Terrible Analogies

Karin and I went to Hawaii a couple of years ago, and while there we noticed that Coca Cola tasted awesome.  We were unsure if it was because of the fresh air, the sun, surf and great vibes, but for whatever reason Coke tasted amazingly good over there.  It wasn’t until we were told that it was made with sugar instead of high fructose corn syrup did we make the connection.  Of course…the islands are rife with sugar cane, and Coca Cola has a bottling plant in Honolulu.  It would make perfect sense to use locally grown sugar while making Coke.

Fast forward two years.  Karin and I are wandering through the ever-congested isles of Costco when a stack of bottled sodas caught my eye.  Inching forward to examine them, I discovered that they were the stacks of Coca Cola bottles made with real sugar.  This, my friends, is the Holy Grail of the soda world.  Pour this stuff into a glass chock full of ice cubes and you’re in carbonated heaven.  This is nothing less than ambrosia of the Gods…

Costco, you never cease to amaze me.  Consider me a convert and fervent believer to your cause.  Just as long as you don’t make me dance a jig down the aisles while holding live poisonous snakes and I think we’ll get along just fine…

When I get home from work my usual routine is to remove my shoes and work clothes, throw on a pair of shorts, play with Tyler, then go feed the cat.  Yesterday I did these very things, but was surprised to discover that what I thought was a half-full bag of cat food turned out to be nothing more than an empty bag of cat food.

I couldn’t believe it.  It was as if a malevolent power was playing an unnecessarily cruel and callous trick on me.  The last thing I want to do after winding down from work is to change into street clothes, fight traffic, wait in line at the grocery store, then drive all the way back home.

“Nuh unh,” I thought.  ”There’s got to be something Nemesis can eat around the house.”

Desperately rummaging through the pantry looking for anything that might satisfy the finicky tastes of the household feline, I gathered together what my panicked mind thought might fill the bill and rushed upstairs to see if Nemesis would accept any of my meager offerings.

First up was the long shot: Peppermints.  Nemesis quickly turned her nose up at these.  ”Come on, cat,” I whispered in my best southern Hometown Prairie Companion small town grandpa-serving-lemon-aide-on-the-porch voice, “They’ll make your breath smell fresh, and they’re minty!”  Alas, no sale…

“Ah, ha!”  thought I, “Who doesn’t like Girl Scout cookies?”  Inwardly I was beaming with pride, sure in the fact that anyone who doesn’t like Girl Scout cookies is simply un-American.  But after a quick sniff Nemesis turned around, sat down and showed me her back.  An unmistakable sign that my cat is a freedom-hating Communist.

Ok, so cookies are a no-go.  What about cereal?  The tinkling sounds of Captain Crunch hitting her bowl certainly got the cats attention.  After all it sure sounded like cat food.  Carefully she approached, gave a sniff…then another.  I was certain that this was the one!  But just it seemed as if the long search was over Nemesis quietly sat down, looked up at me and let loose a mournful meowed which I interpreted as, “What, no milk?”  Curses!  I’ve just one more item that might work…

…Cheetos.  Aaaaand, success!  We have a winner!  Nemesis immediately buried her face into that bowl of cheesy goodness and simply would not come up for air, her head moving rhythmically side to side as she made smacking noises with her tongue.   Victory, oh how sweet the taste.

And just when I thought all was well once again with the world Karin rounds the corner and sees what I’ve been up to, at which point she smacks the bag of Cheetos I had been holding over my head in celebration on to the floor, tells me to stop dancing my stupid little jig, and if I want to live to see tomorrow that I had better change my clothes, jump in the car and go pick up some proper cat food.

*Sigh*  Sometimes I don’t think Karin understands me one bit

Did you know that:

• A group barracuda is a “battery”?
• A group of boars is a “sounder”?
• A group of caterpillars is an “army”?
• A group of cockroaches is an “intrusion”?
• A group of foxes is a “skulk”?
• A group of spiders is a “clutter”?
• A group of kids ordering fast food in the voice of Elmo is “hilarious“?

I particularly love the part when “Elmo” refers to himself in third person…

Early yesterday afternoon, as I was sitting in my cubicle troubleshooting an internal webpage that wasn’t resolving its URL when a strange, foul odor quietly crept in coating the entire floor with a devilish smell. This was no ordinary “somebody just passed gas” odor, but rather a “somebody just scrapped a dead wet dog off the road, ground it up, flushed it down the toilet, then ran down to the sewage treatment plant to reclaim as many bits and pieces of it as humanly possible, brought it back to work and threw it into the microwave along with a filet of left-over fish and a bowl of dark curry and cooked it on ‘high’ for fifteen minutes” type of odor.

I thought the stench was coming from the bathroom, but upon investigation I found that the bathroom smelled pleasingly pleasant compared to the evil odors blanketing the offices.

I then walked into the break area and there they were, three grimacing maintenance guys snaking the kitchen sink. On the floor was a growing mound of unidentifiable grey goo covered with what looked like bits of thick black hair and soggy corn flakes. Covering my face in horror I recoiled on my heels as I noticed the glistening mass, sitting undisturbed on the center of the kitchen floor…quiver.

Like a witness to a horrific car crash I was stunned and rooted to the spot, but the reality soon struck me that the gelatinous waste that was being pulled from the sink and plodded unceremoniously on the floor once proudly sat on someone’s dinner plate. I wondered how long that thing had been festering deep in those dark, dank, moist pipes, silently growing in both size and strength, biding its time until that perfect moment when it could strike fear into the hearts of men.

I used to think that I was a brave person; one willing to charge valiantly into battle to meet my enemy head on, but this…this was too much.

This was something that I wish I had never seen (or smelled)…

This, my friends, just plain wrong:

Broccoli cupcakes: For the child who simply will not eat his vegetables?

If you’re thinking of making these, please don’t bring them into work and try to pawn them off to your co-workers as desserts, because that would be cruel and unusual…