STUPID FRIENDS

John Wesley Gaines!
John Wesley Gaines!
Thou monumental mass of brains!
Come in, John Wesley
For it rains.
- Anonymous

Last night, She Who Must Be Obeyed and I were settling in to the old Fart-Sack. As is her custom, the tube was on, tuned to one of the 50 billion syndicated reruns of “Friends.”

How these Friends ever managed to survive in New York is beyond me...because their stupidity is boundless. Sure, of all the characters, Phoebe and Joey were portrayed as the ditsy ones - but they all were, in their own ways, remarkably boneheaded.

Let me give you a f’rinstance.

Ross and Rachel wake up in a Las Vegas hotel room after what apparently is a night of Heavy Alcohol Consumption. They are in bed together: it will later turn out that, in their Drunken Stupor, they got married. And they are asking each other, in horror, whether “anything happened.”

Let’s be charitable and assume that they were so out of it that neither of them has any conscious memory of the evening before. Maybe instead of drinking Cosmos, or whatever the hell these people drink, they were mainlining Versed. [That shit will gap out a slice of your memory, clean as a scalpel, and you will have no clue about what went down while you were under its influence.]

But, as SWMBO pointedly observed, you don’t have to be a detective to know whether you Did the Deed.

All you need is a set of functioning nostrils and a sense of touch.

Clue Number One: The Wet Spot. If any Hancis-Pancis happened, there will be a Wet Spot. Or, if enough time has elapsed, a Crusty Spot. It’s kinda hard to miss.

Clue Number Two: Bed Funk. There will, if any actual Foofky-Moofky took place, be a pronounced aroma under the covers. It’s a difficult to describe, yet completely unmistakable, Fuck-Pong that is reminiscent of a beach at low tide the Fulton Fish Market a freshly chlorinated swimming pool.

Clue Number Three: Pud Funk. Even if, in his alcoholic or narcotic stupor, Ross was unable to Consummate the Relationship, there will be a distinctive trace of Poonani-Aroma on his Package if any attempts were made at all.

Clue Number Four: Strange Dental Floss. Any short, curly hairs found jammed between the teeth are prima facie evidence that something went on...even if it was not the Deed Itself.

Absent any of the above-noted Clues, and Ross and Rachel can feel reasonably confident that nothing happened. Unless, of course, they screwed each other standing on the coffee table and then took showers...difficult to pull off when you’re three sheets to the wind.

So: just how stupid must you be to ask the question in the first place?

“Friends” - attractive and young they may be, but bright, they’re not. As I am wont to say, the wheel is turning but the hamster is dead.

[Update: Just to avoid any possible misunderstanding, let me assure my Esteemed Readers that The Sexual Aromas to which I refer in this post have nothing whatsoever to do with my own personal experience. I am using a bit of Poetic License to describe the (imagined) Post-Coital Foetor of two drunken television characters, with no attempt to cast aspersions upon any Actual, Living Human Beings.]

FRIDAY RANDOM TEN

It’s Friday yet again (thank Gawd), and you know what that means. It’s time to spew out another Random List o’ Musical Weirdness Goodness from the iPod d’Elisson.

Let’s just take a look at what’s on the box today:

1. Speed Racer - Devo
   
2. Hell - Squirrel Nut Zippers
   
3. Mamelukki & Musta Leski - Alamaailman Vasarat
   
4. Terrible Interlude - Philip Glass, Les Enfants Terribles
   
5. Rain - The Beatles
   
6. Happy Birthday, S-OB - Wendy Carlos
   
7. Miracle Drug - A. C. Newman
   
8. New York City Cop - The Stroke
   
9. This Velvet Glove - Red Hot Chili Peppers
   
10. Reggae fi Bernard - Linton Kwesi Johnson
    

It’s Friday. What are you listening to?

FRIDAY ARK #63

The Friday Ark is floating...at the Modulator.

THE BERENSTAIN BEARS GO TO THE CEMETERY

Prolific children's book author Stan Berenstain, who, along with his wife Jan created the popular Berenstain Bears books, has died at the age of 82...a respectable age for a bear. Or a human, for that matter.

In more than 200 books, the Berenstain Bears, written and illustrated by Stan and Jan Berenstain, helped children for 40 years cope with trips to the dentist, new babies in the family, eating junk food and cleaning their messy rooms.

Now, who will help the children cope with that Cemetery Visit?

