November
2003 | Random
Fridayness
There
is new fiction in tiny dog's elusive Random
Fiction Corner, this time written by guest author Debi. Make
haste to the RFC to read Nature is not a friend.
Debi has also appeared previously on tiny dog with One
Less Bell to Answer.
As
for recent work-related rants, I just want tiny dog readers to know
I am back on the side of change-is-a-positive-thing, and feel you
should disregard my advice to stay in your stagnant careers and
work everything out in a safe harbor with your deck chair or whatever
I was screeding about. That advice was crap. I'm now in week three,
and absolutely glad I left all of my former problems behind for
something more interesting.
Have
a Voke and a smile
Vodka
is deceptive, people.
 Don’t
go mixing it with Coke, thus creating a voke, a drink coined by
my cousin Audrey one desperate afternoon while visiting my late
grandmother’s rural and remote abode. We made do with what
we had, in that case I think RC cola and some random off-brand vodka
(grandma liked to drink).
Vokes,
they taste like Cokes-- you can see the trouble right there, I don’t
need to go on. The reason rum is a more popular Coke mixer is that
rum’s gag-inducing flavor allows you to know when you’ve
crossed the line, unlike vodka, heretofore known by myself as the
silent killer. One night after more vokes than the government surely
recommends, I found myself on the couch with a bowl of pasta balanced
on my stomach, when I was supposed to have completed packing for
a move beginning the following morning. Who made that pasta, is
what I still don’t know to this day.
WHo
is hotter looking, Jamie Oliver or Anthony Bourdain, respectively
of the Food Network? It’s
10:24 p.m., and this drinker can’t be certain.
Do
not make the easy mistake of assuming me a drinker. I am so definitely
not as to have a solid reputation as a non drinker and a total bore
in drink related situations. How we ended up in this voke related
situation is not at this time well understood.
Wow
all you have to do if you’re one of the flunky restaurant
workers on Jamie’s
Kitchen is get all stressed out and cry about burning the tarts
or something, and Jamie’s all over you like grape fruit leather.
Jamie honey, the yam is on fire.
The
editors are going to be furious about this rant!!
Have
you ever seen that lame-ass commercial where the woman’s all
“I run a bagless,” regarding some damned Bissel vacuum
cleaner, implying some sort of asslike patronizing thing about women
and housework and vacuum cleaners, something insulting but hard
to put a finger on? F*** you Bissell. I bought a Hoover.
One
thing about Jamie though, he really shouldn’t frost his hair
tips, and comb his hair in these unauthorized directions. Tip for
men, just don’t go beyond the basics when it comes to your
hairstyle. In fact if it’s a hairstyle at all (one sure sign:
you refer to hair gel as “product”) basically, you’re
a woman. Oh you’re not? Prove it little girly hair man.
Whatever,
I am willing to give Jamie the benefit of the doubt due to generalized
hotness but I am just saying. Wow, he is totally ripping these downy-feathered
kitchen trainees a new one for sneaking off for a cig during the
dinner rush. Whatever happened to the emasculated, nattering, thrift-store-T’d
Jamie Oliver of “The Naked Chef?” Who is this f-bomb
dropping, frosty-tipped kitchen Gestapo? Makeover, anyone? The celebrity
chef stakes are getting higher people.
Let
me get in one more point here by saying, there’s a commercial
on for that infernal show, Everybody Loves Raymond, and I am here
to tell you I hate that show. I watched it once and it was like,
bitter, lemon-sucking wife sexually rejects husband to laugh track.
Repeat. I mean, bwaaaahahahahahahaha oh wait a minute, no one's
laughing.
Will
I regret this rant tomorrow? There's no way to know until tomorrow
comes.
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