Boca Burgers and the downfall of the vegan family

I had this past Thursday off from work and I was making lunch for Susi and myself. Susi suggested that I make something light because we were eating late, and had to go get the boys soon from my Mother's house. As we know, the Wife has lost a few pounds recently by eating properly and Boca products have become a staple of her diet. The Susi and I both enjoy eating them, her because they are healthy; I love them because they taste just like food. Anyhow, I opened the freezer to get some and see that she had quite an assortment of boca products, I saw the standard Boca Burgers, Chik'n burgers, Chik'n wings (I think they use Chik'n instead of chicken because it's made from things that are not chicken; I know it's probably obvious, but I could be wrong (not likely, though))(did I just manage to use parenthesis inside another set of parenthesis?), meatless sausage, and meatless eggs. I am standing there, looking at all this shit that's not meat, that is trying real hard to taste like meat. And I start to think, which is always sort of dangerous, why would a vegan, or vegetarian, or an ovro-vitavitavejasaurus who is disgusted by eating meat, want to try so hard to eat stuff that tastes like meat? I had this picture in my mind of some some vegan parent holding a half-eaten package of Oberto Beef Jerky, and telling the other vegan parent how they found this in their son's room. The other parent then yells back "I told you not to let him eat those damn Boca Burgers! All he's going to want to do is try real meat now!" I am not really sure how liberal vegan white people argue, this is simply my best guess, though. Well, that was just a random thought that went through my head.

Oh, yeah, someone did ask for the story of how my Croc melted. Like I said, it is short and not very interesting, but neither was my boca story; Well, here it goes. I had planned on working only a half day at the shop a couple of weeks ago, so I packed a change of clothes for myself. As most of ya'll know, it gets pretty warm in Texas in the summer time. So, I had my plastic grocery bag on the front seat of my car, with my change of clothes and my Crocs on top of everything. I work my half day (still about 6 hours) and get in my car to meet the Susi and the boys at my mom's house to go eat. I get there, take a shower, and get dressed. When I go to put my Croc's on one foot goes in just fine, the other foot seems to be a little swollen, though. Now, in the back of my mind, I'm not thinking that my shoe shrunk, I'm thinking "did I hurt myself and don't remember how it happened?"(this is a lot more common than you probably want to believe). I take off both my Croc's and hold them up next to each other. Fuck! How the fuck do injection molded shoes melt? How can it get so hot in my car that only the one on top melted? This one really pissed me off, especially since the fucktard dog ate my $85 Puma sneakers the week before.

We got some catchin' up to do....

Well loyal followers (err, follower), since it has been so long since I've posted, there are a few stories that need to be told. First, April was a bad month, Disney World, excuse me, The Magic Kingdom, was conquered, and The Susi almost died in Phoenix.

So, which should I start with? Hmmmmmm. Well, Let's start with the almost death of The Susi. No, too heavy on warm night like tonight, how about how Karma jumped up and bitch-slapped me again? Yeah, that seems like a better topic than the almost death of the Susi, but if I get enough requests, I will tell the story in the future. Where were we? Oh, yeah, Karma and the bitch slap.