Left unfinished is a book explaining the mysterious popular association of bears with defecation. We all know bears shit in the woods, and even major Bunwad Manufacturers produce commercials showing animated cartoon bears in defecatio delicto. Alas, Stan has taken his in-depth knowledge of this weighty (fecal) matter to the grave.

The gravesite is expected to become a shrine of sorts, with offerings of honeycomb and toilet paper left by thousands of youthful mourners.

[Cross-posted at The Dead Pool.]

INVERSION

Sometimes a cat looks happier upside-down.



This is Neighbor, the Mistress of Sarcasm’s cat, now recovered from the case of Mogo on the Gogogo that laid her low last month.

Next month, Neighbor comes to visit at Chez Elisson, when we will discover the answer to that burning question:

¿Quien es más macho: Neighbor, Hakuna, o Matata?

CARNIVAL OF THE RECIPES #67

Any dictionary-hound will tell you that “Punctilious” does not necessarily mean “Punctual.” Just when I was convinced that last week’s Carnival of the Recipes had disappeared into a black hole somewhere, along comes an e-mail from - who else? - Punctilious...

...announcing that the Carnival is (at last!) up and cooking.

A wee bit late, perhaps, but Punky has put up yet another fine Carnival, one that is well worth the wait.

BRAINS? WE GOT BRAINS

At breakfast today, my Morning Minyan compadre Barry R. told me a story of a colleague of his that is, in his words, “dumber than soap.”

To illustrate: one day, while looking at the moon (it was one of those days when the moon is clearly visible in the daytime sky), this colleague - in perfect seriousness - asked the question, “Do you think the moon is farther away than Warner Robins?”

For those of my Esteemed Readers who are unfamiliar with Georgia Geography, Warner Robins is roughly 125 miles SSE of Atlanta. For those of my Esteemed Readers who are unfamiliar with the Solar System, the Moon is roughly 239,000 miles from the Earth.

But wait - there’s more.

In an attempt to convince her friends that perhaps she has more brains than a truckload of hammers, the colleague crammed for a Trivial Pursuit game by memorizing as many of the answer cards as she could. When it came time to play, she was ready.

She landed on a space that required her to answer a Sports Trivia question.

The question was, “Who was the catcher for the New York Yankees when Don Larsen pitched his perfect game in the World Series on October 8, 1956?”

And, thanks to hours of diligent preparation, the young lady knew the answer:

“Yo-JEE Ber-RAH.”

Truckload of hammers, I’m tellin’ ya.

CARNIVAL OF THE VANITIES #167

Hoodlumman, the resident File Clerk at File it Under, serves up the 167th Carnival of the Vanities...in possibly the most unusual style I’ve seen.

Stop by and visit to get your weekly dose of Bloggity Goodness.

[Update: The unusual style is because the page is rendering most of the text in the same color as the background...so it’s invisible. Only thing I can read is the link text. Is it just me?]

[Update Two: Whatever the problem was, it’s gone now. The site displays perfectly...and the style is a bit less “unusual” (which is a polite way of saying “FUBAR.”)]

FURNITURE

City of tiny lights
Don’t you wanna go
Hear the tiny auto horns
When they tiny blow
Tiny lightnin’
In the storm
Tiny blankets
Keep you warm
Tiny pillows
Tiny tiny tiny tiny sheets
Talkin’ bout them tiny cookies
That the peoples eat...

- from “City of Tiny Lights” (Frank Zappa)

The Mistress of Sarcasm decided she needed some furniture. You know...something in which she could store a few little tchotchkes.

Little, indeed.



She needs to start looking for a bigger place.

FOOD MOOM

Now that Thanksgiving is (mercifully) past us, it’s time to think about food yet again. Namely, what can we do to avoid it?

This little questionnaire won’t help. I’ve shown my preferences in boldface, with commentary as appropriate.

1. CHEESE or CHOCOLATE? Impossible. They’re both favorites...but cheese, absent other nourishment, would keep me alive longer.
   
2. BLUEBERRIES or STRAWBERRIES? No contest, for me.
   
3. COFFEE or TEA? Coffee gets the nod, but I like ’em both.
   
4. CORN MUFFIN or ENGLISH MUFFIN? With the exception of the corn muffins at Greenwood’s...and Dugan’s Corn Toastettes of blessed memory.
   
