Tag: satire

Universal Culture

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culture

The Universe Is A Petrie Dish
J.T. Hilltop

There are those among us that believe that we are the ultimate creations, the single most important species in the universe. No, not the Kardashians, I’m talking about the reverently religious zealots who still insist that the universe was created by the one true creator, theirs. The ones that say earth is only 6,000 years old and science is pure nonsense. Bad news my zealot friends, the truth is we are a small speck of a culture dish being studied under a microscope. The bacterium on slides we viewed in biology labs in high school haven’t even been discovered yet by the ones studying us. To them the bacteria we observe microscopically is still a hypothesis called quantum theory and they are searching for the Higgs Bosen, or God particle which in reality is our very own staphylococcus. Get it? Well don’t, it’s a bitch to get rid of. So anyway that essentially makes us pathogens to these humongous scientific creatures who have us in their Petrie dish. Whaaaaaat? Okay, a little perspective.
As we will learn, assuming we pay attention to the new show Cosmos: A Space Time Odyssey, (On NatGeo.. highly recommend!!) there are many universes, a multiverse not just the universe we can’t even seem to find the end of. Personally I think instead of just exploring all over the universe trying to find the end one of us should just stop and ask directions. Unfortunately that would involve admitting we are not the smartest species in this universe let alone the millions of others out there. At any rate, our universe is situated in a huge scientific lab that makes the large Hadron Collider in Europe seem laughable, almost like a tiny little ant farm being viewed from the moon. Not our moon, Io, one of Jupiter’s moons.
The truth is our universe does have limits in the way of a spherical finite dish with a circumference as its boundaries. Our seemingly never ending universe is a live active culture in large round dish known as Experiment#541728226, and it is stored along with hundreds upon hundreds of other universe dishes all containing planets, and solar systems, and galaxies, and quasars, black holes, pulsars and super novas. Or as the multiverse scientists call it, Cosmic Bacterium. To us, our planet has a multitude of different species including humans, but to the Cosmic Scientist its merely an experiment and we are what they call micro-humanoid genatlium, a parasitic bacteria they discovered on the hairs of the genitals of a species from their world similar to our primates. They loving refer to us humans as GBHB. (Gorilla Ball Hair Bacteria)
Now I know this all sounds a bit far fetched but when you really think about it its not much different than many of the tales of the various religions around our own world. Aside from the obvious burning bushes, floating zoo’s, talking donkeys, salt pillar people, and river parters of the regular sort we have a religion created by a sci-fi writer, ones that focus on magic spells, UFO’s, cosmic light people, and even a church of euthanasia, which promotes cannibalism, suicide, and sodomy. And that’s not even the most bizarre, there is a group of people who believe the illuminati impregnated a women with Satan’s sperm and delivered the baby antichrist (Was its Moms name Rosemary?) They also believe that Nicola Tesla was originally from Venus and that we are conducting cloning experiments on Mars. Now I ask you, is a universe that’s a petri dish in a cosmic laboratory really all that out there?
I mean really, compare my theory to creation theorist that include leaders who convince their followers to drink poison Kool aid, commit mass suicide to transport their souls to a spaceship, allowed themselves to be killed while locked in a building, and finding assorted methods of death to escape the coming apocalypse by being reborn on a planet orbiting the star Sirius. I’m serious, Sirius!
Shit, by comparison my theory sounds almost plausible, or perhaps even sane! Hell, maybe it is sane, maybe I’m on to something. Perhaps the end of the world as we know it won’t be so spectacular, perhaps our world will end when the scientist in charge of experiment 541728226 gets frustrated at their progress and dumps the entire universe sown the drain. Or maybe I watch too much Doctor Who. But hey……Ya never know!

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!!!

