Tag: humour

Disciples Needed Will Train (Easter Special)

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disciple

A Sick Bastard Bible Excerpt (an equal opportunity offender. Turn off your moral compass before continuing)

It’s not easy making friends when you introduce yourself as the Holy Messiah, even the latter day saints cast their doubts. That made it extremely hard for Jesus to find himself a posse but he knew he needed an even dozen so he set out to find them at the fishing hole. The first two men he met were Andrew and Peter. After a lot of convincing and a few parlor tricks God taught him they finally believed that he was the son of God that they had heard so much about and promised to follow him to hear his teachings. They had some friends fishing over at the pier who they believed would make perfect disciples (for the right price) so they took Jesus to it. With his fantastic personality, great training from Mary Anne, and a few money cards for Bob’s Bait an Tackle it wasn’t long before he had a handful, twelve to be exact, of real life disciples. Twelve men who promised to follow him in exchanger for everlasting life and the latest in rods, staffs, and reels as well as the promise of net income.
Jesus took them to a secluded area where they coul have their first bored meeting. They sat together in a large circle and after a rousing rendition of Kumbaya introduced themselves. “Let me start. My Name is Jesus and I am the son of a Jewish carpenter who taught me his trade. Well let me clear that up, Joseph is my Dad but my real father, my biological father is a God and he sent me here on the garden….I mean the planet Earth to teach man how to live correctly. Men have strayed from the path of nature and are creating wars, killing creatures they don’t like and generally fucking up the landscape. There are those among you acting like the world belongs to them not to God. So in a way I’m here to save you from yourselves. If you guys follow me and listen and learn from me together we can go back to following the natural laws of life and survival an God will give us Utopia. Any questions?” Of course a litany of questions rang out like “Does that mean I don’t have to serve in the military? Can we still have sex? You mean we can’t kill any animals? Etc.” Jesus held up his right hand which would soon become his signature move. “Okay, okay, I get it, you all have a lot of questions. Let me just put it this way. If you follow me and do as I say you will all live happy and fulfilled lives. We are planning to be together for quite a while so let me find out who you guys are and what your names are.
The men began introducing themselves. “My name is Simon, sometimes known by the alias Peter but that’s a long story. I have been a disciple since I met Jesus yesterday. I want to follow to learn the truth of the world and get some brownie points from the big guy upstairs.” Next Pete stood up, “I’m Peters brother Andrew, and I too want to follow.” They all began responding, “I’m James” “I’m John” “My name is Bartholomew but you can call me Bart, and I believe in Jesus” (Friggen brownnose that Bart) “I am Phillip” “My name is Thomas and I must admit I am somewhat skeptical but I’m willing to give this guy a shot. But as I said, my name is Thomas, or Tommy, and I have my doubts.” “I’m Mathew, or the Matt Man as they the ladies call me, and unlike doubting Tommy boy here I trust in Jesus completely.” “My name is James too, but to avoid confusion call me Jimbo.” “Ah, my name is like Thaddeus, no jokes please it was my father idea, but please call me Thad.” “Damn, my name is Simon too, so I guess you’ll have to stick with your Peter alias there other Simon” And finally the twelfth. “Hey Y’all, I am Judas. Judas Iscariot and I do believe in Jesus and I will follow him and listen and obey. You are my liege, my lord Jesus, and I will be a faithful servant unto you“……“Trust me.” (Cue evil grin)
So it was set, Jesus had his followers and would now set out to change the world with their help. It had been very stressful getting to this point and the J man was feeling a need of some relief. He went to a house of ill repute and choose a prostitute with which to help him relieve that stresses. Looking up towards the heavens he mouthed “Don’t juge me a, I’m a little horny an this is one tough job you sent me on”. The hookers name was Mary (What Another Mary?) Magdalene and she comforted Jesus much the same way Jesus’ mother had comforted Gods rod and staff. She spent hours very skillfully extracting every ounce of seminal fluid in his body and did things to him he had only had wet dreams about before. She was satisfied beyond her expectations as well what with Jesus being half god and all, and she had a never ending freshly satisfied smile stuck to her cheeks. Mary sensed a deep connection to Jesus. “Try not to get worried, try not to turn on to problems that upset you. Jesus. Don’t you know everything’s all right?” Maybe it was the sexual explosions or maybe it was her tenderness, but it touched Jesus deeply. It was moving and made Jesus feel calm and relaxed as he never had before. “Mary, I don’t think I told you this but I am the son of a god and I have been sent here to save the world. I have a posse of 12 guys with me and we are going to change the world. Would you follow with us?” Worried she was being asked to pull a train she glared at him suspiciously. “Are you saying with you or do you expect me to do all 12?” Jesus shook his head and laughed, “No, of course its just me and you in that way. By the way, the sex has to be our little secret. On the surface we need to appear righteous and free of sin. In private, well anything goes baby.” Mary smiled. “Okay Jesus, I’ll follow you and be your maiden. Changing the world huh? Ha, and they said I would never amount to anything. Wish my friends could see me now!”
Now Jesus had his core group totally set, Mary the repentant sinner always at his side (and then some), and his band of merry men strolling through the countryside giving motivational speeches and teaching classes on how to live the natural laws of life and he was becoming quite well known. But he needed something big. Something that would put him over the top and get him noticed globally. He needed a miracle! The bait and switch.?! That’ll work. There was a high profile wedding in town to which both he and his mother Mary were invited. It was a kick ass affair but the celebration had run out of Ernest and Julia’s jug whine. Jesus’ moms came to him and said “Honey, we’re all out of wine. Can you do something. Jesus was ready, he had eight gallons of wine behind a tree, and spoke very loudly so all could hear what he was saying. “Judas, Simon, no the other Simon, bring me some water.” While his Mom created a distraction Jesus switched jugs and soon the party continued with all in attendance believing he had changed the water into wine. Jesus now had mad street cred’s. It was all anybody talked about for the next two weeks. “Did you hear about this guy Jesus? I heard he took a gallon of water and turned it into 20 gallons of preamo whine. An urban legend was forming and it got bigger as it grew. 20 turned into 40. 40 turned 100. Soon he not only turned water into wine and brought 10 huge pigs to BBQ. He carried them all on his back as he walked across the river! It was incredible. Everywhere you went you heard about some dude named Jesus, his hooker girlfriend, and his 12 faithful followers roaming the world creating miracles, feeding the poor, healing the sick, and stopping war. The towns and villages were abuzz with hope for their future. Everyone was elated. Well not really everyone. Remember that dude Herod, and the salad loving Caesar? They were none to happy. Neither were the hierarchy of the Jewish religion. Seems like Jesus was gonna have some problems with the Romans and the Jews. They didn’t like having their authority challenged. Something evil was afoot…

OH WHAT A NIGHT!

