Archive for the ‘Life’ Category

Introducing…

Posted: January 23, 2013 in Food, Life
Tags: ,

It was a miserable night. It was rainy, damp, cold – a real skank of an evening. In short, a typical Keansburg, NJ kind of night. I loved it.

2250173012_8c968d7918 Keansburg. Yeah.

I was sitting in my car, watching the wipers describe lazy arcs across the windshield, waiting for my brother to finish whatever he started in that ramshackle, sorry little excuse for a house. Drugs? Women? Who knows? He’s that kind of guy and I’m waiting for him. Guess that makes me another kind of guy. Right?

If you don’t know me, let me introduce myself. I’m Fog Calamari. Yeah, yeah, make your jokes now. I’ve heard them all. Thanks to the illustriously hard-working people at the INS, my name was butchered into what it is today. Not that the original was any better, but at least it wasn’t so accurately descriptive.

The hack at the immigration office couldn’t get over our real family name of Occtavia, so he wanted to list it as Octopus. Grandpops wasn’t having any of that, thank god. But his language skills weren’t that good and he thought he had to at least follow the direction those jamokes set out upon. So, translating octopus became Calamari. Go figure.

Fog – well that’s another story. Being a redhead as is most of my family, it was originally Fuego for fire. But being blessed as much of my family is with another affliction, flatulence, it became appropriately but not happily, Fog. Thanks a lot Mom and Dad, love you too. Yeah, I got issues. Who doesn’t?

Anyway and eventually, my do-not-much-of-anything brother comes out of the mystery house and decides he’ll probably show up for work at the dollar store. You got to understand this is a step up for him, a promotion. Previously, he worked at the 69 cents store. What’s that line about a rising tide raising all boats? Here it is in real life. I drop him off and decide to stop in at my favorite falafel bar, O’Shea’s. It takes a little longer than usual to get there because the old Yugo, painted in Slovakian Racing Beige, only wanted to make left turns today. Somedays it’s left, other days only right. And that’s when by the grace of some dark-humored deity it starts.

After a Magellan-like plan to get there, I arrive. Ahmed O’Shea has the best falafel in town, Let me correct that – he has the only falafel in town unless you count the combination gas station/sushi/ falafel/ and dry cleaning establishment down on Central. How he came to open this dubious venture is best left to another time, but it did involve bearer bonds, zoo animals, and grey market Gummi (Trademark!) Bears. You figure it out. I’m not saying anything else on this subject.

Walking into O’Shea’s is like entering some New Age candle shop. Besides the Yin and Yang decor, the beaded curtains covering only electrical outlets, it’s the over-powering scent of cilantro that grabs your attention. That and the mangy Labradoodle attack dog by the front door. Say what you will, the joint has ambiance. And cheap beer. Oh, and did I mention the falafel?

Ahmed is behind the bar polishing, I swear, the same damn glass he’s been doing for years. It must have been very dirty. He looks up, well, raises his eyebrows at me and acknowledges my presence, “Fog.”

“Ahmed.” No need for words between us. Hell, he doesn’t know much more English than that anyway. He nods to a booth on the far wall. I look over. Damn, if it isn’t…

TBC.

It’s true. I don’t always drink beer. I don’t care. I prefer wine. But what kind? I don’t much care about that. Your kids are sick? Too bad. No, that’s not right. I just don’t care.

6314300858_17c0be6411 Not me. Who cares?

As I said, it’s true. I could care less. There isn’t much of anything I do care about. My investments perhaps, but they are so many and so large, I just don’t care anymore. My trophy wife? Take her! She’s already my fourth one – they’re all the same anyway.

If I sneeze, no takes notice. Mosquitoes don’t fear me. I’m not on the Pope’s Rolodex either. And that’s all OK.  I’ve never excelled in sports, educational attainment, work, you name it. You see, I just don’t care. What I did care about at one time was that I’d been very good at making money. Don’t bother asking how, my attorney says it’s none of your business. Did I hurt your feelings by saying that? So what? I don’t care. Money can have that effect on one.

The funny thing is that at one point in my unbelievably fortunate life, I did care. Almost, but not quite bleeding heart liberal care. About everything. But after a while, a certain sameness crept in. I kept looking for greater thrills and stimulation. Oh, I found it and wallowed in it dirtily and happily. I had it all and I didn’t care any more. At this point if you’re still with me, and if you’re not, who cares?, I’ll tell you what happened.