Hope I Die Before I Get Old

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nu

A Potsink Diary Reflection
Cooking at a rest home was not especially challenging but I’m still in a kitchen, at least sometimes, and I had fun working with Margie and Flo. Margie was not only the big boss but a favorite of the owner so she called all the shots and since we worked together much of the time we became fast friends. I got my kitchen responsibilities done faster and faster so I could have more time on the floor to hang out with the nurse and the aides. We laughed and joked a lot, I was one of only two males working there, but it just never dawned on me that nurses could not only tease with expertise, but they are also practical jokers.
One day as I was flirting with one of the aides Margie snuck up from behind and said to me “Jhay, you afinish so faust today dot we got spayshal job for a you.” A shot of adrenalin started coursing through my central nervous system because the sound of that had an eerily similar ring to it. It sounded too much like the “downtime” Chef Jimmy was so adept at. I thought back to all the mindless tasks the chef assigned me that not only bored me to tears but drained what little sanity I had left in me. In a sheepish voice I inquired if it was in fact anything like downtime but Maggie assured me it was just a small job and she needed help with an SSE. I started to feel a little relief, SSE didn’t sound like it was anything horrible. But an uneasy feeling did come over me when I saw the dastardly dog smile on the other nurses. “Meet us up inna Miss Lemcows room upstair. We meet you dare Jhay.”
When I walked in the room I began to get a tad concerned. After all, this place was loaded with some of the most extremely senile people to ever observe the Civil War. At the very least they read about it in the “Recent History” books. I was called into the bathroom where they had poor Mrs. Lemkaugh sitting naked on the toilet. It was an embarrassing sight for me but Mrs. Lemkaugh never even took notice of me. She wasn’t in control of her faculties and as I would soon find out not in control of bodily functions. I tried to look away but its like a car accident, the harder I tried the more I looked. I was depresses at how depressed the old woman’s body was. Any muscles or tendons in her breasts had long ago lost any of its substance and hung like deflated balloons. Her whole body just seemed so frail and wrinkled. I felt very uncomfortable, as though I were violating her privacy. I guess I was but she was completely unaware of my existence let alone my embarrassment at that violation. I looked away choosing to focus on my Jamaican boss who I was beginning to develop a crush on. In Margies hand was a metal can much like a flour sifter with a red rubber hose attached to it. “Here Jhay, I need a you hole dis can up over da heyd ofa Miss Lemcow.” Totally confused and wondering what the fuck was happening I stared blankly as I grabbed the can. Flo, the sexy forty something nurse leaned up to my ear and whispered “Is this your first Soap Suds Enema honey?” It took a minute for the words to sink in. Now the SSE took on an entirely dark aura. I had heard all three words before but never in the same sentence and certainly not as a single concept, but there it was. Soap. Suds. Enema. Innocuous as three words, I use soap, I bust suds, and I know what an enema is but how in the fuck can all three become one? Pondering the concept it can only mean one thing. I was holding a can of soapy water, so there’s the soap and suds, but where does enema fit in? I looked down at Margie grabbing the other end of the rubber hose and in an instant it hit me. Oh my fucking god in heaven that’s where it fit in, literally. She is sticking that hose in….in..oh my fucking god in heaven she stuck the end of the hose in Mrs. Lemkaugh ass!! “Okay Flo let off de valve.” Flo, the not so sexy anymore forty something nurse, shot me a smile usually reserved for Karmic retribution. She reached up and released the valve. In an instant the can emptied its contents of soapy water and went directly to Lemkaughs ass, which apparently mixed in the contents the Mrs. Lemkaughs gastro-intestinal system was holding on so dearly to. It made the stink carousel of decayed horseshit from my old landscaping days seem like jasmine incense. I gagged as I tried desperately not to breath. At least not through my nose although inhaling that stench in my mouth did not seem an acceptable alternative. I could tell they were enjoying my pain and Flo let out a chuckle. They had gotten me good on this one. “Am I done here?” After I managed to utter my request, I held my breath and very quietly offered a “Jesus shit” mantra “Of course Jayh, you canna go backs de kitchen.” With that I put down my soap suds enema can and left the room. I could still hear the ladies laughing and all kind of sloshing and flushing. I gagged once again as I considered a despicable thought. I feared this wouldn’t be my last SSE and my job around the nursing home was evolving a bit too rapidly.
