Which came first, the chicken or the egg?
Does it matter? Do we need to go over this again?
Fine. It was neither.
That’s right. Neither the chicken nor the egg came first.
It was the flying saucers.
They landed, aliens came out, and then looked around for a while.
The flying saucers took off, but they left a bunch of stuff, like crystal skulls, eggs, and chickens.
The crystal skulls mutated the eggs so they hatched all the different forms of life, like horses and monkeys and people.
There’s your answer.
Oh, and I’ll take my horse eggs scrambled.
Tag: food
Jif Skippy
Girls are not made of sugar and spice and everything nice.
They are made of peanut butter.
You know, If I made a daughter out of peanut butter, I’d name her Jif Skippy.
Because if I made a son out of peanut butter, I’d name him Tom.
No, I wouldn’t name him Peter Pan. Because everyone else making boys out of peanut butter name their boys Peter Pan.
Some use chunky, others use smooth.
I don’t have a preference, as long as it isn’t low-cost generic.
If you’re going to make a daughter out of peanut butter, use quality ingredients.
The Apple
I like to go to the store and buy a bunch of different kinds of apples.
Red. Golden. Macintosh.
All different kinds.
Then I bring them home and slice them up, making an apple buffet.
Each apple has its own unique texture, tartness, sweetness, and juiciness.
I try them all, closing my eyes and picking out slices to put in my mouth, chew slowly, swallow.
I thought about putting out caramel and honey and other things to dip them in, or walnuts and peanuts to roll them in.
But for me, the apples are enough.
Here. Have one, Snow White.
The Valve
Ernest has had heart trouble for years.
The doctor says it’s something congenital, but eating pork and bacon as often as Ernest does doesn’t help matters much.
So, he’s getting a heart valve replacement.
“One of them mechanicals?” asks Ernest.
“Actually, you’re a good candidate for a transplant from a pig’s heart,” said the doctor.
Ernest thinks for a bit. “Good, but one thing, doc?”
“What’s that?” asks the doctor.
“For as much as I’m paying, I should get the rest of the pig,” he says.
Three weeks later, he roasted it on a spit to celebrate leaving the hospital.
A Twist Of Lime
“A twist of lime,” says the man in the green suit to the bartender.
“With what?” the bartender asks.
“Nothing. Just the lime.”
The bartender slices up the lime and the man in the green suit lays on the bar, staring up at the glasses and lights hanging over it.
He opens his mouth and says “Go for it.”
The bartender shrugs, squeezes a lime wedge into the man’s mouth.
The man in the green suit sits up with a grumble, wincing with disgust.
“I said twist, not squeeze!” He lays back.
The bartender twists another wedge.
“Oh… so… good.”
Writing Trouble
I’m having trouble writing.
I try to think of things to write, but I just can’t find inspiration.
So, I went out for coffee.
There was a girl there with bandaged hands, and she was barely able to hold her coffee.
“Carpal tunnel,” she says. “Surgery messed up. Six months.”
I got her a frozen coffee with a straw, and we talked.
She’s also a writer. Has lot of ideas, just can’t write them all down.
I offered to transcribe them for her.
“Oh, I’ve got a voice to text program,” she said, getting up. “Thanks for the coffee, though.”
Bananas
I like bananas.
Twice a week, I buy bananas.
I go so often because I eat a lot of bananas and they go bad so quickly.
I’d go once a week, but by the end of the week, all that’s left are bananas I don’t want to eat.
Brown bananas. Blech.
Plus, I walk to the store, and buying so many bananas at once can be a burden. Or they get mashed up from being so heavy in the bag.
I wish someone would deliver bananas.
Maybe I can order a banana pizza and tell them to hold the pizza.
Yogurt
I’m on a diet, and I need to eat yogurt.
So, to get me into the habit of eating yogurt, I hired a guy to tie me to a chair every morning and force me to eat yogurt.
He did that “Here comes the airplane!” and “Here comes the choo-choo train!” thing with the spoon, but I said that was silly.
He said I was being a bad boy, and dragged me in the chair to the basement.
The good news is, I’ve lost a lot of weight.
Maybe I can slip out of these ropes and escape some day.
The King Of Cakes
It is Mardi Gras, and it is time for the King Cake.
I find this purple and yellow pile utterly disgusting, and I refuse to take a piece.
The rest of the group greedily rips off hunks, devouring loudly, until one pulls out a crinkly diaper.
“What the hell is this?” they say, throwing the diaper to the ground.
“Well,” says Carol, “you’re supposed to bake a baby into the cake, and whoever gets the baby will have good luck.”
Foster spits out some toes. “A METAL BABY!” he shouts.
Everybody begins to vomit.
Me, I reach for the cake.
Silence
When I first saw “Soylent Green” I watched it with my mute pal Bobby Greene and said “Hey, that’s about you… Soylent Green, Bobby Greene?”
Bobby flapped his hands at me, but I never learned any of that sign language crap.
“Write it down, jackass,” I growled, and he picked up a steno pad and scribbled out FUCK YOU in big letters.
We watched the rest of the movie, Edward G. Robinson dies and Charlton Heston finds out the secret about Soylent Green.
YUCK wrote Bobby.
So, I killed him. Cooked and ate him too.
Hey, Soylent Greene is delicious!