Hurgy gurgy bookdobookdobook

Hurderdeburdeedur bo bookbookbook

Now we take da chicky…and da knife…and da iPad…

Culinary Fundamentals.  Makes a helluva lot more sense than the Swedish chef from The Muppets.

Here’s how it usually goes.

Candid moment presents itself.  You surreptitiously use your iPhone to snap ‘drunken Nana dancing on picnic table in her leopard print frock’. 

Priceless.

I don’t need anyone to tell me how to be cool, non-denominational deity dammit!  I’m cool to the core…from the bottom of my white Asics to the top of my Just Jeans.

And my t-shirt reads, ‘what are you staring at, squinty?” in fuzzy lettering.  That’s comedy!

Who needs an animated Pocket Hipster telling me to throw away my Best of Def Leppard album?  Not me.

One of life’s greatest frustrations has been solved, sautéed, and served up for symphonic satisfaction….thanks to Shazam

Yes, the great melody malady…the inability to recognize a song that one hears on the radio, or at the pub, or as one walks into a clothing store. 

Melody malady can cause brain tumors…or so I’m told.

Blackboard screech.

Chalk dust choke.

Duster in the back of the head for turning around to flirt with Erin.

The old school…taught me to write ‘real nice’, it did.  And now, with Alphabet Board, my daughter can learn the old school way to.

Without the duster in the back of the head.

More polls than happy hour at the Warsaw.  Or Telegraph Road, the greatest of all Dire Straits songs…in my opinion.  More polls than…

…the fence I’m building between you, my dear reader, and a land called Understanding.

Sorry.

GoPollGo…they do opinion polls.

Yes, I know I’ve ranted many a time about the general ugliness of the interwebs.  And I appreciate the effort Spout has made here to alleviate the aforementioned retarded aesthetics.

But now my eyes hurt.  That can’t be good, can it?