Pure and simple, I ran for elected office and won. Would you expect anything else? I was able to convince the electorate that I cared. Isn’t that a joke? But I did. Deeply. And they believed it. And now I had to make good on all those bloated but hollow election promises. Do you know how impossible that is?  I’m surprised no one has been hung for some of the things we are forced to say in order to get elected. I guess it’s not perjury unless there’s a crime involved. Even then.

So, the first day in office, I was inundated by sycophants wanting something or to attach themselves to what they perceived as a newly minted seat of power. It was flattering at first but became tiresome rather quickly. I had my issues I wanted to advance. But, nooo, they had their issues too. They wanted snow removal; new pet pooper laws; real estate reassessments; zoning variances; that kind of crap. Before long, I started not to care any longer. It was that easy. And believe me, that quick.

So, while I know there’s a beer company advertising it’s “World’s Most Interesting Man”, the truth of the matter is that’s not me and I don’t care. He’s never been elected to office. He probably knows better than that. However, if he was, he wouldn’t care. And neither do I. And neither should you.

We’re putting up the banners, slashing prices, getting new fixtures, clearing out the old inventory, slapping on some fresh paint, wearing new team shirts, and best of all, installing new management. After the better, bitter part of a year, we’ve come to a decision that was quite difficult for us as are those of which wine to choose. But, we, (the royal WE after all, as no one will openly take responsibility for a decision), have bitten the proverbial bullet and have affected a change at the top. No gold watch, no party, nothing – just don’t let the door hit you on the butt on your way out. Later. Adios. Arrividerci. Bon Soir. Hasta luego. Thank god and Greyhound he’s gone!

We had to make these changes as certain inconsistencies kept appearing on our books and in the tabloids. Allegations (all untrue until proven otherwise) are just that, but we could not in all good faith labor under the weight of such bad press. The election certainly did not help either. We were placing so much hope on our candidate for Alderman and then to see him lose so ignominiously, we had to make changes. The graft, accusations of infidelity, purported drug use, laundered money, watching Real Housewives… shows, deviant… well, you get the picture. It could not go on. At least not while other people were watching. It’s not that we condone such behavior, we don’t. Well, actually we do until someone is caught. Then we have to appear offended that such accusations could be made though likely true. Hey, we are only human!

So dear reader…what does this mean for you? The biggest sale on slightly used blog posts ever! Make us an offer. No reasonable offer will be turned down. We mean to clear out this place and make space for all the exciting 2013 blog posts coming your way. Who can forget “The Great Oldsmobile Migration…”? It can be yours! Make me an offer. Or how about “Screw the Lawyers”? That one’s appropriate anytime of year. Got someone in your life who’s addicted to all things automotive? “The Pig Lives” is waiting for you. What are you waiting for? These are all one of a kind and won’t last long. Look for our almost clever TV ads (after midnight ’cause that’s when TV time is really cheap) done in spectacular, realistic back and white video tape.

These posts are guaranteed original. No fakes. No warmed over imposters. These come directly from the keyboard of the operator. We are making a clean break of the past at least until it’s forgotten by all but the most persistent reporters.

So come on down and meet the new management. Just ask for one of us. Of  course, our names on our shirts will be somewhat different, but that’s the price you pay in the witness protection program. Looking forward to meeting you.

It’s no secret the other Bruce has a fondness for orphans, lovable losers, small cars, and stray puppies. So it should come as no surprise when Bruce, unbeknownst to me, brought home yet another stray dog. However, this was not your typical ASPCA, look-at-me-with-the sad-eyes dog to the strains of Sarah McLachlan music mutt. No, this was Frankendog.

After a lengthy argument as to whether or not we would keep it, (we did), the OCD gene kicked in and Bruce had to determine its lineage. This is of course easier said than done. One can’t just go to their local Petco and get a DIY home canine DNA kit. We had to travel 347 miles to the dog equivalent of a genetics lab who specialized in such nonsense. So, we loaded ourselves and said pooch into our trusty Pignasaurus GT and off we went in search of doggy DNA.

Now, before I go any further, let me describe Frankendog, not his real name. That has yet to be decided. The two names in the running currently are Grendel and Petey. Can you guess which one Bruce wants? Petey – aww c’mon! Frankendog is without any doubt the most unusual looking dog I’ve ever seen. I don’t need to see the results of a DNA test to know he is the bastard off-spring of some demented canine version of Dr. Moreau. He just isn’t what nature intended. Anyone who has been around dogs agrees with this description. Frankendog appears to be the result of an unholy mating of a Pomeranian with a Newfoundland dog. If these are unfamiliar to you, let me just say this – the Pom is really, really, little; the Newf is really, really, big.