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what a night 1

(Time to get up, if you can)
The sun was scratching at my eyes an my head was pounding out a thunderous redundant painful beat. Over an over, boom, boom,boom boom, echoing dully through my skull. In the throes of confusion I tried to make sense of my situation. Where the fuck am I? Am I like dead or something? I looked down. Oh shit, I’m alive, and I’m naked in an unfamiliar bed. Naked? Could be a good thing, think back, think back. I remember Me and Miles were at a bar, his favorite biker bar and…. Wait! Jesus shit something moved! Holy fuck there someone else in bed with me. I looked at myself again, buck bone naked, matted pubic hair region, some sort of secretion has occurred… Oh my God! Oh Jesus shit in Hell please don’t let it be Miles laying next to me! I squinted through the powerful streaks of sunrays reaching through the window. I felt some large breasts on my back. Okay, okay, it’s a female, at least there’s that, but who the hell is she? I looked at myself again, naked and seemingly spent. I must have had a lot of sex last night because my normal morning wood is a morning wouldn’t. Or couldn’t. But who’s in bed with me?
An unfamiliar voice in a groggy hoarse tone.“ Well hey there Myron, you ready for a fifth time?” There was a hint of a schoolgirl giggle when she asked me if I wanted to… Wait, did she call me Myron? The only time I use Myron is when I need an alias. Why would I need tell her my name was Myron? “Ah, um, what do you mean?” Uh man my head was pounding, what the fuck did I drink last night? “You two went at it all night, hahaha. You gonna do it again for us to watch? Oh yea do it!” Another strange female voice from across the room. Okay, two beds, me and Miles, this must be a no tell motel room we’re in. Miles is over in the other bed with a chick too. I attempted to remove the fog from my mind but the defroster wasn’t working yet so I rubbed my eyes extra hard as if it would help me remember but it only made matters worse.
I must have taken something last night, a pill or something because I’ve had a million hangovers before but this is like a fugue, I haven’t a clue where I am, who’s in be with me, how I got here, or even what day it is. There was a bottle of water on the nightstand so I took a big mouthful and long swallow to remove the stale shitty taste in my mouth. I peeked over to Miles who was still sleeping but his apparent partner was sitting up in bed naked as a jaybird with her breasts just hanging out in the open. I forced my eyes away from her breasts an looked at her face. She was pretty although the heavy make up she must have worn last night was now making her look like a raccoon. But a pretty raccoon, with real long full blond hair and an obvious well endowed chest. Hard to tell from that vantage point but she appeared rather short, maybe five foot but then again she was sitting cross-legged on a bed and her breasts were like magnets to my eyes, blurred as my vision was. I glanced closer noticing her blond hair was platinum blond that screamed give me peroxide or give me death. But it did look sexy on her and I assumed we had double dated ending up in a hotel. I took a chance, “You two were pretty loud yourselves.” She let out a half laugh, half giggle, “I guess so but I never heard Jenny screaming like that before, I‘d love to see what you did to get her to scream so loud.” The woman next to me blushed, “You’re just jealous Nance, but he is a real tease this one” Jenny! At least I have a name now, but I still don‘t remember anything. The stranger named Jenny, unless she used an alias too, was coming to life herself offering me a good view of her naked body. Not so tiny, she was maybe five and a half foot, but much larger than her counterpart in Miles bed. She also had blond hair but dirty blond, I couldn’t tell how long but there was an incredible amount of hair. Jenny was no stranger to tattoo’s having several small inkings along her arms which seemed somewhat scattered and disorganized. Not the flow of ink like I have, each arm telling a story with the Grim Reaper chest tattoo guarding my heart. But it wasn’t horrible, they could be fixed with some new ink. Her body was stout having a fair amount of meat on her bones but her most striking attribute by far was her enormous mammary glands. I have never seen such huge breasts, at least not in person. Those beauties could have their own area code they were so big. The truth is I’m more of what they call a leg man, I love long muscular legs but I also have no problem exploring new area’s, especially if they have their own area code. I estimated the mountainous melons to weigh a good twenty pounds a piece.
“Hehe, I know what’s for breakfast.” She bent down and took my spent member in her mouth. Fully engulfed I was… how do you say it? Flaccid. I stopped her, “Not right now Jenny, I need to shower and some coffee.” What the Hell was I thinking? I just opted out of getting morning head! Well first I really need to figure out what’s going on, maybe later. Platinum blond from across the room chimed in, “Ohhh, that’s a great idea JT, lets all go shower together.” Fuck! How come she knows my real name but her friend thinks I’m….My thought was cut off by the confused Jenny, “I though your name was Myron?” Jenny squeezed my balls, so I knew I better have the right answer, “So what is your name stud muffin?” Think quick. “My name is Myron but most people, like Miles there call me JT. It’s short for, um, Justin Time, you know because I always seem to get where I need to be just in time…..
I damn near ran into the shower to attempt to collect my rational but was instantly joined by two naked women. A beautiful fantasy had it not been for the fact that one of these ladies, a very hot and sexy lady, was my best friend Miles girlfriend and the other, a slightly overweight tattoo laden lady with mammary glands that require a summit to fully appreciate was apparently my girlfriend. Nevertheless, I was showering with two women, one which was soaping me up, which at this point was possible again. Nancy seductively and teasingly soaped her own body up while watching and commentating on how we were performing. “oh yea Jenny, I think you have his full attention.” The hot water was helping clear my head a bit so within seconds I was standing at soapy attention. Who am I to pass up such a golden opportunity. I gave in and we lathered each other into frenzied states of passion and made love standing in the shower as Nancy commented on our every move. After having been afforded the opportunity to explore the humongous appendages I can confirm the twenty pound estimate, adding that they require almost a half bar of soap just for each. But more importantly I sensed we had made some sort of connection that I can’t seem to recall. Not sure if this is bad or good, I hope when Miles wakes up he can shed some light on how I got here, and more importantly, Where the fuck are we and what day is it!!!

Subway Sanwhich Chain Says Chew On This

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yoga

Hoagie Central Replaces Yoga Mat with Bath Mat

Hoagie Central has announced it has upgraded their hoagie rolls to a healthier and less consumer panicking recipe. They have replaced the rolls they were buying from the Downward Dog Bakery with the less chewy rolls from Mirror Mist bread Company. Senior officials cite the recent bombshell dropped on Twitter exposing the fact that large pieces of yoga mat have been found in the rolls. Mirror Mist uses the less rubbery bath mat, although they still fear finding remnants from the bath mat remnants. “Our quality control team has been sampling many of the local bakeries to find which one has the most easily digestible foreign objects and after an exhaustive and gastro intestinal challenging search we found that Mirror Mist has the fewest defects. We only want to use the best possible inappropriate products to rip off our customers with. If they all were to choke on yoga mat fibers we would lose a huge percentage of our clients.”
Downward Dog Bakery refused our offer for an interview but released this statement, “Downward Dog uses only the finest quality yoga mat in our breads. We not only stand behind the matting we use we also stand on them in upward facing proud peacock pose. We guarantee the yoga mats we bake with are only slightly used in strictly Bikram Yoga classes which you may know is heated, thereby destroying all the bacterium from the participants feet. We never put our customers in an awkward position and literally bend over backwards to make the best rolls we can for our customers ” Not reassured by this Hoagie Central has taken steps to insure only bathroom matting reaches the mouths of their customers. “We understand Downward Dogs position but we have to think of the people we are taking money from, and 90% of them have Twitter accounts. With all the bad publicity we received from the chewy yoga matted bread we don’t want our customer base to be reduced to 140 characters or less.”
Consumer advocate groups have praised the decision noting that not only were the chunks of yoga mat a choking hazard, but they also contained almost twice the calories of the more expensive bath mat. They have expressed concern over the color dyes used in some bathmats as well as the hairy fibers, but close inspection of Mirror Mists mats passed the smell test. Choo Won Deese, the makers of the somewhat edible yoga mats could not be reached for comment.
The opinions expressed by The Existential Baker do not necessarily reflect in the Mirror Mist, but he does want to point out that all of his products are 100% mat free.