5. PANCAKES or FRENCH TOAST? If I gotta choose.
   
6. YOGURT or CREAM CHEESE? If I’m eating it by itself.
   
7. RICE or PASTA?
   
8. CAKE or PIE?
   
9. GROUND BEEF or GROUND TURKEY? Yeah, I know the turkey’s better for me.
   
10. HOT DOGS or HAMBURGERS? Nothing beats a hefty Kosher dinner frank. But then again...
    
11. JELLY or MARMALADE?
    
12. AMERICAN CHEESE or SWISS CHEESE?
    
13. DIET SODA or NO SODA? I’ll drink diet soda, but these days, my intake of Carbonated Beverages is on the wane.
    
14. LEMONADE or ICED TEA? Why not both at the same time, Mr. Palmer?
    
15. CHERRIES or GRAPES? Ya hadda ask?
    
16. CHOCOLATE QUIK or STRAWBERRY QUIK? You gotta be fucking kidding.
    
17. WAFFLES or PANCAKES? Aw, c’mon, I gotta pick just one?
    
18. WHITE BREAD or WHOLE-GRAIN/WHEAT BREAD?
    
19. PEAS or CARROTS? I like ’em both.
    
20. PUDDING or FRUIT-FLAVORED GELATIN? Give me a break, will ya?
    
21. COLD CEREAL or HOT CEREAL? Again, I like ’em both.
    
22. KETCHUP or MUSTARD? Mustard is a bit more versatile. Whoever heard of ketchup-crusted salmon?
    
23. MUSTARD or MAYONNAISE? Except on cold chicken or turkey.
    
24. MAYONNAISE or KETCHUP? Except on cold chicken or turkey.
    
25. BLACK OLIVES or GREEN OLIVES? If you’re talking about those nasty California black olives. But Greek olives? Oil cured olives? Another story.
    
26. ONION or GARLIC? Not really a fair question, is it? Both are Essential Foods.
    
27. PLAIN BARBECUE or BARBECUE WITH SAUCE? Assuming you mean beef brisket or sausage. Ribs, I prefer without the goop.
    
28. SCRAMBLED EGGS or FRIED EGGS?
    
29. EGGS or EGG REPLACEMENTS?
    
30. MEAT or VEGETABLES? No frickin’ contest. A Vegan I’m not.
    
31. CHINESE TAKE-OUT or PIZZA?
    
32. SUSHI or DELI SANDWICH? Love ’em both. Sushi gets the nod for health reasons...although I’ll never turn down a pastrami, tongue, and chopped liver on rye.
    
33. WHITE CLAM CHOWDER or RED CLAM CHOWDER? Neither of which I have any business eating.
    
34. KEY LIME PIE or LEMON MERINGUE PIE? If made with real Key limes. But Greenwood’s (again!) has a killer lemon meringue that has the same punchy tartness of a good key lime pie.
    
35. PIE & ICE CREAM or CAKE & ICE CREAM?
    
36. WHIPPED CREAM or CAKE FROSTING? Only real whipped cream need apply.
    
37. HONEY or MAPLE SYRUP? Bees or trees? Honey has a slight edge, but real maple syrup is hard to beat.
    
    Tip o’ th’ Elisson fedora to Caltechgirl (Not Exactly Rocket Science) for this tasty moom.

BONFIRE OF THE VANITIES #126

This week’s Weenie- and Blogpost-Roast may be found at Sean Gleeson’s place, creatively entitled (what else?) Sean Gleeson.

You’ll have some glee as well, laughing at the laughable and gagging at the gag-inducing.

TOROIDAL FOODSTUFFS

The other day, as I made my near-daily stop at the Local Bagel Emporium, I noticed a couple of police cruisers parked outside. Sure enough, several members of Cobb County’s Finest were inside, enjoying their bagels...and whatever it is cops put on bagels.

This was a great source of quiet amusement for me.

What is the mystical attraction between the Constabulary and Toroidal Foodstuffs, anyway? The relationship between Peace Officers and Doughnuts is already well established and familiar to all: in a test of Free Association, cops and doughnuts go together about as well as bears and defecation. But doughnuts are doughnuts, and bagels are bagels. They are, at the heart of things, quite different, although they share a Common Topology. They are both Toruses: one of fried dough, the other boiled.

Yet here, before my very eyes, was evidence that shamuses did not restrict themselves to doughnuts. Bagels were, apparently, on the Precinct Menu as well. And this got me to wondering.

Perhaps it is not the Breadstuff that is important. Perhaps it is the hole, common to both foods.

Perhaps because Police Officers must occasionally blow holes in people, they relish foods that also have holes. Swiss cheese? Doughnuts and bagels, for sure.