Pom.

Newfoundland.

Poms yap. Newfs make a sound like something out of a Sherlock Holmes story – deep, soulful, bellows. I don’t even want to imagine the conjugal image of this creation. However, here he is. With such a hybrid, he shares a melded body, personality, and voice. The body defies easy description, but I’ll try to do it with compassion. Frankendog is almost as big as a full size Newf, but blessed/cursed with rather short front legs that give him the appearance of a jacked-up hot rod ready to leap off the starting line. The problem is when he actually tries to do that. Because of the uneven weight distribution, he usually winds up grinding his face with much injury into the pavement. When that occurs, he lets out his unique bark – it’s a keening whine followed by an emphatic cough.

But, he is incredibly smart. He already understands complex math problems. Ex: If you have three bones and you eat one, how many do you have left? He knows the answer! When certain types of music are played, he displays an unerring ear for quality – loves opera, hates rap. Likes classic rock, looks down his misshapen snout at country. And as a watchdog, has the size, sound, and terrifyingly odd look that stop miscreants from proceeding any closer to our humble abode. Lucky for us that stops these wannabe thieves for if they came any closer, they would probably just drown in his slobber.

His personality too is a contradiction. He has the gentle, good natured attitude of the Newf, but it’s punctuated by the gritty, growliness of the Pom. It’s like he’s saying “I really like you” when in reality he’s probably saying “I’d really like to bite you.” Keeping Frankendog is going to be a test of our friendship.

So, we make the trip to the lab and get the tests done. In spite of the wonders of technology, we got the results back in four days. We were told it would only take a few hours, but upon seeing the results they ran the tests over and over again as they felt they must have been wrong. What they found is what I’d already postulated – a Newf and Pom mating. There was $ 1,600.00 out the window! But that was only the start of the “good news”.

We then learned that Frankendog was only 9 months old and would not reach full physical maturity for another 2 years. It was estimated that when fully grown, Frankendog would be about 250 lbs, requiring at least one full side of beef per day to stay fed properly. Walking the Frankendog is a singularly unique experience. Were this the frozen tundra, he on his own could win the Iditarod! Try it on pavement though at your own risk. Because of all the scraped hands and knees received from trying to teach him about walking on leash, we now have a standing order for neosporin at our pharmacy.

Bruce wants so much to keep him. I so much want to ride him. But neither of those are really good options.

This is what riding Frankendog might look like.

We could put him back on the side of the road where Bruce first found him or we could get him a job as a judge on American Idol. I’m opting for the TV gig.

This is the moment of truth. How many of you out there have purchased one of those “_____ for Dummies” books? Don’t sit there and deny it. We’ve seen the sales figures and we know what you’re up to. Get the hell over yourself already! That book ain’t gonna help you! If we can’t help you, then no one can and you’re just SOL. (Look it up, Einstein!) See what we mean by Dummies? Jeez!

Aww, c’mon! Really? (emmettferrret.org)

The publishers have pretty much made their statement as to what they think of you. It’s simple – to them, you’re all dummies. Why else would they keep printing these books?

There is a “Dummie” book for just about anything in the world or so we thought until exhaustive research proved that these, so-called smart guys, (the publishers), over-looked some categories that without these books, you’d all be real dummies. With the exception of course, the two Bruces who will now happily join those so-called smart guys. So before long, you’ll be able to get these new books and enrich your wretched little lives. (Sorry about that, Bruce sometimes forgets his very humble beginnings.) These will be available at all popular book stores not including Borders.  Hey, we’re not dummies here!

For those of you who have mastered writing or some such approximation, take down these titles and buy these books if you want to move up to the position of shift manager of your local Dollar store. That guy in front of you isn’t any smarter than you, he’s just the owners’ idiot offspring from his second wife.

“Breathing for Dummies” – You’d be surprised how many schools have private remedial breathing classes. This should be mandatory to achieve citizenship. It has an advanced section on exhaling which should be read several times to perfect this activity.

“Walking for Dummies” – Left, right, left, right. How hard could that be? Amazingly, not following this can lead to serious and sometimes fatal tripping. The book comes with many simple to follow diagrams and one syllable words for easy reading. (Special discounts offered on crutches.)