So, this all begins innocently enough with our dog Zoe. When I say dog, I really mean Dog, she is a Great Dane-Boxer mix, and is pretty big, and still in her puppy phase of her life (read she likes to chew on shit). So, The Susi leaves out a very expensive pair of sandals, and poor sweet innocent Zoe takes a few nibbles out of one (this translates directly to "she royally confuculated an $85 sandal") But, being the kind sole (not very punny, I know) she is, she only chewed up one of them. So The Susi calls me at work saying, and I translate directly "That Goddamn blah blah blah blah chewed blah blah blah blah blah blah fuckin' blah blah blah blah blah listening?" So, of course I give the generic "uh-huh, yeah, sure honey.", and I hang up, not really having a clue what she was talking about. Well, when I get home, I see a chewed up shoe on the the floor, and realize that it's not mine (mainly because it's silver) and figure that Susi must be aware that her shoe is chewed up (I had, by this time, completely forgotten the shockingly profanity laced call from her earlier). I saw the other sandal, completely unscathed, parked next to the confuculated one, and figured, well, I can't give this to the Salvation Army because they only take shoes in pairs (another story available upon request), and I didn't think there was much of a market for 1 shoe, so, I let Zoe confuculate the other shoe. Well, The Susi, flipped the fuck out when she realized that I let the dog, excuse me, the Dog eat the other sandal. I tried my best to defend myself (mostly by saying "Hmmmmm", and "Well......", and the good old standby "I forgot."), but to no avail, The Susi was pissed. The main point of her argument was that now the Dog (didn't forget the capital D this time) would think that it is OK to chew on everyone's shoes. I told her, quite smugly that I didn't feel sorry for her because she left her shoe out, and I think I laughed at her at some point (yeah, I'm a dick). Well, a few weeks pass by, and I forget about the whole thing, but Miss Karma did not. I had been looking for a pair of shoes for the summer, and finally found a pair of Puma's that I really liked. (Do y'all see where this is going?) Yes, loyal follower, the Dog confuculated just one of my sneakers. The Susi just pointed at me and laughed. And laughed. And laughed some more. So, now I am left with just my dress crocs to wear this summer since 1 of my Puma's was eaten, and 1 of my regular crocs melted. (another story available upon request, and very short) Well, folks, that is the story of the Big Karma Bitch-Slap. By the way, I figured out what the moral of this story is; don't laugh at The Susi.

I'm back, sort of.

Wow! It has been a long time since I've posted.  I have been sans computer for about 8 months now, and I realized how much I actually hated them.  I did not miss it at all.  However, The Susi has been talking (writing?) on facebook for a few months now, and she convinced me to get a new one.  So, we purchased a mac last night.  Wow, this thing is easy to use, but I've been a PC guy for so long, I am still not sure what all the buttons do.  I did notice something about mac people, though.  What is wrong with them?  I am standing outside of Willow Bend Mall and people keep coming up to me and asking me about how long I've been a mac person, and when I switched from the "Dark Side".  Are you fucking kidding me?  It's just a computer!  Get over it, who cares!  You mac people are driving me ape shit!  But besides that, the last few months (read 3/4 of a year) have been pretty busy, we had Christmas, a trip to Disney World, and a dog.  As I get back into writing again, I'll fill ya'll in on a little bit about everything.  Brace yourself, here comes a Lucas story.  about a month ago, I took Lucas to his first baseball game.  The boy is a huge fan and he was super exited about going.  So, we get there, and Lucas gets his popcorns and his water, and begins watching the game intently.  The 40-something lady next to us begins talking to Lucas and he offers to share his popcorns with her.  she accepts, and he starts handing her popcorn one at a time.  The Frau turns to me and asks why I'm not eating any.  I look at her and answer that I'm not putting anything that boy hands me in my mouth.  She looks at me like I'm the worst dad ever, and continues to share Lucas's popcorns.  Around the 7th inning, I hear the lady say to Lucas, What's this?  I look over out of curiosity, and see her rolling what looks like a popcorn kernel between her thumb and index finger.  Lucas says in the loud proud playground voice that only a 2 year old has "It's a booger!" Needless to say, I got the you must be the worlds worst dad look, again; I didn't need to say I told you so, but when a parent says I wouldn't eat anything that boy hands me, it should be a warning.