Doing A Few Lines, And Line Cooks

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after mimi

Potsink Diaries
Leaving Mimi Dee’s was hard but I had to do it. I was smoking way too much weed, I had affairs with three women and got caught. I got too close to the edge having cheated myself out of a great relationship with a great chick. Carrie would never talk to me again and honestly I didn’t blame her. If I wasn’t stuck with me I’d never talk to me either, but it is what it is. Or was. I found myself in a new relationship with a new job so now and its time to man up and act like an adult. Me, an adult? Not sure that can work but I had to at least give it a go. I applied for and got a job as line cook at Moonleaves, a family restaurant in Syosset not far from Mimi Dees. I say line cook. At Moonleaves that had two meanings, one was the cooks line where my sauté station was. I had four entrée’s and two appetizers to prepare and plate during service. The other line cook was all the cooks doing lines. I never saw so much white powder in my life! It was as though the entire staff snorted a gram a day. Pot, pills, and cocaine flowed so freely it was more like a drug mart than a restaurant. Dishwashers, busboys, waits staff, cooks, just about everyone in the kitchen did drugs and the manager was a raging alcoholic too drunk to notice.
The amount of total degradation there was astounding, cooks banging waitresses in the storeroom, oral sex among the glass racks, even an area specifically reserved for gay sex. You could watch, partake, or just ignore, your choice. It was the Sodom an Gomorrah of the restaurant world and this was the mid 70‘s, the decade of decadence and drugs. Pot was smoked constantly out by the dumpsters, pills were exchanged openly, lines of coke were cut on sheet pans, and in the walk in refrigerators soup pots of screwdriver and gram jars of cocaine were at the ready. “Freeze Break” meant someone was running into the fridge to take a hit of blow an a swig of vodka and OJ. It’s a wonder we ever got a single meal out let alone get through service of a hundred and forty dinners a night. So much for a serious relationship, I fell into it like a pro, screwing every waitress I could and having my clock cleaned orally twice a week. Yea, line cook and head waitress were ironic terms at Moonleaves.
Even though I was engaging in so much extra curricular I also had begun to actually hone some cooking skills learning to make sauces a la minute and handling a constant litany of ordering and picking up of my food items. I was finally good at something and actually enjoyed doing it, a win-win. Pay for play. I had gotten so good at my station I helped out on the grill when it was overwhelmed, and the other line cooks when they needed a hand. The sous chef was ecstatic because it meant less work for him so he could go back to the glass racks where he would find non culinary satisfaction.
By early December I was beginning to fall apart from all the sex and drugs. I lived with my girlfriend Janet who enjoyed the weed and coke as much as I did. I always reserved some of both for home. It was becoming harder and harder, or sometime not hard at all, to perform sexually with Janet between my indiscretions and the coke both. The staff Christmas party was just around the corner and I could only imagine what a sick fucking party it would be. There wa sure to be tons of party enhancers and lots of parking lot sex. I resisted as best I could at Moonleaves when sex was offered but in the end I wasn’t the most faithful of lovers. No way I could bring Janet the party to meet the waitresses I have been with. I know Janet didn’t like me working there, and for good reason she was jealous. I was juggling it all really well, barely balancing sex at home and Moonleaves by never allowing the two to overlap. Repeated requests to meet my “friends at the restaurant” were deflected and redirected. Janet wasn’t stupid and even though I was a “strapping young stud” I could only handle so much. Besides, a girlfriend always knows, whether it’s the distant scent of perfume from a tryst hours ago or just the way we kiss. Putting passion into a kiss is like a fingerprint to a woman, and Janet was quite a woman. “JT, either you take me to the Christmas party to meet your friends or I’m going to eat there everyday.” Trapped like the rat fink I was.
I needed to figure out how to keep Janet from the restaurant. My two separate lives were on a collision course and the explosion would surely destroy both worlds. A plan was hatched. Let me just put a touch of perspective on this, I have hatched an enormous number of plans and from that maybe a handful have worked in my favor. This one had all the earmarks of being amongst the majority of failures. What logic I found in asking Janet to marry me as a way to get out of this would confound Einstein. But that was the plan, to buy a ring, ask Janet if she’ll marry me, an tell her we could get married sometime next year. I believed it would give me time to figure out a balance. Now I just had to figure out how to balance the news to Trudy, the waitress who sort of became my work girlfriend, the one waitress I had become exclusive with at Moonleaves. I know she is planning something huge for us at the Christmas party that involved a jello bath and some Quaaludes so I decided I could wait until after the party which now Janet won’t feel a need to go to. I’ll tell her its not a “party” party but more like we all just sit down to dinner together. Weak at best, but I was convinced of my own schmoozing abilities.
Janet was prepared for the usual argument surrounding Moonleaves and the staff party so it caught her totally off guard when I handed her a small box. Her eyes lit up like stadium floodlights, “What is this? JT……What’s in the box?” Girlish excitement was building as her face took on a kid at Christmas look. “Well…..why don’t you open it and see.” Her hands shook fumbling with the box as I positioned myself on my knee in front of her timing my request in perfect unison with the opening, “Janet, will you marry me?” She jumped up screaming, her hands flailing wildly, “Oh my God yes, yea of course JT, of course I’ll marry you.” We embraced while Janet allowed tears to flow freely, tears of happiness and even I got caught up in the frenzy. After kissing me a dozen times or so I became unimportant, “I’ve got to tell my Mom, and my sister, and…” She rattle off a number of her besties while the depth of what I had just done sunk in. Jesus shit, what have I done? Not sure I thought this one through.
Janet and I made love that night, with extreme emotion and reckless abandon. It was the wildest sex the two of us had in a very long time. Four times before we finally collapsed in exhaustion. The party had not come up in conversation once and now I’m not so sure I played this right. I will most likely need to opt out of the party all together to concentrate more on how to keep work and home separate on a more permanent basis. I would need to tell everyone at Moonleaves I was engaged which would change things drastically. I could still do the drugs, but the sex had to stop. Maybe it was for the better anyway.
The second I got to Moonleaves I was prepared to tell everyone of my wedding plans, but Trudy had other idea’s. Trudy was a hot an very sexy chick, not the kind of girl you bring home to Mama. With long straight jet back hair and the sexiest eyes alive! She wore a ton of make up which she didn’t really need because she was real pretty. But the make up made her look intensely sexy, like the woman that grabs you by your libido and forces you to surrender to her will. Thick black eyeliner, huge curled eyelashes, a deep blue swatch above each eye and the reddest lipstick around coating some naturally thick succulent lips. HOT! She put her hands up to my chest, looked deep into my soul with eyes smiling that sex smile that melts my loins. With a playful kittenish demeanor she pushed me toward the glass racks. I should resist, this shit has to stop. Too much drugs and I know Trudy thinks we are boyfriend and girlfriend even though she knows I live with Janet. I mean she lives with her boyfriend so its not like we would ever be together as a couple. That’s it, no more! She pushed my back against one of the racks and I grabbed her cheeks tilting her head up to mine to tell her we can‘t do this. Oh my God she looked so hot and vulnerable. Before I spoke a word her hand wandered down my stomach to my jeans as she undid my belt, then the zipper. Before I knew it I was rock hard on the racks moaning while Trudy gave me the most incredible head ever. When she finished me off she raised her head, kissed me with an open mouth an I hungrily swapped spit with her. “Mmmmm, that was good baby, see you after my shift?” I was no longer thinking no more, I was thinking lets do it again Trudy. “Of course baby, I’ll get a room after service.” I gotta quit this job!!!

