I’m tempted to extract my eyeballs out of their sockets and rinse them in anti-bacterial soap. All I’ve done all week (and pretty much every week I’m out here in Texas) is stare at a computer screen for 12+ hours a day. I’m gonna absolve myself of apathetic responsibility and point my finger at that as the cause of my literary lethargy. Eyeballin’ a 20″ flat screen for 12 hours a day doesn’t exactly incline ambition or inspire one to flip open their laptop at home. Am I using my profession as a copout for the negligence of personal interests and ambitions? You bet your ass, Seabass.
On to the alleged homewrecker.
Alicia. Alicia. Alicia. Ms. Keys. Please, por favor, per favore, meharbani karine…do NOT tell me you’ve given revitalized meaning to the term “two-timer”. Say the flip it ain’t so. No wonder you’ve been AWOL the past few months. So, unbeknownst to me, you’ve been cuddling up and whispering sweet nothings to someone other than yours truly? There are numerous reports that allege that singer Alicia Keys and rapper/producer Swizz Beatz have been dating for months. Word on the street is that both have now publicly confirmed that they are dating (after months of speculation and hearsay). Alicia Keys was once privileged enough to be the nucleus of my atom of infatuation. No mas. If this story is true (which it seems highly likely that it is), then I will officially have to remove Ms. Keys off the list of women who one day could be lucky enough to be placed into consideration for the title of being my main squeeze. Too. Damn. Bad. Dr. Elliot Reid (Sarah Chalke of Scrubs) and Samantha Brown – you’ve been promoted. Feel free to bolt out of the room jumping up and down clinging onto your golden ticket. “Pack your bags…you’re going to Hollywood!!!” Alicia…I never thought that I’d be saying this to you…but…alls I gots to say is that “you’re like school in the summertime…no class.” By the way, I know I’m nearly 3 months late on this…but…what else do you expect? The boondocks of Franklin, TX ain’t exactly conducive to keep on keepin’ on with what’s happenin’ in the streets. Anyone who has paid consistent attention to this discombobulated mess I naively choose to call a blog knows that I ain’t exactly intuitive of what’s shakin’ in the crevices of the streets of pop culture.
Wow. Asians (as in Fwied Wice Asians) are an awkward bunch. The show “Extreme Cuisine” on the Travel Channel is featuring a Taiwanese restaurant called “Modern Toilet“. This restaurant is entirely themed around bathrooms – and more specifically, toilets. Every dish is served out of a mini-plastic toilet. And what exactly is the most popular dish? Curry chicken…which…fittingly resembles…well…crap. No way this restaurant is popular, right? It must be a disgusting shtick that few have the gastronomical fortitude to experience? Right? Wrong. They have 12 of them across Taiwan and Hong Kong. Although, who am I to talk? I practically live on the can. But still…digging into a pile of food that looks like the deposited fetal aftermath of a decomposing Giordano’s deep dish pizza? Ay yi yi. But, odds are ironically in your favor if you bet on me chowing down some toilet curry tofu. Who am I to belittle another’s culinary inclinations, regardless of how bizarre and unorthodox?
Can someone be fired for only providing a customer with ONE mild sauce at Taco Bell? Especially after the customer insists on a “whole lotta sauce”? ONE mild sauce? Is the economy that tight that not only are we deprived of employment and profitable financial opportunities, but also Taco Bell sauces? Give us us free!!! And plenty. A bean burrito is like a dimepiece who’s foolish enough to be complicit in intimacy with you. Feel privileged that you’re even fortunate enough to reside in the same room as that warm, mouthwatering fold of flour tortilla. Do not rush into the 2 minutes of unforgettable ecstacy you are about to experience.
Be diligent and considerate enough to take your time to make sure it is ready. A bean burrito needs to be made to feel that it is your first, your only, and your last. It needs the sweltering foreplay of hot and mild sauce. Do not shake your head in bewilderment. You know damn well that I’m the Don Juan of Burritos. Dot your i’s, cross your t’s, and be on them p’s and q’s, or I will snatch your burrito away; introduce it to a “really man”.
It feels good to blog again. Every time feels like the first time. I guess gettin’ laid isn’t the only activity I infrequently participate in.