You can’t fight crime with a macaroni duck.

We need to breed a race of Super Possums, although Possums are pretty super already.

Whenever somebody uses my name I immediately feel like I’m in trouble, then when I realize I’m not, I feel like they are faking intimacy by continuing to say my name and are attempting to manipulate me.

I’m also that guy that will be completely clueless that you are in to them until you grab me by the junk. So, there’s that.

My Irish American grandma on my dad’s side had two recipes. 'Roast Butt ', some pale greasy meat that was boiled until it was falling apart, yet still resisted cutting and chewing once it cursed your plate: the left overs of this were tossed into a pot with a can of La Choy ‘Oriental Style Vegetables’ and a bottle of some sweet sauce and dubbed ‘Chop Suey’, which was probably from a recipe she got out of an ad in the back of a TV guide in the 60s.

The woman could boil a mean potato, though.

My Oklahoma dust bowl era meemaw never really cooked anything that didn’t come from a can, but she baked bread and ‘English Muffins’ from scratch that held up well when frozen.

The bread was really dry and tasteless unless you really slathered on condiments. The ‘muffins’ were flattened little lumps of dough that were as dense as a dying star, not a single nook or cranny in sight, with a chewy raw consistency not unlike chewing gum.

I actually liked those a lot, and was disappointed later in life when I had store bought English Muffins, which were more like a mutant crumpet than anything else.

My mom and sister have the recipes, but neither have attempted making them. I’m afraid to read them because they’ll probably just say:

One box Jiffy baking mix, water, salt. Bake until done.

He was in Hackers, too.

Do Swiss trains at least have mechanical twisting sockets to wind your watch?

Windows 3.11 or bust.

You can pry my Workgroups from my cold, dead, hands.

Fighting a category 3 wild fire is one of the rare times both Rabbit Punches and Full Nelsons are legally sanctioned.

Public Enemy had ‘911 Is A Joke’, it’s more about EMTs not rushing to ‘bad’ neighborhoods, though.

Is it sort of a, ‘Two alarm over on Martin Luther King Drive? We’ll finish dinner and mosey over…’ kind of thing?

I’m holding out for an Airedale sized earwig, chittering in my lap as I skritch it’s carapace.

If the kids don’t have their phone how will they broadcast the next school shooting to their followers or ask ChatGPT what the best hiding spot is nearby?

I was visiting my grandparents for a week and got sick. They had cable and I feel like Nickelodeon had a marathon of this because watching The Noozles is the only thing I remember from the trip.

It got pretty epic with the main character endlessly searching for her father in Koala-walla land.

That, and Mya (sic?) the Bee were my first exposure to anime, or at least things that were adapted from Japanese animation.

My ‘secret’ ingredient that makes pretty much any tvp or tofu pop is a drop of liquid smoke or smoked paprika.

Fangs for the travel tip!

Ramrod.

One Size Fits Beans

Code to ‘remove’ (86) the 47th of something.

: wanders over to stand next to the hole, beer in hand:

Ayup. Think in this county you need to file permission with the council for any hole over 30 cm deep.

: sips beer as an eldritch tentacle starts to crawl out of hole:

As an (US)American, I wake up every morning screaming into the Void.

Then the Void requests a subscription fee.

I’m not legally allowed to sleep until I’ve paid the Void, one way or another.