ONE REALLY BIG SPECIAL NIGHT IN ‘64

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beatles #1

It was 20 years ago today, Sergeant Peppers taught his band to play. I doubt there is anyone in America of my generation that’s not familiar with that line. But on February 9th, 2014 it was 50 years ago today that counted. That was the day America was ready to….Meet The Beatles. After that night came a plethora of new albums, Magical Mystery Tour, Rubber Soul, Revolver, The White Album and more. Help, Its Been a Hard Days Night here on Abbey Road. 50 years ago! Yea, a lot has been made of the recent 50 year anniversary of the Beatles conquering America. But nothing really caught any of the energy that one special evening created. Five songs transformed a generation, gave it something to identify with. The Beatles merely changed the way we spoke, the way we dressed, the way we listened to music, the way we viewed our politics, and in general the way we lived our lives. And it all started on one night all across America in households of families huddled around a Sunday night ritual. The Ed Sullivan show, an institution in the days when most families had only one TV set and the whole family sat and watched it together. Back in those days dinner was served at the same time everyday, an you couldn’t leave the table until you finished everything. Yea, even the vegetables! After dinner the family gathered around the TV set to watch whatever Dad decided we could watch. Saturday mornings we had cartoons and the television belonged to us (so long as our chores were done) but at night there was no democracy. Fascist Pops was in control of what we viewed and we were the remote controls. “JT, go put on channel four. JT, turn this up. JT, fix that horizontal bar.” Pretty much the same in every house, and Sundays were family night. For us it was the same every Sunday, Lassie, followed by My Favorite Martian, followed by The Ed Sullivan Show all on CBS. If I was allowed to stay up after that I had to change to NBC and we watched Bonanza. February 9th 1964 started out just like any other Sunday night, I had no clue what would occur on that special night.
IMHO the Grammy tribute fell way short of recreating any of that energy, not focusing on what that special night really created but instead used it as a promo for Grammy winning acts, popular actors, and an audience that never got a chance to understand the importance that night held to my generation. So I’ve taken it on myself to attempt to capture a slice of the energy released on that special night 50 year ago. For me and my classmates way back in February 1964 that performance was a game changer. A life changer! The moment the first set was over I understood intuitively that something had changed profoundly. For the first time I had my own music, a music made just for me and all I wanted to do was be like The Beatles and listen to more of their music. First I had to wash the Brylcreem out of my hair, remove the slicked back greaser wave and grow my hair. I would have bangs starting the next morning. I wanted to be like The Beatles, those dudes were fucking COOL!
Before that evening like most of my friends I was a follower, a sheep spinning my older brothers 45’s. Not that it wasn’t good music, it was great, but it wasn’t mine and it didn’t have the oomph I would come to know and love. The year before that special night I got my first record player for Christmas. It was a cheap record player that could only handle one record at a time and had one cheesy speaker built in its self contained carrying case that couldn’t go more than four feet away from an electric outlet without an extension cord. My record library consisted of Oh My Darlin’ by Huckleberry Hound, The Theme to Mr. Ed (of course of course) The Chipmunks Christmas song, a searing rendition of The Legend Of Sleepy Hollow, and Sherry by the Four Seasons (That one I stole from my brother, hope he doesn’t read this). But that Sunday night changed all that. In my pajamas with spacemen in spacesuits all over it I sat right in front of the TV. I heard that some Beetles were coming to America, and all I knew at that point was they played music and made girls scream. I was prepared to hear something like The Everly Brothers, or The Beach Boys, or maybe even Bobby Darrin. My parents played Frank Sinatra, Al Hirt, and Andy Williams on the family console but I knew it would be nothing like that. Maybe its four British Elvis Presley’s? But when that first song began, a song called “All My Lovin” my mouth dropped. It was the most amazing thing I had ever heard. And the four guys, long hair shaking as they sang, were just about the coolest things in the universe. I watched and memorized their names, on drums some guy named Ringo. Who has a name like that?! Cool! George, Paul, and sorry girls he’s married John. I knew in an instant this was something I had been waiting for without knowing I was waiting for it. The next tune was called “Till There Was You” sung by the cute guy Paul. In the house next door I heard a blood curdling scream. I looked up startled and my Dad and Mom were chuckling, “Mollie, can you hear Christine next door?” laughter, “Yes I can Joe, listen to her screaming like a banshee for these kids” Christine was my 13 year old next door neighbor who sounded like she was being tortured by the boogey man when in fact in her mind she was asking Paul to marry her. Very loudly and in an eerie shrieking kind of way. Mom an Dad got a good laugh from those cute mop top boys from England. Not quite as funny the next morning when I came downstairs with my hair combed over my forehead in an attempt to copy the look. “You march right upstairs and fix your hair young man!” …..“But Mom!! I wanna………Yes Mom.” That was the first of many years of arguments I would have regarding the length and style of my hair. And it all started on that one magical special night. They finished the first set with a fast rocking tune “She Loves You”, which had all of the kids in school singing yea, yea, yea on the playground the rest of the year.
After another act or two the boys came back for two more songs but it wouldn’t have mattered, the die was cast they had already conquered the youth of America. We were in hook line and sinker. They played “I saw her Standing There” and “I wanna Hold your Hand” what would become two more love anthems of the young. In one special night I had five new favorite songs. I got rid of my 45’s and began swearing a collection of nothing but Beatle songs after that. I had MY music now, not my brothers, not the kid up the blocks, MINE! I bought teen magazines to read about them, had Beatle trading cards, bought many of their 45’s, and a Beatles poster, all of which would make me a bazillionaire if I had them now. As the years passed I could follow my social development by what album came out next. My hair, my politics, my view of love, my global presence all coincided with what the Beatles did on their next album. I didn’t realize it at the time, but every Beatle album I ever listened to could be called a greatest hits album. It was as though they couldn’t make a shit record if they tried.
Whatever The Beatles did I tried to do. As they grew their hair longer so did I, when they dressed more colorful so did I, they talked slang, I talked their slang too, they smoked pot I tried it. I couldn’t get enough information about them. I followed their trip to India in the magazines and adjusted my life around the Fab Four. I especially tried to be like John. Whatever The Beatles said or did validated my doing the same. Not so much for Mom and Dad though, the chuckling over the cute mop tops morphed into a major bone of contention with the generation gap battles. No longer cute and funny lads they were viewed as destroyers of youth, the antichrists. What they really did was to give a voice to a generation and let us know its not only okay to question authority, its a responsibility when authority is being misused. Protest against wrongness, against war, evil and hatred, share love and peace and harmony. What a horrible message to send to kids. Joe McCarthy would have been incensed. With music as their only weapon they conquered us and spread the concept of peace, love, and togetherness to the masses. The Flower Children, The 60’s fashions, The protests, the outdoor concerts, all the positive aspects of the era can be traced back to The Beatles. The Beatles were the truth and the truth set us free. It all began one special night.
I truly hope that another generation of youth will have a perfect storm, a perfect harmony of lives that can reset perfect balance in the Universe the way the Beatles did for mine. Four guys, strangers, all from the same area meet in another country and become a rock and roll band and set the world on its head. Why those specific four? Why that specific area? Why that specific time? Four guys, all with extreme talent that compliments each other forming an unstoppable force. When the world needs it the Universe has a way of supplying the perfect storm like The Beatles. We need a perfect storm now, we need another Beatles. But I just can’t see that happening, the good karma, the positive energy, the light through the darkness coming together at the exact moment, the exact time, for the exact reason. I just can’t! But Hell, I’ve been wrong before, and if it can happen I’ll be glad to be wrong again. C’mon Universe, now more than ever, we need some Beatle magic. Give us just one more “One Really Big Special Night”……PEACE