After you’ve pondered this issue long enough, here’s another one for your Perfervid Brain: do wrestlers eat pretzels? And, if so, why?

TRUTH LAID BEAR LAID EGG

NZ Bear has been diligently working on upgrading and improving his Ecosystem, but this time I think he’s laid an egg.

I say this because this site is currently ranked at 189 in the Ecosystem - a mere ten spots behind This Blog Is Full Of Crap at 179.

That’s ridiculous.

If you look at my rank in the Ecotraffic list, reality asserts itself. With a current average of 208 visits per day (according to Sitemeter), Bd’E clocks in at Number 1,645, whereas TBIFOC is ranked 223 with a daily visit count of 3,060.

Now, that’s more like it.

It’s just a meaningless statistic, of course, but it would be nice if NZ could invent a ranking system that would incorporate both traffic and inbound links in a realistic manner. I mean, as long as I’m being a whiny little bitch. [I know Aaron (Aaron’s cc:) has been giving this matter some thought and has come up with some good ideas as to how to combine and weight the two factors.]

And maybe peace will break out in the Mideast.

ASK MR. DEBONAIR

Dear Mr. Debonair,

Is it ever appropriate for an adult to use a straw?

(signed) Curious Cyclist

Dear Curious,

Nowadays, the popularity of crack and freebase has eclipsed that of old-fashioned Happy Powder, so it is less common that the use of a Tubular Suction Device is required. And in those rare cases when a straw may be useful, it lends much more tone to the proceedings if you use a rolled-up C-note rather than that cheesy Flex-Straw that comes in the stupid-ass box with the picture of Bozo the Clown on it.

What? You were referring to drinking straws? Er, (ahem)... I see. Hrmph.

Straws may be used for imbibing liquid refreshments under certain limited circumstances. A useful guideline is, if the beverage is one that you are able to purchase without identification, you are good to go. Drinking adult beverages such as Dirty Martinis or Rusty Trombones Nails with a straw is risky: in the case of the Martini, the olive may cause unpleasant clogs.

On the other hand, if you prefer that marvelous Cocktail named after the former U.S. Ambassador to Ghana, a straw is most appropriate, as demonstrated here by this fine gentleman:



Do exercise caution, should you decide to sample it, for it is addictive to a legendary degree. As it is said, “Once you go Shirley Temple Black, you never go back.”

MAGIC WAND

She Who Must Be Obeyed and I caught the latest Harry Potter flick over at the local Bijou yesterday.

Mike Newell has done an outstanding job directing this picture, which is significantly darker in tone than the previous three Potter films. Just as Alfonso Cuarón improved on the work of his directorial predecessor Chris Columbus, so has Newell done. He very clearly “gets” the Harry Potter vision.

There’s enough disturbing imagery in this film to ensure some screamy nights for the younger members of the audience. It’s a PG-13 movie, and parents of small children need to keep that in mind when deciding whether to take the kiddies. Of course, SWMBO and I have seen parents dragging four-year-olds to movies like Goodfellas, so assuming parents really give a crap about exposing their kids to disturbing images may be a stretch in these Increasingly Fucktarded Days.

As the series of Harry Potter books – and movies – progresses, one thing is clear: The kids are growing up. Harry, in this film, is now 14, entering the horrendous transition into adolescence. One could argue that the idea of asking a girl to a dance at that age is more terrifying to Harry than dealing with Dementors, Death Eaters, and old You-Know-Who his ownself. And Hermione is actually starting to, er...ripen.

It’s only a matter of time before some pulchritudinous young honey wants to see Harry’s “magic wand.” Come to think of it, that scene with Moaning Myrtle and Harry together in that bathtub had serious Hanky-Panky Potential – had Myrt not been a ghost, I suspect an “R” rating might have been necessary. Can’t wait to see what they’ll do with the next one, which will, I am sure, involve snogging. Which is a Britishism for “tonsil hockey.”

I’ll cop to enjoying the Harry Potter books. They’re cleverly written, with a lot of wordplay – especially in the various names (i.e., Diagon Alley, Durmstrang, et al.). J. K. Rowling has managed to let the stories grow in depth and complexity, with the result that they occupy that rarefied place on the bookshelf where both young readers and adults can find something to like.