Yeah, this is what we’re talking about. Read the “Walking for Dummies”” one first so you can then strut like a pimp. (secularcafe.org)

“Blinking for Dummies” – Once you get the hang of this, it’ll take forever to read.

“The Dummies’ Guide to Drinking Water” – This is not to be confused with the advanced book “Drinking for Dummies” which is all about alcohol consumption. This, through extensive research and illustrations, will demonstrate the correct way to consume water. Such chapters as “Not through your nose, Dummy” and “Ears are for Hearing” are must-reads.

“Hair-growing for Dummies” – Just look around and you decide who you want to give this book to as a gift. Special six-packs available.

After all of this, if you’re still struggling with life or whatever, we have just the book for you. Do not attempt to read it while walking, talking, eating, any natural process, or for you really big dummies out there, reading.

Let’s be careful out there. (laughingsquid.com)

Bruce and I have different viewpoints on food. Bruce has very catholic (which will surprise his mother very much) tastes in food while I am the quintessential picky, snobby eater. We also disagree on portion sizes. But not as you might think.

For instance, how much pink slime in your hamburger is too much? Bruce thinks that’s what it gives it its flavor. I disagree violently. Is it the amount or the actual additive that is harmful? Cosmic questions are seemingly answered by such petro-chemical giants as DuPont and other companies that revel in nature’s sense of humor – read this as deformities. Now before any of you are incensed by this seemingly unfeeling, un-PC viewpoint, we have this to say – Get a life!

The Blob – the original pink slime. (lonelyreviewer.com)

We’re not talking deformities in the physical sense – we’re talking about the deformities of personality, the misshapen decision-making of all political participants and finally – anything on the Bravo channel. These are all the results of pink slime and its like minded molecularly related kin. Oh, yeah, there’s a lot of that crap going on and you’re eating it big time!

Pink slime is only the most recent discovery of food companies using really weird stuff, not natural by any stretch of the imagination to make things more palatable. Sounds sort of like a politician changing his views to reach and convince more unsuspecting people he will make their taxes lower and their teeth whiter. Ain’t gonna happen! But that doesn’t stop them from trying, oh nooo! Doesn’t the name Con-Agra sort of give it away?

But, we digress. What else are these neighborly companies graciously providing us in our increasingly dubious food supply? How’s this for a starter? Angelica. Awww, sounds really nice and harmless, doesn’t it? (Sort of like Sister Mary Angelica, the kind of sister who slapped your knuckles silly for mouthing off in class.) But then you learn a certain species of this is similar in appearance to poisonous hemlock. You know the stuff, the kind Socrates took to leave this mortal coil. We don’t know about you, but we do not under any circumstance trust these companies to pick the right Angelica. Pick the wrong one and you’ll be singing with the angels. Call it the Tony Soprano weed. That’s more accurate.

  Wrong and gratuitous Angelica. (blingcheese.com)

Right angelica, maybe. (altnature.com)

Or here’s something with a rather truthful name – false flax oil. This is found in Russia, suspect already, right? – and is considered viable as a vegetable oil or fuel. Either way, you’re going to get gas whether you like it not. Just stay downwind of us, please.

However, our investigations have revealed the seedy side of this and we’re blowing the whistle now. Variegated dreck is one you probably haven’t hear of yet until now. VD as it’s known in the trade is used for making all those tasteless, multi-colored gummy bears. Think it’s harmless? Not on your life. What do you think happens to your old, worn tires? Yep, gummy bears. Good one, huh? At least make sure you get the stuff made with radial ply tires – it lasts longer.

Been to a county fair or carnival lately? If so, it’s probably a safe bet (we really shouldn’t say safe on this one) that you had cotton candy. Cotton? Oh yeah, and we’ve got some seaside property in New Mexico you’re gonna love. That “cotton candy” is made courtesy of Libbey Owens Ford. Yeah, that’s right the makers of the stuff with the Pink Panther as its spokesperson. It’s fiberglass! And you’re eating it and so are your chiildren. Don’t worry, you’ll be hearing from social services on this one, buddy, but at least you’ll be warm!

So next time you open that big yaw of yours, think about what you’re putting into it. Pink slime is not even the half of it.

We have a bone to pick with parents who don’t give much thought to what they name their children. Or maybe the poor fools think too much. What else could explain this? This unfortunate child, who has every right to believe that the future is his (or hers if you’re going to go all feminist on us!), is now saddled with a name that will follow and torment them for the rest of their lives. Thanks a lot, Mom and Dad.