I was to learn quickly that playing jokes was a way for the nurses to keep their sanity in check. Everyone says don’t get involved with the patients but you really can’t help it. It’s like being surrounded by your grandparents and all their alter egos and they are all so cute. One of the darkest jokes was when Margie sent me into Old Mrs. Carrols room to check on her because she never showed up for lunch. Mrs. Carroll was a staff favorite because she was funny and didn’t seem to have any family. At least none that came to visit. She was kind of in her own little world but she was funny as all hell when she got rolling on shit. “JT? What the damn kind of a name is JT? Whassa mattah, your Mom and Dad couldn’t afford a whole name so they just gave you initials? Where are you from anyway, N Y?” She would say shit like that with deadpan face and so sarcastically accurate it could make a sack of onions cry in envy. Anyway, I went in to see how she was and she was like motionless in bed with her eyes closed. It was eerily quiet in the room which smelled strongly of stale urine. Another aroma I had become accustomed to! Many of the patients, the old folks, had lost control of their body functions. Every room had a cloud of urine stink to one degree or another and the carpets had faded stains everywhere if you looked close. But today the urine cloud was unusually aggressive. It snuck out from the corners of the stained and worn carpet and like a stench poltergeist dancing about merrily in search of an olfactory gland to haunt. And haunt it did. With the unappealing fragrance of rotten eggs soaked in ammonia the cloud of stench creeps into your nostrils and looks for a place to hang out. Sometimes it teams up with the century old shit stink. After decomposing in a ninety year old set of intestines remnants collect in the bowels to congregate. I looked over at Mrs. Carrol who was just lying in bed. But I mean JUST lying! She wasn’t moving at all. I called her name and no response. The silence in the room was the most eerie silence I had ever felt and as I got closer to Mr. Carrol her face was purple and lifeless. I damn near shit myself. I began to shake and knew in an instant that the smell today was so strong because its the smell of death! Something I never ever want to smell again. I was overcome with emotion. Profoundly sad because someone I care about is lying dead in front of me, confused because what the Hell is death anyway, and angry because why did she have to die. I wondered who her family was, if they cared. Had she known love? Is there anyone from her life who’s going to miss her. Then I started thinking how I have to break the news to Mar….Wait! What!! Son of a bitch they knew when they sent me in here! My anger shifted its focus.
When I got back to the lounge they were all laughing hysterically like it was one big god damn joke. My emotions were boiling until I looked at the ladies. They were laughing, but they were crying too. They were trying to cope with the loss the only way they knew. I walked up to Margie, looked her right in the face and said, “Oh yea, laugh now, cuz when I get you back you gonna forget how to laugh at all.” She glared back at me then we all started laughing, and crying, and this weird hugfest started as we all tried to put Mrs. Carrols death away to somewhere. Deep in some mental attic filled with cobwebs so it won‘t effect us. Like I said, we’re not supposed to get attached but it sure is hard when you lose a patient you’re attached to. Real hard.
But that was life at Mimi Dee’s. A mixture of emotions and never knowing what the day would bring. I was cooking again, flirting tirelessly, but had become a fixture. Something had to give. All the young ladies, some from my school, some from other schools, and the nurses. I flirted like it was part of my job. And let me tell you I really dug it. I did feel some degree of guilt because Carrie and I were very serious about each other. Flirting wasn’t exactly cheating, but it wasn’t complete faithfulness either. But still I dug the shit out of so much attention from so many females. Margie would tease me relentlessly about taking me home to her ‘Garden Apartment” when hey boyfriend Bob was out of town. It felt so good but I worried a little if I would ever take it too far. I want to be faithful, but between my raging hormones and insatiable sweet tooth for dancing on the edges of life I had to consider I may one day get too close to that edge. On top of that I knew life was getting stale for me here. I knew I needed to get out of here and get back to proper cooking but I was just so comfortable here, and comfort isn’t something I’ve had much of in my short life. So what do I want to be, a chef or a cheating boyfriend with a job but no career. Something has to give.