Sugar’s Existential Crisis and A Sweet Intervention

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shugs

(A Love Once so Sweet)
Sugar cries “Oh girl you must be mad what happened to the sweet love you an me had? Against the door he leans starts a scene and tears fall an burn his sugar dream.” Yea, it’s me your old pal sugar and I’m having an existential crisis. I’m not gonna sugar coat this I just don‘t even know who I am anymore. Remember me sweetie? I was always there for you when you were a kid, always! First in cubes wrapped in paper, then in bowls at the table, I was dancing in your candy, frozen in your ice pops, swimming in soda, and even the subject of one of your favorite movie songs. You remember Mary Poppins singing about how a spoonful of me helped the medicine go down. But now many of you scorn me, blame me for so much of the bad stuff in the world. Don’t hate me just because I’m refined, I can’t help being well educated. Seems you love culture in yogurt but oh my god don‘t let sugar get refined. It isn’t fair, it makes my crystals burn with anger contemplating what’s happening to my once sweet life.
People say I ruin dental plates and rot teeth, I increase peoples body fat, I cause hyper-activity in children, I cause acne in tens, I‘m bad for your liver and I cause diabetes. Now some even suggest I‘m responsible for cancer. Four out of five doctors hate me but I’m not mean spirited or evil, just ask the fifth doctor. When did I become such a bad influence? Why do they categorize me so unfairly, after all, I’m just a carbohydrate, a simple sugar. You can find me naturally in milk and fruits. You may know and love me by some of my other names, fructose, glucose, or maltose. When people use those names they aren’t so quick in judging me. It’s when they use the full force of their contempt staring at me disapprovingly and calling me “Refined Sugar” with an unabridged distain that hurts. It make my blood caramelize and goes directly into my dextrose filled heart . Who am I, what am I, why am I here? I think I need to do some repressed memory exercises to search out my roots and maybe figure out where our love story went wrong.
You may not realize this but I’m older than Jesus Christ himself. That’s right, I came on the scene around 8,000BC in Asia. Yea I was a mere infant back then and was extracted through chewing the cane I was born in. Some brilliant dude in India figured out how to crystallize me around 350AD. They shared the method with some Buddhist monks and before I knew it I was a staple in desserts everywhere. Believe me, its no coincidence that stressed spelled backwards is desserts and I was the main reason! Anyway, the Romans and Greeks used me in medicine (another non-coincidence, lol) but the Arabs actually built housing for me they called mills. Now I was a substance of great importance. An import of great importance and exportance. Cultures went crazy for me, the British colonists even referred to me as white gold. I was a huge profit maker and unfortunately a main reason for slavery in the Caribbean. I don’t like to talk about that aspect, that was the dark period of my life. Not brown sugar, that’s jut me teamed up with molasses. So you see, I’m really not a bad guy and I just don’t understand all the negative energy around me.
My troubles began back in 1957 when some “refined” doctor classified me as poison and accused me of being nothing but “empty calories” shortly after I achieved refined status. “Oh he doesn’t really have any vitamins or minerals like the natural stuff.” Get over yourself Doc, I bring the sweet baby, I make people feel good about themselves, make them happy. I put smiles on children faces. Is THAT empty?
Anyway, that’s why I have been questioning life and why I’m here. What I need is some support, an empathetic ear and comforting words from my friends to let me know I’m still loved. That’s why The Existential Baker asked you all here today to this sugar intervention. He put aside his own profound queries on life which rive him mad just for today to help me get my sugar Zen back on track and into dessert and other culinary preparations. Place your wrath back on GMO’s where it belongs, not on an old sweet friend. When you open your cupboards later today thank that 5 pound bag of sugar for always being there for you, tell the cute little sugar bowl how great it tastes and put some in your coffee or tea. I know many of you use artificial sweeteners and that’s okay so long as you don’t forget about me. Go ahead and use me, use me as much as you want I don’t mind. Just don’t overuse me, I do sometimes have a tendency to wear out my welcome as well as a few teeth when I’m used too much…….Peace

What’s The Frequency Ken? (Modern Meh-taphysical Crisis)

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meh

What’s on TV Tonight?

It’s not that I have a death wish or anything but life these days seems kind of, oh I don’t know, kind of meh! Same shit different day kind of thing. The morning alarm crackles its disturbingly bleak shriek inciting the morning battle with a snooze alarm which ultimately ends in me dragging myself into the shower. Same get clean routine each morning as a few locks of hair that for years had previously set up house on my scalp scamper out of their follicles onto the tile floor. Spinning down the drain in a hopeless vortex they join the other hairs that left before them forming a clog to be reckoned with at a later date. Thinning hair, expanding waist, sagging flesh all taunt me reminding me I’m not getting any younger. The moment I dry off I’m forced to acknowledge the fact that I have become a slave to caffeine. Percolate me please. Meh!

Off to work like all the other drones in metal boxes jockeying for position in rush hour traffic, which oddly never seems to rush. The poorest drivers of some of the other metal boxes become magnetized on the highway attracting to mine every shitty driver on the road in need of remediable road travel instruction. The amount of time spent yelling “asshole” at them is supplemented with countless acts of sticking out my middle finger in the hope it will snap them into driving with focus and sharpened decision making skills. Anger and frustration build up as the daily commute scrapes away every iota of false hope my morning shower temporarlly imparted. Meh!

Undaunted I arrive at my job, take a deep breath, and begin speaking in a robotic tone asking people how they‘re doing in the hopes they will return with an equally robotic” fine, you?” Time to grab another coffee, one of the few perks, pun intended, of this office job. The guys are milling around the coffee maker, “Hey, how about them Yankees last night?” “Oh yea what a game, I stayed up until the bottom of the seventh inning, what happened?” “Holy shit man they pulled it out in the top of the ninth and won 12 to 10. Didn’t end until after one thirty, I hate the west coast games” I sneak away before anyone realizes I have no interest in baseball and nothing to add to any mundane chatter. So off I go heading for my cubicle which has the arcane ability to destroy any creativity that may be near it. As I prepare myself to begin a plethora of mindless redundant acts I notice everyone is dressed pretty much the same wearing our corporate attire like a military uniform. What the fuck, were we all dressed by the copy machine? Whatever, wearing a clean suit and tie with polished shoes will go a long way in sending my highly prized quality of uniquness swirling down the doldrums of corporate team concept. Meh!

