black garbage sack under the park bench near the old swing set at Old Mill Park. Once I have it safe in my hands I will provide room & board for you at the local Shaky Bed Motel. I know the owner there, Sal. He is a good man but has a habit of watching people take showers. There is a hole in the bathroom wall, you might want to cover that up.

At some point your education will begin. I do believe in street smarts so you may have to do a little “selling”. Prove yourself competent, my boy, then the world will be yours. I am sure some of the first lessons will be to fix your horrific english. This is America boy! Speak Spanish!!

I love you my son. I am proud of you.

AB

P.S. Just don’t forget to send the damn money.

---

Think he will write back? I hope so, because I could sure use some ideas for another post in the near future!

If you would like to write him and tell him how much you would like to help, please do so. Let me know how it goes. I am just not responsible for what comes back. You dig dawg?

All that matters is my alma mater.

There is sure a lot of talk lately about the need to ban insulting and abusive mascot names for colleges and universities. I really don't see the big deal.

I, for one, did not go to a college that had a nickname or mascot. In the end, I don't think I missed it.

In case you are wondering, I went to the South Harbor Institute of Technology (S.H.I.T.) The school is very prestigious and has turned out impressive graduates.

As alumni, we are very proud of going to S.H.I.T. and will always remember those wonderful times. The first thing I remember is going to basketball games and the cheerleaders screaming, "Give me an S!!" We, of course, would yell "S!!" Then they would say, "GIVE ME AN H!!" We would yell back, "H!!" This would continue until the cheerleaders would finally exclaim, "WHAT HAVE YOU GOT?!" With pride we would respond at the top of our lungs, "A WHOLE LOT OF S.H.I.T.!!!" Oh that was fun.

As a matter of fact our teams were actually very good. And we did not need some silly mascot to inspire our teams onto victory. Although we did, occasionally, call them the Flying S.H.I.T.S! Our closest rival was a team from upstate. During homecoming one year a fight broke out in the stands. I am not sure who really won that riot, but the S.H.I.T.s really hit the fans.

Like any other college we would be very active in politics. There were some incredibly good movements on campus. Some were easy and our issues heard quickly and acted upon. Other times they would be a little slower which would require a lot of grunt work to get going. What a relief when everything came out well in the end.

One time there was a movement among the student body about the possibility of creating a nickname for S.H.I.T. Among the possibilities on the ballot were 1) Battling Brown Trouts, 2) JungleBugs, 3) Squat Monkeys, and my personal favorite 4) The Anal Snakes. After a hard fight the election ended in a draw. So we went back to the same old S.H.I.T.

Again, I am proud to be full of S.H.I.T. I am particularly glad of the degree I received from such a noble college. On my office wall I have an engraving of my diploma, which shows my B.S. degree in Business Management (BM).

May the Sun Live Strong

There I was, trying to sell my soul on eBay (which, btw, the bidding is up to 74 cents), when my son comes in and announces to the world, "I just learned the sun is eventually going to burn out and we are all going to die!"

My younger children, upon hearing this, began to cry and say "Oh Daddy, please save us from the horrible sun!"

I proceed to comfort them by saying the sun is not going to burn out. Instead, it will expand until it eventually over takes the earth and burns us all into objects that look remarkably like Cocoa Pebbles.

My kids have yet to come up from cowering in a basement corner.

Naturally, I blame science for this. Since most scientists are poor, and without proper hygiene knowledge, I figured I would just sue the Discovery Channel. Lance Armstrong would be named in the suit as well. Not only because the Discovery Channel sponsors him but because the whole "I beat cancer and you can too" thing is getting really annoying.

I must admit, though, that riding a bike while having testicular cancer has got to be painful. Maybe I will just sue him for a million 'Live Strong' wrist bands. I will take them and throw the yellow bands down into the basement while yelling "AHHHHH!! THE BAD SUN IS COMING TO GET YOU!!"

What, you too cute to dance?

Hi...

Sorry...

Very very busy....

No time...

Work is threatening...

People being separated...

Dreams crushed...

Bones broken...

Money taken...

Where is mine?? Must work work work...very very busy...no time to post...

Have a good weekend...

Before I leave...

FFF post...




Hehehehehehehehehehe...