Time To Settle Down.

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

Interview with a school lunch

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When someone as old as The Existential Baker thinks about school lunch it brings up an image of an old lady wearing a hideous hairnet, dirty worn cafeteria uniforms, possessing suspicious personal hygienic habits sneering at me to take my meatloaf and move my tray down the line. A few steps further was what could be her older sister tossing a small dish of canned peaches on my tray and not saying a word but signifying with her head that I should continue on. Up next were rows of milk containers of which I was expected to grab for myself as I move to pay the cashier lunch lady. $.30. A whole lunch for thirty cents, and if I could come up with an additional ten cents I could buy an ice cream pop. I would then take my tray searching for the spot my classmate sit everyday.
But those days have changed, the foods are healthier, the lunch ladies have nicer cleaner uniforms, and most lunches are purchased with a prepaid program card which is where school lunches problems have become so public as of late. The parents of some of the school children lately have neglected or forgotten to remain current and school officials are taking a hard line embarrassing the kids and worse. Some are even tossing school lunches away like yesterdays trash. Lets hear what school lunch has to say about all the attention.

EB: So school lunch, exactly what happened in Utah?

SL: Well I know you remember me in my glory days Mr. baker, and since that time I have worked tirelessly with the Surgeon Generals, the Department of Education, and the AMA to bring healthier options to the students. I never asked to be dragged into this political battle and frankly I don’t like it.

EB: Speaking of health, you’ve also been criticized for becoming too healthy from some students who don’t want your raw veggies and fruits. What started that fiasco?

SL: Well that was my first experience with politics. The First lady Mrs. Obama came to me and pointed out ways in which I could contribute to reducing obesity and promote the general good health of children everywhere. Next thing I know I’m all over the news because its unfair to viewers children to be “forced” to eat healthy. I get it, kids would rather me offer greasy cheeseburgers dripping with fat and soda and candy but FOTUS was right, those options are unwise and place the children’s health at risk. Unfortunately we can’t force parents to monitor their own children to eat proper so that’s where I could help by offering an affordable alternative with health benefits. I offer these alternatives while their parents are off working or sitting home eating Bon Bons or whatever. It’s not my fault they are afraid to stand up to their children and tell them the choices we gave you Existential. You remember your two choices, take it or leave it. What you did outside of school was your business but when you’re in our institutions it was my responsibility to educate you on how to eat. That’s all we want, a little support from the parents when their children are in our charge. We are not Mickie Dee’s or Taco King, we offer affordable healthy choices.

EB: I applaud that Lunch, but let me get back to the pre paid programs that are so out of control. Many of the schools have prepaid systems for school lunches and they seem to work out fairly well. But in Utah, the authorities at one school singled out students whose parents hadn’t stayed up to date on their prepaid cards, told the children they were not allowed any food and then tossed the uneaten lunch in the trash. How did that make you feel?

SL: I’m still burning over that, why anyone would use me to make some bullshit political statement is beyond absurd. On top of that then throwing me away while there are plenty of churches or food banks that would have loved to taken me in to do some good instead of ending up in a landfill. It’s despicable! The truth is this was not a community of people who are neglectful of their children or who are hurting for money. It happened in an average American city of hard working people who have so much on their plate, pun intended, that they sometimes overlook the more mundane tasks like keeping track of their lunch cards. All the authorities needed to do was to remind the parents they were behind on their payments and it could have all been avoided. That’s actually a practice they used before, but for some unknown reason they determined it was not a good use of their time. Apparently their time is better spent embarrassing children, making parents feel inadequate, an throwing away food that could have fed the disenfranchised.

EB: I can see you’re angry and rightly so school lunch. After years of being treated with complete indifference I for one am very happy and proud of your accomplishments and hope you get your due. Also pun intended, thank you for taking the time out to talk with me, an I hope your future relationship with school officials and parents can benefit from this tragedy. Thank again School Lunch.

SL: Thank you Mr. Existential Baker, we appreciate all the support we can get.
So there you have it, School Lunches endured year’s of ridicule before taking an important role in children’s health only to be misused and politicized. I’d like to thank you all for joining us today, if you have children please stay current on your prepaid lunch cards and give school lunch your support in its attempt to bring healthier and more nutritious option to your children. Eat well, eat healthy, and live life every day…..PEACE

The Sick Bastards Network presents Naked Chef

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The hottest kitchen competition in town)
Rated WSC (Warped Sexual Content) Parental discretion advised. In fact make that everyone’s discretion

