Dispatch From 4:34am
Hey, kids. It's way late at night (or way early in the morning, depending on your perspective), and I can't sleep.
The good news is that I'm working the West Coast shift tomorrow at work, which means I don't have to drag my ass out of bed until, at the latest, 10:45am. The bad news, however, is that.... well... I'd really like to be asleep and, as previously stated, I'm currently not.
Wide awake, me.
Let me just say that there is absolutely dick on TV right now, save for an episode of the original, from-Japan Iron Chef. That's pretty cool I guess, but the secret ingredient is broccoli and that gets a hearty "meh" from me. I like broccoli just fine, of course, but when I'm watching the Iron Chef, I like to see them use the weird, obscure ingredients that no one's ever heard of. Like, say, a fish that only lives in one pond that's in a remote village on the side of a mountain somewhere in Japan's back 40. That could just be a me thing, though.
Ew, gross; the challenger just busted out broccoli ice cream. So, in other words, it's an ice cream that tastes like farts. Blech.
Oh, that reminds me of a little story... it's another tale from the crunchy, organic bowels of Whole Foods, which is not cool because I hate to harp on the same thing all the time, but it's relevant so we can all just deal... anyway... There was this one dude named Ben that worked the salad bar when I was there. He was super-cool and was also easily the prettiest man I've ever personally known. He's one of those guys that make even professional Football Players and Green Berets think to themselves, "I'm not gay, but if I were...". Imagine Ashton Kutcher, but with brains and about twelve extra levels of "Dreamy" and you're pretty close.
And... wow... did I just come out?
Hm... must remember to look at Girlfriend's boobies when I'm done with this...
So, as I said, he worked the salad bar and part of his job was to bring these huge tubs of cooked vegetables up from the kitchen on rolling carts. One of his favorite things to do, and which, in my mind, was a malicious act of bio-terrorism, was to use the lid of the tub to fan the smells of the large tubs of vegetables towards the innocent, tender nostrils of anyone in his path. Naturally, broccoli was the biggest gun in his arsenal.
Have you ever had the stink of fifty pounds of broccoli wafted at you? It's like walking into a wind tunnel where a vegan skunk just took a dump and it'll make you want to attack your own nose with a pizza cutter. Or at least that was my reaction.
So, yes, there's that. What, you want quality at 5am?
The Iron Chef won, by the way, which just proves that if you make broccoli ice cream, then you're both figuratively and literally a loser.
The good news is that I'm working the West Coast shift tomorrow at work, which means I don't have to drag my ass out of bed until, at the latest, 10:45am. The bad news, however, is that.... well... I'd really like to be asleep and, as previously stated, I'm currently not.
Wide awake, me.
Let me just say that there is absolutely dick on TV right now, save for an episode of the original, from-Japan Iron Chef. That's pretty cool I guess, but the secret ingredient is broccoli and that gets a hearty "meh" from me. I like broccoli just fine, of course, but when I'm watching the Iron Chef, I like to see them use the weird, obscure ingredients that no one's ever heard of. Like, say, a fish that only lives in one pond that's in a remote village on the side of a mountain somewhere in Japan's back 40. That could just be a me thing, though.
Ew, gross; the challenger just busted out broccoli ice cream. So, in other words, it's an ice cream that tastes like farts. Blech.
Oh, that reminds me of a little story... it's another tale from the crunchy, organic bowels of Whole Foods, which is not cool because I hate to harp on the same thing all the time, but it's relevant so we can all just deal... anyway... There was this one dude named Ben that worked the salad bar when I was there. He was super-cool and was also easily the prettiest man I've ever personally known. He's one of those guys that make even professional Football Players and Green Berets think to themselves, "I'm not gay, but if I were...". Imagine Ashton Kutcher, but with brains and about twelve extra levels of "Dreamy" and you're pretty close.
And... wow... did I just come out?
Hm... must remember to look at Girlfriend's boobies when I'm done with this...
So, as I said, he worked the salad bar and part of his job was to bring these huge tubs of cooked vegetables up from the kitchen on rolling carts. One of his favorite things to do, and which, in my mind, was a malicious act of bio-terrorism, was to use the lid of the tub to fan the smells of the large tubs of vegetables towards the innocent, tender nostrils of anyone in his path. Naturally, broccoli was the biggest gun in his arsenal.
Have you ever had the stink of fifty pounds of broccoli wafted at you? It's like walking into a wind tunnel where a vegan skunk just took a dump and it'll make you want to attack your own nose with a pizza cutter. Or at least that was my reaction.
So, yes, there's that. What, you want quality at 5am?
The Iron Chef won, by the way, which just proves that if you make broccoli ice cream, then you're both figuratively and literally a loser.
posted by Clinton at 4:36 AM
6 Comments:
I totally couldn't sleep Sunday night into Monday morning. That's why I took a me day yesterday.
Hey, everybody needs a day to themselves. Welcome back from the land of no-sleep!
>It's like walking into a wind tunnel where a vegan >skunk just took a dump
I think my beau would use that sentence to describe a certain ladyfriend's dutch oven pranks.
My late-night TV (sans cable) has recently been ruined by this live poker game bullshit. So now, instead of multiple South Parks in a row, or some obscuro '70s movie, you have some bim ad-libbing to get lonely slobs to call a 900 number and waste their money.
Ha ha... ew!
Yeah, there's just nothing going on late-night. Girlfriend was couldn't sleep either and we ended up watching infomercials for two hours.
I now want a Rocket Griller, or whatever it was called.
A friend of mine told me Ambien totally rocks. It will either allow you to have 7 beautiful, sheep-counting, boobie-visualizing hours of sleep or you will end up sleepwalking and pan-frying everything in your bathroom. Both sound fun, depending on how many hours of the Pocket Rocket Griller infomercial you've watched.
Yeah, I've been meaning to try that Ambien stuff. Though something tells me that it wouldn't mix well with a large glass of whiskey, which is my usual sleep aide.
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