A 33 year streak comes to an end

I took my family to the Alliance Air Show in Ft. Worth last Sunday. I must say that for my first air show, I was completely unimpressed. Actually, this may have been one of the biggest ass-whippings of my life. I would have been perfectly happy missing this one also, increasing my record of missed air shows to 33 straight years, but I knew how much my middle boy loves planes, so I relented, telling the Susi that we should go so I could see the Rocket Powered Semi Truck. We all load into the Suburban and make the one hour drive to the air show. On the plus side, I got to take my SUV off-road, but that was only because we had to park about two miles from the entrance to the airport. We all pile out of the Suburban and while we are walking, we are able to see an F-18 flying right over our heads. It was great to see and hear that plane, the first 40 times it passed over our heads. We eventually get into the show, and start to wander about. We look at a few planes, and I begin to realize how much cammo people are wearing. As we continue to wander about, I am amazed at the sheer volume of cammo; from little kids, to grizzled old men, everyone has it on. It's not like they are at a football game wearing their favorite team's jersey, there is only one team people. You are not going to be mistaken for a professional pilot because you're wearing a camoflauge wife beater and jorts. Additionally, please keep your knowledge of airplanes to yourself; the big round thing on top of an AWACS is not for landing helicoptors, if you tell your kid that, he is going to get his ass kicked. Oh yeah! back to ass whipping, how many times can a person possibly watch the same thing? I mean wow, that plane just did a loop de loop, and then it did a roll. Wow, the next plane just did a loop de loop and a roll. Wow, the third plane just did a loop de loop and a roll. Come on! Enough already! I guess I'll be 66 before I can treaten this record again.

Karma, and the Ancient Art of Egging

Well peoples, the evil brutess Karma reared her ugly head and stared me right in the eye the other day. My freshley painted house was egged by amatures, but I'll get to that later. Let's start with a small section of The Hondo's resume. When he was a young buck, he and his friends would celebrate anything by egging cars, and people, and houses, and street signs, etc. etc. etc. Well, in the course these adventures, The Hondo apparently built up a little bit of negative Karma. The Hondo was a master of egging, hitting moving cars, cop cars, 18 wheelers, hadicapped busses, dogs, people, and yes, even freshley painted houses; you name, I would throw an egg at it. Well, as this story began, my house was egged, and now that you have a small part of my resume, you can understand why I can state that this was an amateur job. Last Sunday, I was sitting in the living room, watching the Sunday Night Foootball Game. When there were two loud thumps from the front of the house. Well, being the kind and considerate husband I am, figured that my wife had dropped something or fallen. So, as I continued to lay on the couch, my Wife, heretofore referred to as The Susi, comes into the living room and asks "Did you hear that noise at the front door?" My immidiate thought was to lie and say no, figuring that I could keep my comfy position on the couch a little longer. But, I could tell by the look in her eye that she was far more concerned than I. I got up and headed to the door behind my wife. She opened the door to reveal egg sliding down its freshley painted surface. I looked and nodded to myself, thinking amateurish, door knob not hit. I stepped outside fully expecting to be pelted with an egg, but to no avail, the amateures had fled. I preceeded to take a full damage assessment of my property and was surprised to find in addition to the front door, my Suburban was only hit once. I went to the side of the house and got the hose, and as I washed of the Suburban and my front door, I took stock of the situation. There were a total of 4 eggs thrown. They were, in order; one landed about 6 feet behind my SUV, the second one hit the side of the Suburban, and the final two hit the top of my freshley painted front door. Now, here is a lesson in egging from an old pro. If you only have 4 eggs, and one house to egg; the first egg should be thrown at the windshield, prefferably on the drivers side. The second egg should hit the brickwork of the house so that it can dry and stink for a couple of days. The third egg should hit the front door right at the door knob, for obvious comical reasons, and the fourth and final egg should be aimed at the owner, who comes out to investigate. I give this brief lesson, not because I want to be hit with an egg, but Jesus folks, as my dear old Grand Pappy used to say "Chingow, if your gonna do it, you better do it right."

What am I doing?

Come on, you'll be cool if you do it.

Everybody else is doing it.

If you do it, I'll let you touch my boob.
(well, maybe not that one)

Anyway, like smoking and other assorted dumbness, I have finally been peer pressured into starting a blog. I use peer pressure in the singular sense, since I only have one friend. Well, the idea of this is, according to my wife, to have an outlet for the retarded stuff that runs through my head. Like most "tards" now that I have an outlet for my unbridaled verbal aggression, I really don't have anything to say.