Its hotter than Hells kitchen, bigger and harder than any of the Top Chefs, more dangerous than having it Chopped. Its here and its sure to make the Doughboy rise and moisten Melba‘s peaches. The Buck Bone Naked Chef lets it all hang out in a bare bones competition that leaves no sharpening stone unturned. What kind of creations will come up as three naked contestants ply their culinary trade and anything else that pops up while in the buff. That’s right three naked chefs competing for the coveted title of The Buck Bone Naked Chef.
Tonight We’ll see if Jack can whip up your soufflé or cause it to fall short. Will Destiny’s skilled hands get the dough to rise or will she end up going down? Will Stan fluff his meringue into stiff peaks or will he fold over. Join our three judges Ben Dover, Hal Apeno, and Helen Back as they choose who’s naked body raises their bar and who goes home fully dressed and unsatisfied…

Well good evening folks I’m your host, Hugh Jass so come join me on this episode of Naked Chef. First lets introduce our contestants. From Pullet Pennsylvania, Master Chef of “The Back Door”, Jack Mioff. Jack? “I’m Jack Mioff and I work 16 hour days so I won’t stop until I’ve given every ounce I have.” …Ho ho, he sure looks like he can go the distance, next here from Deepcavern Nevada , chef Destiny Dancer who heads up the culinary staff at “Swinging On The Maypole” in downtown Twin Peaks, Destiny? “Me and my girls are coming for you boys if your not up for it now you will be when I finish you!” ….Hoho, threatening words from such a pretty lady. I’m even feeling it,haha. And finally, Stan Dinghard, the very popular New York City chef at “The G spot”,.. Stan? “ When I pull out my secret weapon from under my apron it will bring them to their knees.”…. Oh boy, sounds like he’s got more than just a few tricks under that apron, I think we’re gonna have some very stiff competition tonight. So Let’s get right to it contestants. In the first round we’ll be looking to see what our naked culinary competitors can come up with using the secret ingredients, Zucchini and Oysters. Contestants, strip off your clothes and get to work. You have 20 minutes to pull it off.