Lunch is the highlight, the one moment of the day we can make our own choices not worrying that a memo will be sent around exposing our ineffectiveness. Low self esteem creeps in on the back of hopelessness so I began to get concerned about the extra fifty pounds that have found their way onto my body in the shape of flab. Hmmm, the years have not been very kind to my body and I don’t get nearly enough exercise. Actually I don’t get any. So much for making a choice based on what I enjoy. Now that I’ve reminded myself about my weight today will be another healthy quinoa wheatberry chicken and raisin salad with raspberry viniagrette. Meh!

The last fifty minutes of the day have ticked by in ultra slow motion seemingly laughing at every tick but it’s finally relents so its time to punch out and get back in the metal box. Now to find my way back to where I started, back on the roadway and a host of new drivers to extend my finger to only this time its with my eyes half closed from a day of mindless senseless productivity. If this is the road to Hell I can tell you this it is NOT paved with good intentions, but with paved with anger and frustration that moves tediously slow. It leaves me unsatisfactorily full of desperation. Meh!

At last I’m home again, back to my comfort zone. I get to remove this movement restrictive uniform of business and put on some sweats and a tee, have some dinner and find my spot on the couch hoping the non events of the day will just melt away and be forgotten. Maybe a glass of red tonight? No, straight to the vodka it was a stressful day even by Mundane Monday standards. Meh!

Life on this revolving ant farm has just become meh! ta-physical and I need to challenge my mind before I go insane. When I begin to utilize my temporal lobe and hippocampus the syntax of eclectic impulses in my brain profoundly ponder the mentally challenging attributes of metaphysics. This is cool, contemplating abstract concepts will bring my existence back to some semblance of active sanity validating the fact that I am indeed still alive. Juggling deep queries such as what is the fundamental essence of my being, how does the intersection of time and space alter existence as it relates to cause and effect, why is there something as opposed to nothing or for that matter can nothing exist? If it exists then it must be something which conflicts with its basic premise. And….know what? I’m tired and burnt out and all this thinking will keep me awake making tomorrow that much more of a difficult routine to follow. Maybe the prudent thing to do is pound down the remainder of this vodka and pour another one. I’m far too tired to deal with all this philosophical bullshit right now, it’s been a stressful day. Its mere hours away from that moment when that alarm screeches out its hideous beep disrupting the only real peace I get. Bring on more vodka, fire up a doob, and hopefully for the next few hours life might not be so….Meh!
What’s on TV tonight?

This Is Your Life Spinach (Potsink Diaries)

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ult2

Here’s to you spinach you vibrant green member of the vegetable kingdom, winner of the peoples choice award for your leading role in Iron Man the Diet, voted outstanding roughage of the year from 2009-2013, four years in a row. A staple in the Gerber Baby line of vitamin rich pabulum sides, forever etched in our culture as the thing to eat for instant strength. I know many of us treated you badly in our early years sticking you in our pockets to avoid eating you when Mom attempted to force feed you to us. In the end though Mom was right because you really are “Good for us.” We’ve grown up and have learned to appreciate you not only as a side but as the base of spinach salads, the central ingredient in restaurant appetizer dips, and the heart of spinach casseroles. We’ve even forgiven you for that time you got stuck in our teeth embarrassing the hell out of us. We’ve come to love you so this tale is dedicated to you, Spinicia Oleracea, you green edible flowering plant we love to consume.

This Is Your Life Spinach

The worst thing about being a line cook on a slow night in a restaurant is the tedious chores a skillful chef can come up with. Whether its peeling a hundred pounds of shrimp we don‘t need today or the hundred and fifty pounds of potatoes the day shift now won’t have to peel tomorrow the chores always suck. Don’t believe me? Try rolling two thousand meatballs then laying them on out sheet trays. Yea the extra chores suck and everyone has one downtime task in particular they hate so much they would be willing to pay someone else to o for them. At the very least make an attempt to barter a fair trade for something less mundane. Being assigned many thankless “preps” I developed a trick that worked for me using my ability to zone out into a meditative daydream state to amuse myself while performing. I create stories or events built around the object of my benign task. One night for example, the chef came out from the walk in with two bushels of fresh spinach on a cart.
“Ah….JT… Ere ees some spinach needs to cleaning, get on top of it.” Spinach? I hate cleaning spinach! Most people buy spinach in those easy to use cello bags already picked through and washed but a bushel of fresh spinach in a restaurant comes complete with lumps of dirt, roots, and stems requiring tedious meticulous attention to get clean. Spinach is my personal bane, the one task I really hate because it seems the bushel is an abyss. I‘d rather do the shrimp or even the potatoes but what else can you do? “yes chef”
The first of two bushels was placed on the table so I jumped in and began picking while mentally preparing myself for my zone. Highly skilled at meditation I spent two minutes getting my breathing right and clearing my mind to make room for some internal entertainment. I picked the first few leaves placing them in a large bucket working up to a rhythm so I can go on autopilot:

The crowd is cheering building to a crescendo as Ralph Edwards walks on stage. A hush over the people as he begins, “ Born in what was then Persia, you moved to the Mediterranean around the age of 8. Knighted by Catherine De Medici you worked your way into our hearts and palates around the world. Green and leafy you come packed with iron and vitamins. Maybe kids don’t find you appealing but the health conscious world adores you and your attributes. In particular the vegan crowds hail you as the perfect vegetable. Stand up and take your place on the vegetable pedestal because tonight, Spinach……This Is Your Life.” The crowd roars it approval as spinach takes it place on the large Barcalounger chair smiling from root to root.
“Do you remember this voice Spinach? A raspy voice from backstage, “Hey pal how the Hell are you? Long time my leafy green buddy. Remember the old days in the supermarkets when no one picked me unless they thought I was you?” A short pause before the recognition, “Oh my God, Kale, how are you? I hear you’ve become quite popular yourself, I can’t believe you came here tonight.” Spinach and kale reunite on stage and share a few stories from the old days… “Wait spinach, there’s more. Does this ring a bell? “I bet people will buy more spinach if I can find a way to freeze it.” Spinach jumps up knocking kale to the floor, “Clarence? Clarence Birdseye? Holy shit Clarence you came from the deep freeze to honor me? I am verklempt. My sales increased tenfold since I met you.” The crowd is giving Clarence a standing O, Clarence embraces spinach lovingly. “We’ll be right back.”

“Ordering, one chicken, two veal and a shrimp!” The familiar sound of the chef ordering, we have some customers so I am free from the drudgery of spinach picking for the time being and back on the line cooking. Karen the cute waitress nudges me, “Back from outer space JT?” I shoot her my trademark mysterious stoner smile, “Theres room in outer space for two. Should I reserve you a spot?” As usual my chef is unimpressed, “JT get your ass back on the line. Stop too talk right now.” Chefs English was always good for a laugh so knowing he meant stop talking I went up to him and said, “That’s what I’m doing chef, I’m stopping to talk.” Karen giggled while I high tailed it to my station sensing the confusion in my chef as he’s trying to figure out what I meant. Anyway fun time over for now, time to get back to do what I do best, cook. Unfortunately the rain has put a damper on the evenings diners and the service is short lived. Thirty minutes later my chef sentences me back to picking spinach. Back to my zone:

Ralph returns center stage, “Tonight we honor Spinach who comes in three basic forms, Savoy, dark green curly leaf variety, semi Savoy, the hybrid which is slightly less crinkly and far more popular, and the flat which is the one being cleaned here tonight. You have added nutrition to so many dishes around the world, adding vitamins and iron as well as flavor, but none as popular as the dish created by this blast from your past. Recognize the accent? “If y’all really wanna know love its when I add epinards to something I done made fer John D. Rockefeller. When he done come downa mah place in Nawlins he be looking fer some special way to eats them there sex making bivalves so popular here in The Big Easy. Eye-sters. Mmm mmm, he show dew love him some eyesters that Rockefeller!” Spinach sat up in its chair, “Antoine? Oh my god chef Antoine! Wow, Man you lifted me to culinary royalty when you created Oysters Rockefeller, how can I ever thank you?” The crowd watches as Spinach tears up an hugs the hefty Cajun chef.
“Wait spinach, we aren’t done yet we have one last person here to say hi.” The crowd gets tense waiting for this last visitor as a voice booms across the room, “Well blow me down, ack, ack, ack. Well that’s all I kin stand and I cant stands no more.” The crowd goes wild as Popeye walks from behind the curtain to a thunderous applauses. Spinach lets the tears flow this time overjoyed to see the one person who has done more for it than anyone else ever. Together they break into song, “I’m strong to the finish cuz I eats my spinach, I’m Popeye The Sailor Man.” Olive Oyl, Wimpy, and Brutus join the duo as the screams of elation erupt. It’s a Popeye The Sailor/Spinach reunion for the ages!

As the celebration continues the very popular sailor pulls something out of his pocket replacing his pipe with a rolled cigarette. “Ahoy there Spinach, I yam what I yam and that’s all that I yam. Would you like a hit of this jay?” Simultaneously Olive Oyl walks over with a serving tray with cup saucer and teapot. “Ohh my, would you like some tea?” Popeye insists, No have a jay” Olive counters again, “Tea!” it’s a battle now of who can be loudest. “Jay!” “Tea!”, “jay!” “tea!” Finally it dawns on me its neither Popeye nor Olive, neither a jay nor a cup of tea. Its the chef is yelling “JT! What is wrong with you, I said you have an order!” Bam! Snapped back to reality! “Sorry chef, I just spaced out a second, I’m on it.” I ran behind the line back to my station to cook my orders, “Space out? What iz these a-space out? I was calling you for five minutes, lets go!”
Everything was back to abnormal, the chef yelling, the wait staff scrambling, the cooks sweating it out as the dishwasher puts away the cleaned spinach. The pressure is on but it actually feels good because us crazed restaurant people thrive on pressure. I can’t help though to take one last look at my bucket of cleaned spinach smiling while thinking it wasn’t all that bad a task after all. While my five sauté pans sizzled out a rhythmic beat I thanked spinach for all it done. Thanks spinach, even I am green with envy…Peace

Out Of The Frying Pan Into The Mire (From The Potsink Diaries)

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joe K

It wasn’t that I wasn’t used to the fecal matter hitting the rotary oscillator it‘s just I wasn’t thinking the fecal matter would figure into my life. The closing of Cumberland restaurant was a lot to deal with and frankly the furthest thing from my mind was me needing a new job. No longer was I an apostle to a culinary madman, no more waitresses to flirt with, no more free beers or paychecks. I was now saturated with disappointment and disillusionment believing the universe had let me down. Maybe I needed to seek another avenue of employment, to shed the dry snakeskin of the restaurant industry and molt to another field. Actually field sounds right I should get as far away from any kitchen, knife wielding Chef or teasing waitress and do some fieldwork. I need a sacrificial rack of lamb. I should do what Ken suggested and go work landscaping for cash. As fate would have it and timing being everything my brother’s ex boss was in need a laborer. I can labor! So it came to pass that I had became the new landscaper laborer for Munsons Field and Dreams. More accurately put, I had become the new lawn mowing leaf raking topsoil carrying shit spreading go boy. I had chosen to become a hard working laborer having my skin scorched everyday by dermal burning threats the sun makes good on while also enjoying the hearty aroma of freshly decayed organic shit. Not just any old shit, but class A number one horseshit Munson got from the stables. Enough about the perks though, there’s also a downside.
Every day ended the same, my arm and back muscles pounding out a rebellious beat building to a painful crescendo.I try and cool the aches and pains with an ice cold beer but it seem as though all my muscles tightened up into ball of overworked subdermal tissues and tendons screaming at every movement. My skin radiates a pinkish aura from hours spent unprotected by those relentless threats of the harsh sun. It left my neck and shoulders feeling rug burnt adding to my misery. As if that weren’t enough there was an omnipresent stench of decaying crap implanting its neverending carousel of stink deep into my nasal cavity. Deep! One of my less enviable jobs was to take compost, decayed animal shit and who knows what and spread the malodorous mixture across a field. At first the smell of evaporating morning dew so earthy and rich comes up off the ground like a wisp of warm steam in a pleasant tease just waiting for its replacement. Breathe deep and enjoy that nature while you can because within seconds the dank aroma of compost rises triumphantly up the nasal passages. Its a blend of some of the most offensive smells I could ever imagine, if dogs smelled that stench when they sniffed another dogs ass the species would go extinct. The steaming stench of a mountain outhouse combined with a quarantined fraternity bathroom joining forces with week old spoiled milk creating a cacophony of disgust that slowly creeps up my nose making an all out aerial assault on my entire being. The assault continues for hours even after my work day was done. Like pigpen the stench takes on an identity of its own following me everywhere even stalking me all the way to the shower where it finally meets it’s match and scurries defeated into the drain. A small portion of it sets up camp in my clothing as a rank reminder of my newly acquired hopelessness that was eased but never eradicated by the cold beer.
I began doing diet pills every morning to keep me awake and give me the energy to bust my ass out in the shit fields. An expensive proposition because on days that it rained I would be sent home making no money for the day, needing beer and weed to calm me down from the pills. Between the pills, beer and weed I went through all my savings after just one week of solid rain. Penniless I was gloomily staring out Munson’s tool shed listening to the rain wondering how the fuck I got here. As if on cue fate suck its fat foot inside the door forcing its way in. Out of the blue my friend Patrick came by with an offer to become an assistant groundskeeper for a local dude who owns three nursing home properties. It’s a full time job despite weather and Patrick was quitting. The job was open and he promised to recommend me. Think how cool it would be to be able to use my newly acquired skills on three locations where you get paid even if it rains. That’s how it was that I became something different. Now I would be a shit spreader with a title. The assistant groundskeeper of the Vieros Health care facilities. I was still in charge of manure movement but now I can add garage cleaner to my resume. Whatever, I was working and making money on a regular basis again. Besides the work wasn’t nearly as exhausting so life was good again. Adios Munson, now I can concentrate on saving up money to get the Hell out of here.
I found myself spending most of my time at one specific locations, Mimi Dee’s. That was the nickname used by the staff at the Miriam Deegan Adult Home owned by the Vieros one of the richest families in town. They also owned two other homes but I only worked at each once a week. Vieros Ault Home was a full scale nursing home, and the Lighthouse was a health related facility, which is a fancy name for old folks home. The only difference in the two being that about eighty percent of the “patients” at The lighthouse and Mimi Dee’s could care for themselves. Those at Vieros couldn’t even wipe their asses but that was already too much information for me. My concern was making sure all the properties were well kept, trimmed and mowed so the families of the patients would believe that no expense was spared in the upkeep of their parents dwelling. Mimi Dee’s was sort of their flagship home so most of the attention was bestowed on that property. But I was happy mowing lawns and raking leaves, even trimming the shrubs which I knew by name. Not the Latin names, the names I made up for them to keep me sane while spending hours alone caring for properties. Big Zebra, Burning Bush, Sticks, just weird names to entertain me. One great benefit was not having the shit stink hanging around me all day and night.
So here I was in a quaint little Long Island community called Cool Springs working on a property of a former Pratt Mansion turned Rest Home. Tending to the chlorophyll producing zoo of colorful organic plants and flowers busy enjoying their days photosynthesizing away and looking pretty. My boss, Fred drove from property to property and left me alone most of the time. He drove me to Mimi Dee’s, gave me daily chore lists, and went about his business. A questionable bonus was being invited inside for lunch everyday. Not the taste bud tingling foods Jimmy made but it was decent and best of all free. Maybe that wasn’t the best part that would have to be the company at lunchtime. I sat around the table with two other guys, six cute young nurse’s aides, and two nurses. On most days I was the center of attention and I dug that. The free meal was back, the flirting was back, and the paycheck was back. What could possibly go wrong?

