Celebrating Thanksgiving with soy.

Amanda has told me that Turducken is all the rage on the food network these days. I'm thrilled. I had some last Christmas and thought it was pretty good. Some might say, in these trying financial times, that turducken is overkill, or an exercise in excess. It is, after all, three types of fowl shoved up each other to make one super-fowl.

I disagree. Sure, a turducken is a turkey stuffed with a duck which has been stuffed with a chicken, and maybe to some that seems like "too much." I don't think so. And I'll tell you why: if there was no such thing as turducken, no one would get to say "turducken," which is a hilarious word because it contains the word "turd." And that, to me, is funny. Because food names are no places for poop jokes or references.

There is a delicious Chinese appetizer sampler that I can't order with a straight face, and as such, I don't order it. It's called a pu-pu platter. I KNOW that it does not mean the same thing in Cantonese or Mandarin as it does in English, but that DOES NOT MATTER. There is a discernible toilet reference in the name of this food. And all the paper-wrapped chicken and beef on skewers and those little shrimp chips in the world can't change that.

I think that the makers of the popular vegetarian turkey substitute Tofurkey should develop their own holiday hybrid. You can do awesome stuff with tofu, so why not make a tofu turducken? I even have a name ready for them. Ready? Tofucken.

Yep. It's tofu made to taste like turkey, duck and chicken. Plus it's got a swear in it.

I never want to hear [about] the following again:

* Joe The Plumber
* Joe Sixpack
* Ashley Todd
* Karl Rove
* Ann Coulter
* Rush Limbaugh
* Sarah Palin (NOT KIDDING.)
* Keith Olbermann and/or Chris Matthews (you heard me correctly)
* Bill O'Reilley
* Anyone who thinks it's a cool idea for Alaska to secede from the U.S.
* Bristol Palin. Because really, she's got enough problems.
* Any child with the last name Palin
* Jesse Jackson (sorry, but I think you've said enough, sir)
* Bin Laden, until you tell me he's dead and can confirm it.
* John Edwards
* His girlfriend
* Chocolate Skittles

I think that'll be fine for now.

Featuring Bounder and Jake the Arson Dog!

I got to spend my Saturday with my family and friends of the family, and not one, not two, not even three, but FOUR labrador retrievers, dogs who I love for many reasons. First, I love all dogs, but especially dogs big enough to take me down if they get the notion. Labs can definitely do that. Second, they retrieve. It is their job, they are good at it, and they take it seriously. Third, they come in an assortment of colors, one of which is bound to match your decor. And last, they run the gamut from exceptionally intelligent to not at all, really. It's important to remember, though: however dumb you think a lab may be, he or she is much smarter than you think. Much smarter.
We learned this yesterday with help from Bounder, who is a black lab who belongs to family friends Eddie and Jan, and who is very friendly but gives the impression of being of fairly average intelligence. This is a trick. Bounder is a genius.

A grand total of eleven humans returned to my aunt's house after shopping at kind of a craft and food market run by mennonites near where my aunt lives. So we came home with fruits and veggies and knitted stuff and baked goods and cheese and all kinds of things, among which were two dozen cinnamon sticky buns. With the humans homes, the four dogs were released and allowed back into general population to sniff the people and each other and get overly excited that we'd all come back after two agonizing hours of confusion. Concerned more about her human guests than the cunning plots of sugar-crazed dogs, my aunt put down the bag with the cinnamon buns and went to get drinks for people.

In the approximately seven minutes between putting the bag down and returning to the den, the unthinkable happened. Actually, you already know what happened. Bounder happened.

Bounder's enthusiastic nom-nomming of the cinnamon sticky buns only came to a halt when my aunt discovered him happily munching his way through the second dozen.

"Oh my God!" she yelled. "BOUNDER!"

Bounder succeeded in looking properly guilty for a little while. But honestly, what did he care? He'd just had eighteen cinnamon buns. And I bet they were great.

And so it happened that Jake, who is also a black lab and enjoys taking himself for walks whenever he feels like it, was re-installed as the canine voice of reason for the day, despite the fact that he had already that morning, taken himself on a walk. Sorry, buddy. If you wanted to keep the title, you should have eaten someone's breakfast. All of it.

Jake is probably a genius, too. He's very calm and reasonable, and he knows how to work the stove. This is a pretty hefty accomplishment, when you think about it, for a guy with out any opposable thumbs. But yes, as a teenager, Jake succeeded in turning on the gas stove at my aunt and uncle's home in Connecticut. More impressive still was that the house didn't just fill up with gas, because he managed to get the thing lit. Even more impressive was the fact that a wooden cutting board was sitting on the burner, and Jake managed to get that lit, too. And here's the proof that he's a genius: when he saw that he'd managed to start a kitchen fire, HE LEFT THE HOUSE. Didn't call 911 or anything, just saw what he did, probably thought, "uh-oh!" and left the house.

Because who would believe that a dog had started a fire by accident? Or at all, actually?

Confusing the parentage of the promising young minds of tomorrow...today!

Much like comic strip artist Bill Watterson, I have long suspected that it must be a great temptation to misuse ones parental authority for the purpose of personal jokes. And I'm sure people do. I mean, hey, let's face it: there are parents out there who use their little ones as vessels of hatred. I've seen those Jerry Springer specials, when I was in college, featuring little white supremacist children talking about how much they hate anyone who isn't white, or for that matter, just like them.