Now neither Bruce or I have any problem with what anyone’s religion may be. But as a name? It’s probably a pretty safe bet that if one’s name is Christian, then they are Christian as well. Somehow Christian Goldberg doesn’t fall trippingly off the tongue. And the idea of naming someone after their birthright religion is odd and a bit obvious, like what color is that orange you’re eating? Get it?

Precisely! (thenewparentdsguide.com)

How come one doesn’t hear as first names, the following: Jewish, Hindu, Buddhist, Muslim, and Unitarian. By all rights, these should be every bit as reasonable a name as Christian. Let’s see how that would work: Jewish Carruthers – ehh!, or Hindu Holstein – no,no no!, Buddhist Stalin – yeah, right, Muslim Ortiz – sounds almost like a featherweight boxer, and Unitarian Ray Bob – enough said on this one. They just don’t work too well. But that isn’t where it stops.

What about the parents who name their children with the same first and last name? WTF is wrong with them? William William? Oh, c’mon now!

Sports stars have been changing their names for something more personal and dramatic for quite some time. Cassius Clay became Muhammed Ali. Fair enough. Lew Alcindor took Kareem Abdul Jabbar, very poetic. But Metta World Peace? Give me an effin’ break!

So of course. the great unwashed, the 99%’ers, the proletariat, mouth breathers all, have to come up with their own names. Before you go any further just think of this: would you let your auto mechanic do your heart surgery? Of course not, they’re not qualified. Neither are these parents! We will seek them out and report them to the authorities. At the risk of you losing sleep, here are some new and actual names. Pity the child!

Urhines Kendall Icy Eight Special K – look this up really! The questions we have is what the hell does the monogram look like?

God Shammgod – really! Just another athlete who changed his name. He plays in the International Basketball League for the Portland Chinooks. He probably changed it to this as he didn’t want to be confused with the other George Shammgod.

Uh-huh! This is what we’re talking about! (isaacontech.areavoices.com)

L-a; True story – a woman named her daughter this. It’s pronounced L’Dasha!

Adam Bomb – is there any wonder crime is on the rise?

Disney Landia Rodriguez – not to be confused with Gandlandia Gurgone.

OK. Now people are thinking that drugs names may be cool. Cialis – for a girl who loves to bathe al fresco; Viagara – for a boy who likes to raise the flag at school everyday; how about Motrin? That’s nice too. Personally, we can’t wait to meet Preparation H!

If these people are really serious, then they’ll go for the formulary name of the drug, not the retail consumer version. So now, we’ll have Z-Pak instead of zithromycin. That could work well for a basketball player. How about Tamsulosin? Call ’em Tam for short. Much better than the retail name of Flomax. And it has the benefit of that it could be used either way as a nickname for a boy or girl. This really has gotten out of hand. We believe weird names promote crime. These people are desperately unhappy and have no one but their parents to blame. Thank the lord our parents named us something normal like Bruce! Neither of us have ever been tried and convicted.

The State of New Jersey.

What is it about New Jersey that commands such ridicule? Is it the mob life as depicted in The Sopranos or the lesser and incredibly appalling Mob Wives that fuels the national ridicule? Is it the peculiar cuisine defying description? How about its accent? Yes it’s all that but largely it’s New Jersey! Currently, television with it’s Jersey preoccupation is starting to resemble a Jersey mall with all the options that entails. In no particular order, there is the late, lamented Sopranos; Jerseylicious, Cake Boss, Jersey Shore; Glam Fairy; The Real Housewives of New Jersey; Boardwalk Empire; House; Jersey Couture; and really, many more.

It’s there, in the dark, hanging on only by it’s fingertips to the side of New York for dear life, hoping for some glamor and fame to rub off. It’s girls named Dawn, with outrageously teased hair and large jewelry driving around in their Camaros looking for the latest from Hot Topic or whatever else is being hawked at the one of the countless malls in New Jersey. It’s wife-beater shirts being considered appropriate attire for most anywhere, especially the mall.

The State Car of New Jersey.

You have to understand: as soccer is the largest sport in the world, shopping is its equivalent in New Jersey. And as in any sport, there are different levels of proficiency and ability. There are amateurs and there are pros. The amateurs have only a couple of credit cards and none of them are of the gold/platinum/sapphire/unobtainium variety. No, those are for professionals only. (Do not try these shopping stunts at home. You WILL hurt yourself!)