Okay here we go folks, Jack has turned on the Hobart 10 gallon mixer and ..Oh my god look at him go. The mixers on low and he’s rolling his hips in time to the machine, very suggestive I think he’s trying to throw Destiny off her game, lets listen in on the judges, “ Oh my dog Hal it looks to me like he’s hanging bit too close to the mixing bowl and….Ohh snap, that had to hurt!”.. “I’ll bet it did Helen, not sure how he’ll get that out of the whisk. I would have used a paddle myself whada you think Ben?” “I think Destiny has great melons.” “Just like you to notice Ben but either way Jack’s’s gonna have to get that thing out of the mixer.” …. Okay, lets go on over and see just what Destiny has working up. Well look at this folks Destiny is giving you viewers quite a treat as she rolls out her dough. That’s some serious bouncing right there, haha. .. Back to the judges, “Holy crap Helen what ees she doing with dat zucchini?” “I can tell you this Hal, the way she is washing that thing the zucchini may come squeaky clean but I can’t wait to see how it makes Stan Dinghard deal with the sight, he hasn’t taken his eyes off her.” No kidding Helen, Hal you seem to be staring yourself. I hope they can get back to work..”….. They aren’t kidding folks, Stan hasn’t moved a muscle. Well hasn’t moved a muscle aside from the obvious hanging chad muscle, haha…. Tell you the truth I’m not sure she’s washing the zucchini it looks to me its more like she’ greasing it for something. Lets go see if Chef Dinghard has his head back in the game. I see he’s not standing still, he’s just having trouble getting his oysters off. Seems the shell is clamming up him, hahaha. But it looks like all three are making headway. Whoa, hear that bell, 2 minute warning constants, time to wrap things up and start plating for the judges.
While our contestants plate their appetizers lets meet our judges for tonight’s competition. From Mexico, the man who puts then heat in the meat of Mexican food everywhere, Hal Apeno. “Tank a you, tank a you, I am berry pleased to be here.”…Okay Hal. A man of few word, haha, and now the lady who has gone from being a homeless crack addict to restaurant whore, I mean restaurateur, Helen Back. “Hellooo everybody. So nice to be here on Naked Chef Bone. Can’t wait to see all the booty. Heheh, I mean bounty Hugh, not booty, hehehehehe. I‘m just happy to be near you Hugh Jass, teehee”… And I‘m certainly happy to be near you Helen. I can see you have your big cleavage…Oops, hahaha, I mean your big cleaver tonight Helen. I better watch where I put my meat, hoho. How much did that monster set you back. Four dollars and ninety cents I think, I gave the guy a five dollar bill and he gave me back two nipples. Oops, heheheheh, I mean I don’t know how much Hugh.” ….No worries Helen, we speak blond here on Sick Bastard Network so we know just what you mean honey. And now our final judge, the man who puts the coarse in intercourse, Ben Dover. “Oh piss off Hugh, when your tip reaches your butt you can just fuck yourself.” … haha, eat shit and live Ben. I see Ben is in rare form tonight so contestants, bring out the dishes. What have you got there Jack Mioff?
“Well I got off to a rough start letting it hang too close to the bowl there, but I made autoerotic oysters. Oysters hogtied around this slice of battered zucchini covered with smothered onions.“ Mmmm, looks good Jack Mioff and clever theme, lets see what the judges think, Hal? “No very spicy but still she’s a hot, not bad there Jack Mioff, not bad at all.”…All right. Confidence from Hal, not bad at all, Helen? “It feels good going down my throat but its much too big. I like to start off with small mouthfuls.” Okay Helen, well said, how bout my angry friend Ben, what say you? “Piss off Hugh, this looks and tastes like shit.”…Oh no, not much praise from Ben Dover. Next we have the well endowed Destiny. What do you bring to the table Destiny? “I made a dill cake with greased zucchini and raw oyster because they make me horny.”…. Hahaha, I think I’m horny too Destiny, but what about our judges, Hal? “Spicy and hot. I want her.”… Ho ho, I hope you mean it was hot and not her. Helen? “I just can’t get that image of her greasing the zucchini out of my head, so slow, up and down, and up and down. I vote for her to do it again. How on earth did you get the bread so tasty Destiny?” “Oh, hehehe, I used fresh dill because fresh dill makes a tasty dill dough.” …. Okay lets not go there, too deep for me, haha, lets move on. Ben? “piss off Hugh, I just want to screw her. I’d like her to Ben Dover, haha.” ….Good enough Ben, good enough, believe it or not that’s big props from Ben Dover. Finally what did you make Stan Dinhghard? “I made a zucchini pancake with oysters absolut. Vodka glazed oysters with some bacon and Vidalia onion chutney on top.” …Mmmmm sounds delish to me, whadaya think there Hal? “Actually this shit looks good and tastes amazing. Maybe just needs a little hot sauce.” …Another nice compliment from Hal, lets hear what Helen has to say… “My God Stan is hung like a horse. What I’d really like is for Destiny to grease his zucchini, hehe. But I really like the way this whole thing feels in my mouth.” …My that’s a ringing endorsement from the slutty, oops sorry, I mean sultry Helen Back. Now our final judge, Ben?…. Get your head out of your huge ass Hugh, you know this food rocked it. But does he have to keep swinging that humongous sausage around?” ….Well Helen seems to lick it, I mean like it. Contestants, one of you will be eliminated this round lets see who has to get dressed.
Well the judges have spoken. Jack Mioff, your zucchini bread was pretty flat but your sticking it in the mixer was entertaining, Destiny, greasing that zucchini was so intense all three judges voted for you to have immunity this round, and Stan, I gotta say, you better not get too hard or there’s gonna be an accident for sure. So the first one to put their clothes back on… Jack Mioff. Sorry jack, get dressed an go back home. “Fuck you guys, this game sucks. I want to slap you Hugh.” …Whoa!! Ha ha, I’m ready for it, go ahead Jack Mioff. There goes one sore loser, but then if I had my beef jammed in the mixer I’d be black and blue too. Lets go to the final round. Contestants your ingredients for tonight’s entrée is banana, figs, and pork tenderloin. Destiny, Stan…..get to it, you have thirty two minutes.