A great man named Homer J. Simpson once noted, "Kids are the best. You can teach them to hate the things you hate." And he's right. You totally can. But I wondered recently, as I watched two little kids get off the school bus and go into their house, with a McCain-Palin sign on the lawn, what if someone manipulated the data? And by someone, I mean me.

First I would have to ask the kids if they know who G. Gordon Liddy is. Then I would tell them that they should immediately go inside and tell their parents that they heard that John McCain thinks that G. Gordon Liddy is just the awesomest, and that's because John McCain is actually Richard Nixon. (By the way, I do not actually believe John McCain is Richard Nixon. That would be like believing people and dinosaurs existed at the same time: idiotic, and against all facts.)

And when their parents ask them where they heard that, I would tell them they should say "Fox News." Or Ann Coulter. Whichever. Both.

The next step would be to do this however many times I saw a little kid near a McCain sign. Then I would be famous. And sued.

Further ganks from facebook: on zombies.

Thanks to all who have weighed in on my Resident Evil/Silent Hill question. Please keep responses and theories coming. I consider this research.

So can we talk about zombies for a second? I'm actually scared of them, or at least at what a zombie apocalypse would entail. I almost entirely blame Edgar Wright for this, since I don't remember being so concerned about it before seeing "Shaun of the Dead."

Well, Emily brought up preparation over trepidation today on twitter with this site:

http://www.uncrate.com/men/style/tees-polos/prepare-tshirts/

Notice how the ZOMBIE shirt is more expensive than the robot shirt. Why is that? It's obviously because we should be more worried about zombies than the killer robots. And I am. Much more worried. So should you be.

Says who? Says me, and also says a bunch of people here http://www.zombiesurvivalwiki.com/

I searched out this site and visited it out of curiosity. From looking through it a bit, however, I am fairly convinced that some people are quite serious about zombie emergency preparedness, and have given it a lot more thought than other matters, such as who they're going to vote for in the next presidential election. I am very unprepared by these folks' standards. I do not have a go bag prepared, nor do I own any firearms (I don't think that softair pistol counts) or even a cricket bat. I have been meaning to get one. Maybe eBay?

Many of these very prepared people are 100% certain that they could survive a zombie apocalypse, and not have a lot of trouble negotiating the challenges that go with it. I think they should think it through a little more deeply. Just using Edgar Wright's offending film as a benchmark, consider this: popping stranger-zombies, even your asshole flatmate is one thing. But what if you had to deal with your zombified mom?

At present, I do wish to state that I agree with Steven's assessment of the current zombie situation. Zombies do not exist. To that, I will add the following: That we know of! Yet!

P.S. Yes. You can get cricket bats on eBay.

Ganked offa facebook: The scariness continuum continues.

Since we're in the midst of a recession right now, I think it's as good a time as any to discuss the following scary issue: what's scarier: Silent Hill or Resident Evil? I mean conceptually.

I really, really hope people respond to this query, because I want to know what youse guys think. Partially because I don't even know what I think.

My first inclination would be to say, well, obviously, Silent Hill, because you can't even name "it," you don't know what "it" is. You just know that it can get you, and there don't seem to be a lot of rules that apply to it. It bends time-space to its will. Even if the "it" or Resident Evil is complex and scientifically advanced at least you can name it. It's the T-virus. You can study it. It has rules. It can mutate, but it can't punch holes in walls and make something from nothing and invent space that wasn't there before. It is concrete and solid. Moreover, it *does not quite possible exist entirely inside one's own mind, only to destroy one from the inside out.*

But then again, because the T-virus IS concrete and DOES have rules, such as zombies with superhuman strength and stamina, and can be proven to actually exist and not be merely a manifestation of someone's guilt or rage or whatever, it *can actually kill you* and not potentially merely drive you to the brink of insanity, or past the brink of insanity.

Further, after a long time of playing Silent Hill, I have been thankful that I was not armed, because every noise behind me made me want to pull a weapon and unload. This does not happen when I play RE.

However, I am afraid of zombies, but not the descending darkness of an ancient evil. Not so much, anyway.

Please cast your vote.

I HATE YOU! I LOVE YOU! I HATE YOU! I LOVE YOU! (and so forth)

My folks are in Remsen doing a craft show (my dad does stained glass and is brilliant at it) and so they called early this afternoon to let me know how it was going with them. Small problem: sometime between yesterday and today at noon, my cell phone ceased to work at its full capacity. For instance, suppose you were to call me and try to have a conversation with me. I can hear you, but you cannot hear me. Unless I shout, which is how I talked to my dad.

And then later, Libby, when she called to see if we were still going out later. And to give her my land line number.

Then I ran an experiment, where I put my started up "No Sugar Tonight/New Mother Nature" on iTunes, dialed my house, put my phone down on my laptop. Then I shut the door to my room and went to go answer the house phone downstairs. It was highly scientific, featured classic rock, and proved that my cell phone has been rendered crap in just over a month.

I am irritated. Now I have to go to the cell phone joint and find out what gives. I love my cell phone company, too! God, I am so pissed at them. Always something, innit?



She's gettin' us all. She's gettin us all...