Pros also have charge cards from all the individual stores they stalk. A hugely fat, bulging card wallet is a sure-fire sign of experience, success, (and impending credit default, but that’s for another entry). Shopping in New Jersey reaches Olympic dimensions and should probably have its own event in the summer games. Winter games though might be better because they would involve Christmas and its myriad sales. We’ll bring this up before the committee.

One of the Olympic size shopping stadiums in NJ.

So what do Jerseyans buy? Anything from Pier One for starters, but that’s probably a tie between them and IKEA; all discount electronic and/or appliance stores on major highways with large signs in the windows; and finally anything from a store in Paramus with a “Going Out Of Business” sign on it; don’t laugh, that accounts for at least 25% of all retail businesses in NJ. Incidentally, “Going Out Of Business” is also a major sport in NJ.

What do Jerseyans sound like? It’s a nasal wannabee NYC dialect that sounds like the speaker is chewing gum whether or not they are. Just watch an episode of “The Real Housewives of New Jersey” and you’ll get the idea. You”ll also get a preview of how Jerseyans decorate their homes. It’s like the visual equivalent of a nasal dialect that sounds like the speaker…. well, you get the idea.

New Jersey has so much to offer and so much to write about. Trust us to keep you in the loop for all things Jersey.

Alcohol can make you do things you would never consider when sober or at least not under the influence of some mid-altering substance and that includes love.

However, and this is a very big however, is that when under the influence (UTI for this discussion, although in looking at it, that is the same acronym for urinary tract infection – an equally uncomfortable state of being) country music starts to make sense. All the heartbreak, the missing dogs,  stolen guns, and blown-up pickup trucks are real. The wife/girlfriend/lover/best friend/partner, whatever are all real as well.

This is what heartbreak looks like.

This is something with which we can all identify. C’mon – you know you agree. The music even sounds good and meaningful. Ehh, maybe there was too much to drink after all.

The truth, however distorted by alcohol (or love for that matter) is there. Through the substance induced haze, one can find real meaning in this music. We’re on the road to hell now! All that remains now is to start using chewing tobacco (“just a little pinch between the cheek and the gums” the ad says)… a thought that at this stage is not without some charms, but none that be explained without any amount of lucidity.

Heartbreak, deceit, perfidy, (Class, today is being brought to you by the word perfidy), all have meaning and truth at this time. If a child were to be born tonight, it undoubtedly would be named Garth or Shania.

What then when sober, is the attraction of country music? Twanging steel guitars (perfected when young on back porches and pickup truck beds ); nasally singers (not from the Bronx); and rampant testosterone, flowing from amplifiers pleading, begging for some sort of low-rent salvation, and finally the love of a good “NASCAR” woman are just a few of the many the elements of this “art-form.” And don’t forget, there is also a don’t-get-in-my-face attitude as well. Independence is important here.

Don’t get in my face, y’hear? (Courtesy Guanabee)

“In vino veritas.” In Drambuie veritas! In beer veritas, we say! Drink enough and the truth shall appear. And it will set you free. Or some such semblance thereof. But, is this behavior true? Only to the extent it removes whatever moral boundaries we set to prevent us from acting like total fools. Karaoke is an example of this. Do not drink and think you sound like Billy Joel. Oh, you’ll drive like him alright, but you will not sound like him. Ever. And Christie Brinkley will never, ever go out with you. Hell, the Dixie Chicks won’t go out with you either!

So, sober up and be grateful that you couldn’t order anything from Amazon while in this state. The last thing you need is the Greatest Hits of the Oak Ridge Boys. Because quite frankly, they won’t go out with you either!

They really won’t go out with you. (Courtesy The Boot)

Hello World!

Posted: March 6, 2012 in Blogs, Humor, Life
Tags:

You have just witnessed the unnatural childbirth of a new blog. No Lamaze here, no birthing chair, no pant-pant-blow, no, not much of anything…yet.

Why, you are no doubt groaning and asking, another blog? To which we enthusiastically respond, “Uh, we don’t know.” That’s not true – we do.

United by a common hatred of our first names since childhood, (Hey, you try growing up with this name), the Bruces (yes, they are real, much to the chagrin of their significant others) fought, real and imagined slights against them, thus over-compensating for their small egos.

As such, as chronological adults, they are in a position to point out the absurdities they see in the world around them and explain it all for you. Lest some of you think this is about nothing, (some other guy tried that without much success), that could not be further from the truth. This is about the real world.

Hold on, we think you’re going to like this.