Stan is off to a fast start, he has his tenderloin up on the counter and it looks like he’s… massaging it? Oh wait, I see what he’s doing, look at Destiny fixated on Stan’s tender loin. Lets listen in on our judges… “Conyo man, dat some huge tender dere Helen, si?” “Oh yea I see that thing Hal, Destiny seems to be staring too she better snap out of it and…oh wait, oh my God, I never knew anyone could peel a banana like that!” “Holy cheet Helen, Stan just stopped pounding his meat.” ..“Will you two idiots quit babbling, of course he stopped for chrissake, look at the way that broad is eating the banana!” Wow!! Damn she’s not eating it, she’s sucking that thing and I want to take notes. Hugh if I could do a banana like that I’d have all of you guys licking my fingers and eating it.” ….Hoho, I think Helen meant eating out of her hand but either way everyone has stopped everything and…..Wait, what’s this?? Oh oh, this could be bad news for Stan, he may get disqualified. He has piled up all the ingredients in a tower. That’s quite an erection he’ got there, no pun intended, hope he can recover. Destiny is back by the stove and is she ever giving our viewers a view. Ten minutes to go contestants, Stan, better calm that thing down before it gets disqualified. We want you to stick it out, but not that far out, haha, and Destiny I sure hope you have something to lay on your plate. We’ll be back after these messages from our sponsors, Trojan Condoms, with their new stealth rubber, she’ll never see you coming, and our favorite fast food chain, Mc Do-me’s, they give you the meat but hold the pickle.

Welcome back folks, the final bell has rung and its time to find out who gets dressed and who gets their own reality show. Judges, lets see what Destiny and Stan have for you. Destiny, what is your entrée? “I have roast tenderloin with rolled up balls of figs. As a side I placed the tip of the banana into a sliced fig.” Oh my, that’s an interesting presentation, it looks almost phallic, Hal? …“Phallic schmallic Hugh, I jus wanna see her eat another banana.” …Sorry Hal, that trigger has already been tripped, Helen? ..”Destiny, meet me after the show!” ….Helen I’m not sure, “Piss off Hugh, let them meet Helen said I can watch! Just give her the prize and get rid of the dude.” ..Um, oh, I..I.. It doesn’t work like that Ben, we need to judge. Lets go quick, And I mean quick to see what Stan cooked up for us, Stan? …”Not that I think its even gonna matter, but I made scaloppini of pork tenderloin grilled in banana skin, with a cognac fig reduction and a purée of savory banana over cinnamon infused Jasmine rice.” …That sounds mighty tempting Stan, what do you thin Hal?…”Taste good, but not as good as dee chick.” Yikes, Helen? Helen? Stan, you can’t do that, get away from Helen…”Shut up Hugh, don’t stop Stan, if you keep going until I come you get my vo….oh shit, that was pre mature!!” Helen, please, this is…”Piss off Hugh. We all voted and the dude is out. Clean yourself off and get dressed Dinghard! Bring those melons over here sweetheart, you’re the winner.” …. Ben you can’t say that kind of….oh, damn…We’ll be right back…CUT!!! Go to commercial now!!”
Shsshshshshshsshshshshshshshshshshshhsshhsh……….
Hello folks, welcome back I’m Hugh Jass here at The Naked Chef on The Sick Bastard TV Network, along with our celebrity judges, Hal Apeno, Helen Back, and Ben Dover. Well we had an unconventional show tonight to say the least but with this cast its about what we’d expect around here. We have to say good bye to a fierce competitor, but quite frankly Destiny made it hard for him from the start. In fact she made it hard for just about all of us. Stan plunged in and gave it his all but in the end he got beat by his competitor. Destiny made it so long and hard for him he just had to down, and not just on Helen, haha. His cream wasn’t rising to the top no matter how hard he was…I mean tried. Stan, put your clothes on and hit the road dude, Destiny will remain naked. “Can I just say I had a great time here. I won’t be able to beat it for a while but I am glad I came. Helen, thank you for your number I’ll give you a call. Destiny, if I had to go down I’m glad it was on you, I will never forget seeing your milk pillows bounce as you rolled out your dough. I think my only mistake was with the thickness of my pork, I didn’t pound my meat enough, but Destiny’s knockers knocked it out of the park anyway.” …Indeed they did Stan, glad to see your not a sore loser. Personally I can’t wait to watch Destiny beat her next opponents on Naked Chef Champions. In the meantime I’m gonna Ben Dover my Hugh Jass to Helen Back until Hal Apeno gets it Stan Dinghard so Destiny Dancer can Jack Mioff. Thanks for joining us, I’m a Hugh Jass and we’ll see you next time on, The Naked Chef.

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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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