The Tears Of An Onion

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bd onion

No matter how you slice it the onion will never escape its association with crying. They are the butt of many a culinary joke being the runt of the produce litter bringing even the most well seasoned chef to tears. It’s simply a misunderstood edible member of the gastronomic universe with a bi-polar multiple personality disorder. It suffers from identity crisis whether yellow, red, or white, Spanish, jumbo, pearl, or cocktail, shallot, leek, or scallion. One minute its an essential flavor enhancer and the next a breath altering kiss killer. Is the onion is a taste bud joy bringer or is it a tear jerker? Both. This mood changing bulbous veggie staple is a well known in kitchens throughout the world being embraced by virtually every culture. People are often compared to these versatile ever popular alliums. “He is a complicated Person, with as many layers as an onion.” Indeed concentric in nature the royal onion is as complicated as a vegetable can be. “An onion a day keeps everyone away” That man was so ugly he could make an onion cry.” “ A cat has nine lives but an onion has seven skins.“ “An onion by any other name will never be a rose.” Okay, I made that last one up but you dig what I‘m saying.
Ranging in size from tiny pearls to giant softballs the onion can in fact be peeled one layer after another. A staple in nearly every culture despite having an essence so peculiarly strong and venomous it rivals the skunks ability to cause others to pinch their noses shut tight in an effort to avoid its foul odor. It can turn ones breath into a date breaking whiff “It’s not you baby, its your breath.” Point in fact in many an episode of The Little Rascals Alfalfa was turned away by Darla because he had recently indulged in extra curricular scallion chewing. But to infer that it is somehow evil is a disservice. The onion has a unique ability to coax salty droplets of liquid from our tear ducts which are normally saved for emotional outbursts. Only the slightest provocation of cutlery piercing its flesh brings teardrops scampering down our cheeks in a sometimes uncontrollable frenzy. This audacious vegetable permeates our olfactory senses across the entire kitchen in an all out assault that challenges the garlic’s long standing reign as king of tasty but offensive vegetables.
What’s the reason these bulbous alliums make tears come to our eyes? The official culprit is the result of a chemical reaction that is much too scientific to cover in brief format but suffice to say the onion contains amino acids in the sulfur family that get released into the air. These guilty gasses travel up into the air and rub their irritants into our eyeballs prompting the tear ducts to come to our aid and flush out the acrid acid with a tear or two. I have heard of many sure fire methods to work on these all important taste supplements without caving to the olfactory shock and awe campaign the acids wage. A gas mask will work but its rather uncomfortable and hard to find since the decline of the home bomb shelter. Besides it may frighten the children believing an alien to be cooking dinner. There are more prudent methods which involve keeping your mouth open while cutting into the alliums. In fact that will work for a while because you will inhale the noxious fumes into your lungs via your oral cavity increasing that kiss kill impulse much earlier, but eventually so much gas will enter the atmosphere you will still tear up regardless and have onion breath on top of it. Other methods such as running water, cutting near a flame or on the back burner of a stove produce even less successful results. Keeping something in your mouth is the same principle of an open mouth but for the less disciplined of us. The only real advice I have on this is to keep the onion as cold as possible or keep a small fan blowing away the fumes as you slice, dice, mince, or chop.
Once past the tear inducing cut up stage the onion performs its intended task, the enhancement of flavor to almost any dish. In Cajun cuisine they call the onion and its often present partners peppers and celery the Holy Trinity of cooking. It is the basis of nearly every soup an stew in the world, it adds umpf to pilaf, zing to zucchini and pop to popcorn shrimp. Its in sauces, dressings, dinner entrees, salads, appetizers, starches, sides, veggies and all type of combos. Fried in rings or just bloomin it makes solo appearances and it even has a starring role in cocktails. Yes the onion has a many faceted personality and it brings tremendous flavor enhancement to just about any dish. With a presence so pronounced in the culinary world you would think it deserves a huge birthday celebration, happy onion day, a day all its own. Only problem is, we have no idea exactly when the multi-faceted vegetable icon was born.
Along with its bi-polar identity crisis its origins are nearly impossible to trace, even with vegetable/ancestory.com confusion reigns. Some botanists say it was born in Iran and some say Pakistan. Still others argue it’s originally from Central America but the omnipotent onion seems to have been around forever. Many anthropologists believe it was used by our cave dwelling ancestors which could potentially have acted as a form birth control, or perhaps they used the huge onion as a weapon of ass destruction, but either way it makes determining the birthday impossible. There is evidence in ancient Egypt the onion with its potent aroma was use in an effort to revive the dead. At least until the first unfortunate soul tried shredding the much more aggressive horseradish which may very well have the ability to awaken the non living. The royal onion even found its way into Bible passages. The book of Numbers has the Israelite children lamenting of a diet filled with leeks and onions as they traveled the desert. The Romans, Greeks, and Indians all recognized the healing power of the vitamin rich veggie. The Olympians of ancient Greece fortified themselves with onions before their grueling events. Even the Middle Ages showered glory on these globes of culinary prominence. The three main foodstuffs of that era were cabbage, beans, and onions. The magnificent onion was believed to have incredible medicinal properties curing everything from mouth sores to insomnia. These ever popular kitchen necessities were even taken on board the Mayflower thereby sneaking into our history by adding their special flavor enhancement to the first Thanksgiving feast. It was one of the very first botanical treasures planted by the pilgrims on American soil. Yet still no birthday celebration even after all they’ve done for us. No wonder it seems sad.
Despite all its rich history and near mystical appearances still no mention of a birthday celebration for the used and abused reigning king of culinary staple foods. Perhaps that’s the reason noxious sulphuric vapors seep into our atmosphere. Maybe, just maybe the tears we shed are the tears of the onion itself, living in constant pain of the neglect it experiences because we never gave it a birthday to celebrate like we do. The least we can do for this loyal bulb is grant it one. No reason we can’t heap salutations on this fabulous culinary workhorse, this noxious yet tasty bulbous veggie, this fortune bringing, tear coaxing stench causing staple of the vegetable kingdom. So from this day forward, lets make today, April 4th the official birthday of Allium Cepa, the illustrious and attention deserving onion. Don’t cry for me Argentina, just slice me a few of those birthday onions to have with my champagne. Happy Birthday you many layered edible gem you……PEACE