June 5
Perhaps I am the only person left in the world amused by Turdmonster, but you know what? I just don't care.
The Fortune: "Your Family is One Of Nature's Masterpieces"
Me: Wow, this roast beef is SALTY. You should not eat it.
Gramma: It's salty? Why? It's supposed to be rare roast beef!
Me: It's neither rare, nor is it something you should eat. It would send you spiraling down the path to water retention, lung problems and....heart disease!!
Gramma: This IS salty!
Me: You weren't supposed to eat it!
Gramma: How would I ever know how salty it was if I didn't taste it? They obviously gave me the wrong thing.
Mom: (coming up from the basement) What's the matter?
Me: Salty, not rare roast beef.
Grampa: (coming up behind mom) What? What? WHAT??
Me: THE ROAST BEEF IS SALTY!!
Grampa: It SHOULDN'T BE, it's RARE!!
Me: It's NOT rare.
Gramma: They gave me the wrong kind.
Grampa: What you have to do is you have to go up there and say "Listen, I need RARE roast beef!!" You asked for the wrong thing.
Gramma: I DIDN'T ASK FOR THE WRONG THING!! I KNOW how to order rare roast beef.
Me: You asked for the wrong thing, don't try and cover up your mistake with lies.
Mom: You always do.
Gramma: I DO NOT!!
Grampa: Well, this tastes like Italian roast beef. Like the soaked it in brine or something.
Me: They soaked their roast beef in BRINE? What, they got a net bag and soaked it in the Long Island Sound?
Grampa: It's definitely Italian seasoned.
Me: When did Italian seasoning start tasting like brine?
Mom: I went all over Italy and never once noticed anything brine flavored.
Gramma: They gave me the wrong thing, that's all. It was a new package. She probably grabbed the wrong one.
Grampa: What you have to do is go up there and say "I WANT RARE ROAST BEEF!! AND SHOW IT TO ME BEFORE YOU SLICE IT!! IF IT'S NOT RARE ROAST BEEF, I DON'T WANT IT!!"
Me: "...or else, you bastards..."
Grampa: No, no. You don't call THEM bastards, it's not their fault.
Gramma: I'm the bastard, right?
Grampa: No, but you probably asked for the wrong thing.
Gramma: I didn't. Ask. For. The. Wrong. Thing.
Me: What difference does it make, you're eating it, aren't you?
Grampa: Yeah, but it's a disappointment.
Me: A DISAPPOINTMENT?? The wrong ROAST BEEF constitutes a disappointment?
Mom: "Dear Diary..."
Me: "...today, a tragedy! the wrong roast beef has left me feeling melancholy..."
Mom: "....why? why? WHY? I keep asking myself.."
Gramma: That's very nice..
Me: "...why has such a horrible thing happened to me? me??"
Gramma: okay, okay..
Mom: "what did I do wrong?? where did I stray from the path??"
Me: "I am awash in disappointment."
Grampa: It's pretty GOOD and all, but it's Italian style. You have to ask for RARE.
Mom: "Dear, dear diary..I am writing this down so that future generations will not have the same horrible thing happen to them..ask for the RARE roast beef!!"
Gramma: Funny.
Me: "wars would be prevented"
Grampa: Ask for rare. Ask to see it.
Me: uhh..she said she did.
Gramma: I DID.
Grampa: Well, it's still a disappointment.
yesterday | home | email | tomorrow
A crown of thorns
An image formed deformed
The mark I've borne
A mark of scorn to youConsume my love, devour my hate
Only powers my escape
The moon is out, the stars invite
I think I'll leave tonightSo soon I'll find myself alone
To relax and fade away
Do you know what's coming down
Do you know I couldn't stay free?