If I had a complaint at all, it’s that there seems to have been an implicit assumption that the American mass audience is just a tad ignorant. For example, the first book (and movie) of the series, Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone, was renamed Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone for the American market. The reference to the Philosopher’s Stone in the original title is entirely appropriate to the story: this is the mythical substance sought by medieval alchemists that could transmute base metals into gold, and which could be used to create an elixir that would extend life. There is no corresponding alchemical “sorcerer’s stone,” but presumably, Americans are too stupid to deal with the four-syllable “Philosopher” or to know anything about medieval history. “Sorcerer,” on the other hand, is shorter - plus it’s a synonym for “wizard” - so the title was dumbed down.

And then there’s the pronunciation of “Voldemort.” Prior to the movies’ releases, it was clear from various official websites that the correct pronunciation was in the French manner, with the final “t” silent. But, again, because American audiences are thought to be boorish and nekultuny, the “t” is clearly pronounced in the films. This is a niggling and trivial point, but – hey, I can be niggling and trivial at times.

These are, however, minor quibbles. Harry and his friends seem to have captured a spot in the public’s imagination that has been curiously unsatisfied by burned-out franchises such as Star Wars. Good for them.

CARNIVAL OF THE CATS #88

The eighty-eighth edition of Carnival of the Cats is up at IMAO, with a pile of links lovingly crafted by the Original Cat Carnivaller himself, Laurence Simon.

The theme of the day is “Fun Facts About Cats.” Just keep in mind that the person who put this Carnival together is the same one who writes fake news articles at The News Is Full Of Crap.

AND...THEY’RE OFF!

The Friday after Thanksgiving is the Official Start of the Christmas Shopping Frenzy here in the States. Black Friday, it’s called - because this is the day that retailers finally see black ink on their books, presumably after bleeding red all year.

I generally have as little to do with these ridiculous proceedings as possible.

If I could, I would avoid any visits to shopping malls, arcades - pretty much any retail establishment - until after Christmas.

Things are out of control. Merchants, in their greed, have pushed the Christmas season up so that the music and decorations are up in everybody’s grille before the candle has cooled in the Hallowe’en pumpkin. If I were a Christian, I would be outraged. But since I am not, I am merely bemused.

Today, She Who Must Be Obeyed and I had our own Shopping Adventure.

Seems that a local discount retailer was offering a mini-DVD player at a very attractive price. Quantities limited, and all that. SWMBO has had her eye on one of these babies for a long time, and this was her chance to pounce.

The store opened its doors at 4:56 am today, and we were there.

Yes, we. I had agreed to come along, for the sheer dementedness of it.

Still groaning from last night’s food overload, we had set the alarm for 4:30. My plan was to go to the store with SWMBO, then run back home and maybe catch a few more Z’s before having to run off to morning minyan at 6:50. And so, there we were.

“Of course, you realize we’re all insane,” I remarked to the gentleman standing just ahead of me in the early-morning queue. He nodded, sheepishly. Yes. Yes, we were. And then the doors opened and we all piled in.

Five minutes later, we had our DVD player...and a pair of undershorts for me. (My boys need a home.) I’m willing to bet that we were the first to check out, having Accomplished Our Stupid Mission while all those around us were stuffing Random Crap into their carts.

Staying awake during minyan...now, that was the hard part.

GEORGE, YOU HAPPY JOKER, YOU

SWMBO and I are watching Star Wars III: Revenge of the Sith on DVD at the moment. This represents the first time I am seeing a Star Wars movie on home video without ever having seen it in a theatre. A tribute, perhaps, to my Ability to Learn.

After all, if the bartender keeps serving you mugs of Hot Piss instead of beer, eventually you learn not to order beer at the bar. [Hat tip: Pete.] And with Episodes I and II, we kept hoping for cold beer...and all we kept getting was Hot Piss.

Jar-Jar Binks. Boss Nass. Midichlorians. Hot Piss.

Episode III is a slight improvement on its predecessors, if only because, amidst all of the Sturm und Drang, it ties all of the loose ends together. But I’m glad I didn’t piss away (there’s that word again!) eight bucks to see it in a theatre. My sound system at home is just fine, and if I want to take a nap during the proceedings, I need only hit the Pause button.

As fas as I’m concerned, not a single one of the Star Wars sequels - from The Empire Strikes Back on out - comes within a light year of recapturing the magic of the 1977 original. That was the one by which all others must be measured. The retro-1930’s feel, complete with arty wipes as scene transitions. Good versus Evil. The Heavy of all Heavies, Darth his ownself Vader as an unalloyed Bad Guy. A princess in danger. A naive Good Guy. And, of course, the Sidekick With Checkered Past But Who Of Course Is Good - a variation of the Whore with the Heart of Gold archetype. And the comic relief - R2D2 and C3PO in (mercifully) small doses.