A Stupid Blog From My Past

There are a lot of teenage bloggers out there. Some of them actually do a pretty good job. I say 'pretty good' because we all know teenagers are just one step away from textbook stupidity. If you think there is no such thing as a textbook on stupidity then you haven't been to the bookstore lately. Because, I was the one the author dedicated the book to.

I am sure there are some real cool (or is it 'kewl'?) teenagers. I just don't know any. This realization was made after many (I do mean 'many' because I like to be detailed) searches for 'Hot Teens' in Google. Maybe you are one of them and you read this blog. If you read this regularly, then, yeah, you're ok. But face it, you are not the strongest Elmer's glue in the kindergarten class. You know what I mean?

Where, in hell, do I get the nerve to say this? I was a teenager once. I lived through those years and boy was I stooooooooooooopud. Therefore if Me + Teenager = Stupid then Teenagers + All = Stupid. And while I am at it:

Please solve for x

I know what you are thinking, and no I will not do THAT for any amount of money. But I will do it for some Sun Chips.

The other thing you are thinking is, "AB, where are you going with this?" I was pondering the other day what would I blog about if blogs were around when I was a teenager? Here is what I concluded:

1. The great profundity behind the negative affect of Bon Scott's death on the world. Especially on why the hell the group replaced him with Brian Johnson. He did rock on "Hell's Bell's", however.
2. My daily diary on my love for Tracy even though she moved away because of the restraining orders against me.
3. Political commentary on the policies of the Reagan administration. After the first post, you would never see this again.
4. My hatred of Mr. Stark my high school U.S. history teacher. I will never forget the day he humilated me in front of the whole class. How was I to know the Teapot Dome scandal wasn't about the time Redskins fans dumped a load of teapots into the Potomac river in protest of the ultimatum the team gave that if they didn't build a new football stadium they would move? But I must say Edwin Denby was the best Secretary of the Navy.
5. I would write about how utterly idiotic #4 sounds.
6. I would mock my spanish teacher who would constantly annoy us with "¿Cómo se dice en español? " whenever we would say things in english. Of course, we would say "¿Cómo se dice 'eat my gonads' en español? " He would then answer with "coma las gónadas". Then follow up with, "Yo lo quiero en el asno."
7. How much my parents just didn't understand me. Especially after they gave me a green Buick to drive. You have NO IDEA the emotional turmoil I endured with this. The hardest thing was people saying, "Nice pickle mobile!". While bludgeoning them I would yell, "¿Cómo se dice 'pickle mobile' en español?!" With a groan they would answer, "encurtir móvil". I would then yell, "IN FRENCH!" Their last words would be, "conserver au vinaigre le mobile". Afterwards we would go have a laugh at Shakey's Pizza and play Ms. PacMan.

Those are just some topics that I would probably have discussed on my blog if this medium was around in my teenage years. What would you write about it? Consider this a tag of some sorts. But if you are a teenager, don't bother...because you are stupid.

Concession Speech

Dear friends and supporters,

It is with deep regret that I come before you today to concede the election of Top Blog to....umm...to....those other people. You know the ones. The ones with the boring blogs. Oh well, I am sure they are nice people. I even bet they did better than me in high school. But what you didn't know is they had sex with pidgeons in high school. Really, it is true. I have pictures.

The blog world has spoken. Despite a grueling around the clock (ok, at least 10 minutes a day) schedule, I must congratulate my opponents. They did well.

Looking back on the election I have learned many things.

1. It might be a good thing to start sucking up to people earlier in the week. It just seemed to help. They get all sucked out by the end of the week. Which is something only I can wish for. *sigh*
   
2. Talk about insignificant events in my life. They just seem to lure people in and catches them like a bear in a honey trap. And I also need to show pictures of mundane things. I think I have a pic of a used napkin somewhere around here. I shall call it 'Snot my Napkin'. It will someday hang in a museum
   
3. Use sex. Must use more sex. It is always about sex. And show nudity. Even if it is half naked (or nakkid) nudity. Skin sells. I have some, want to buy it?
   
4. Send more money to people.

Those are just a few things. I am sure there are many more lessons learned, but I have forgotten them now.

Therefore, I will now stop actively seeking to be the top blog and be content with #5. The number 5 is a good number. I can be happy with that. However, if you feel you want to still vote, you can click somewhere over there ---->

If nominated I will not run, if elected I will not serve beanie weanies ever again.

Now onto my boring life....