When Darth Vader strode into that smoky corridor, you knew you were in for a Big Time.

This? This is shit. Busy shit. Really busy shit.

But George Lucas is a jokester, he is. There’s actually a character in this movie called Commander Cody. Really.

I wonder if he brought any of his Lost Planet Airmen with him?

BONFIRE OF THE VANITIES #125

Chateau d’If plays host to the 125th installment of Bonfire of the Vanities.

Pull up a chair, grab some marshmallows - hell, you can even warm up that Monte Cristo sandwich in this Bonfire - and read a few Cringeworthy Posts.

TURKEY WITH ALL THE FISKIN’S

There’s nothing aids the digestion quite like a Post-Prandial Examination of a Serious Meal...and so, with that thought in mind, here’s the blow-by-blow review of last night’s Magnum Opus of Face-Stuffing.

First off, this year’s Thanksgiving was unusual, being one of the rare occasions when She Who Must Be Obeyed was not the one cooking most of the food and playing host. This year, the honor went to our friends Gary and JoAnn, with turkeys provided by Shelly and Marc T.

We gathered at 6:00 pm, somewhat later than is our usual practice. The late start tends to sharpen the appetite, but it has the unfortunate side-effect of putting you in bed with a massively bloatacious stomach, having had fewer hours in which to digest the meal.

There was no salad. Fine by me. A salad at a Thanksgiving feast is a bit like Tits on a Boar-Hog; completely useless. Why fill up on healthy salad when you can be packing your kishkes with yummy Meat-Wads?

The turkey was succulent; falling-off-the-bone tender and moist.

SWMBO contributed a Spinach Casserole, a side dish that packed a wallop thanks to a liberal infusion of Jalapeño Jack cheese. Top-drawer.

I whipped up a batch of blueberry chutney, recipe courtesy of Kimberly (Music and Cats). The combination of tart fruit and ginger complemented the turkey beautifully. We served this fine condiment in a glass turkey-shaped dish, one that was inexplicably (and hilariously) misidentified as a “Cranberry Swan” by Seth, Marc and Shelly’s son-in-law:

Seth: Could you pass the Cranberry Swan?
Elisson: Harh! I am so blogging this.

Seth’s wife Alisa (Marc and Shelly’s daughter) contributed a Swedish Corn Pudding that was mighty tasty.

Gary made his Infamous Sweet Potato Pudding, a rare example of a sweet potato dish that is sugary without being cloying, with JoAnn providing the classic Green Bean Casserole. Say what you will about the Green Bean Casserole - if you deck it out with a thick enough coating of French-Fried Onions, it’s just fine.

SWMBO also brought a mess of her Sausage-Rice Stuffing with Parmesan, Pine Nuts, and Raisins. To me, it ain’t Thanksgiving without this stuffing. We’ve been eating it for over twenty years now.

Completing this Groaning Board o’ Goodies were dishes of cranberry sauce, spiced apple rings, and spiced crabapples.

I somehow managed to get a little of everything on my plate, wisely choosing to bypass the (superfluous) hot rolls. That was plenty, although it was hard to resist going back to the trough for a smidge more turkey and “Spinach Casserole à la Burnyoursphincterout.” Oh, did I mention the three glasses of Chateau Ste. Michelle Riesling? Nothing like a little wine to get the juices flowing. I felt fine. Hell - we all felt fine.

It was the dessert that did us in.

JoAnn made not one, but two apple pies, along with two cakes. As if this were not enough, she brought in a Greenwood’s Holy Shit Chocolate by Gawd Cream Pie. This proved to be my undoing.

As I have said before with respect to this pie, mere mortals cannot eat a whole slice. It is far too dense, too rich, too obscene. One slice, passed around the table about five times, is enough for a small army.

But last night, I ate a whole slice.

Not for me, the wimpy Apple Pie, the Cranberry and White Chocolate Bundt Cake, no.

One slice of Greenwood’s Holy Shit Chocolate by Gawd Cream Pie, and you could stick a fork in me: I was done.

Later, at home, I gulped down a shot of Underberg bitters. It helped, but not enough to prevent a lot of tossing and turning. Bloatificus Maximus.

Never again! quoth I. At least, not until next year.