House of Wachs

HOT CURLER

Friday night I watched the entire women's Olympic curling final. Before you form the word "loser" on your tongue, consider:

This is the captain of the Canadian team, Cheryl Bernard. Low to the ground, mouth open. That's why I like the women's curling. In HD her arched eyebrows, blue eyes, and curling broom made her look like a really athletic, sexy witch.

That was Friday night.

Saturday was another Tea Party appearance to celebrate the one year mark of the thing. I spoke. It went well. The crowd was small, but these events are just there to let people know the flame is still burning, and the November and beyond reclaiming of a somewhat constitutional government is still Job 1. I just wish the speakers would exercise some self-government and get off the stage after 5 minutes. And make sure they have something vibrant to say.

I say this because I was scheduled 7th or something and the first guy out of the box read something like 20 pages of eloquent constitutional thought, which is nice but incredibly dull. The point here is to fire up ordinary citizens with inspirational and witty remarks on the current state of things. Not audition for the next CPAC.

I like Tommy J, and Benny Frank, and all those rednecks who founded our country, but when it's 52 degrees with a windchill of 41, and I'm yay close to doing the unthinkable and borrowing Herman from Dunwoody's New England Patriots pullover as if he's the captain of the football team I'm dating, I'd like not to have to hear another exhaustive study of the Federalist Papers.

Congressman Tom Price got up there, knocked them out with a few pithy, yet rousing, remarks, and called it a day after 2 minutes. Looking forward to the next one, but please, let's remember why we're doing this. Hearts and minds aren't won without editing and wit. 

 

I was so cold that I sought refuge in the Grady Hospital McDonald's which is a little like going to a prison meal or, at least, the snack bar at the DMV...if they had one. I'm happy to say I wasn't assaulted or killed, and the fine employees there wear double gloves on their hands. My only complaint is that the bathroom smelled of homelessness despite the fact that an employee had to buzz you into it from behind the counter. Guess what? That system is not keeping the bum smell out of your bathrooms. Seems to me the lock is keeping the cleaners out, too.

Too much fast food this weekend although Subway isn't really junk and this time it was slow food. I had the misfortune of being behind an entire Indian family with Dad, Mom, Grandmom, 3 kids, and the pet cow...j/k on the cow....might as well though.

The last time my wife thought I was an overbearing control freak, I flew her to India to hang out with some Indian men. This guy...like how I wrote that in an Indian accent? "This guy."...must have grounded his children for a week 4 times for some small transgression in the Subway line like picking white instead of the healthier whole wheat bread, or, Shiva forbid, even looking at the roast beef.

So that took forever just to get their sandwiches off the starting block and then, down the line, the mother...or maybe it was the grandmother. It's hard to tell with that freakin' babushka on her head...runs into trouble with the toppings. Overheard conversation:

SUBWAY SANDWICH ARTISTE: Mademoiselle, What veggies would you like?

INDIAN WOMAN: I'd like some baby spinach on my sandwich.

SSA: Uh...we don't have none o that. Just what's up here on this sign.

(taps the dirty plexiglas with the gloved hand, rendering glove microbially moot)

Now the overbearing Indian dad, having kept the kids in line, goes over to see what her problem is.

OVERBEARING SMALL-PENISED INDIAN DAD: Did you ask for the baby spinach?

INDIAN WOMAN: He is telling me they don't have the baby spinach.

OSPID: OK, then we take the regular spinach.

SUBWAY ARTISTE: Sir, we don't have no spinach.

Then he motions over the franchisee at the register who speaks the culture and explains in Indianese that they don't have any damn spinach and where in Shiva's name does he get that idea? Just a guess. 

That all cleared up, I get to the register and the owner says, "Combo?" with a certain amount of glee. They looove selling those combos. Good profit margins, and it's one of the few words that make them feel like they fit in. COMBO!

"Combo," I reply. Before I go Rambo on this place.

"Combo!" he shouts in that "welcome to Moe's!" style voice, like I won the jackpot. I felt I did, getting out of there with a meal that at one point didn't look possible.

It was tasty, for the record.

Peteetong!

In Honor of JD Salinger

Don't get me wrong. I hated Catcher in the Rye. Although the gay porno it inspired, "Catcher With the Brown Eye," got good reviews.

"Wicked miserable prick, that Sahhhlinger," say some New Hampshire locals in their native brogue. I agree hardscrabble, independent-minded, New Hampshirers who talk like 7-year olds. I for one couldn't care less if he left his house ever. Just died at 91? Hmph! He's been dead to us for decades. If a man can't be cordial to other folks, then fuck him and his whole goddamned family!

But since I haven't posted in...what is this? 2010?...almost two years because I'm a subpar multitasker, I thought the Salinger death was a welcome excuse to say hey. So..hey!

It's weird doing this now when I'm gainfully employed since The House of Wachs began as an unemployment era free market work program. It makes me feel like I'm poking a stick in the many eyes of fate, but since this is year last of our current Regular Guys 3.0 Radio Super Star contract, and given the state of employment around the USA, I guess it might be a good idea to post from time to time to prepare for the worst, yet hope for the best, as those rowdy Tea Partiers would say.

Speaking of that, I do have some content here on this otherwise self-absorbed, but in an iconic way, post. I have been asked to speak at the Tea Party rallies 2/27, 4/15, and another big DC one on 9/12/10. So that's nice. History will likely see me as one of the great fathers of the 2nd American Revolution, or a guy who got audited a lot in the early 21st century. Come on out and be able to say "at least I tried" when the Feds haul you off to the re-ed camps. Bring a picnic and some clever Anti-Obama signs and you'll be hooked. You've only your life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness to lose.

Buy the movie I'm in here, please.

Valentine's Day tip:

BUY THESE CANDY BARS!

Mind-blowingly good.

I ordered some last week for Valentine's, but I broke into em tonight because Saturday night is chocolate night at the home. Living as the only male in the household for 20 years will do that to a fella. So then I ordered another box to present on VD, but forgot it won't come in time, so I ordered ANOTHER with expensive shipping so that I wouldn't look like an asshole for eating all the candy. God, I'm gonna get tits if I'm not careful.

The Bourbon Ganache bar is the one I had. Don't know about the rest, but it seems these people know what they are doing with chocolate.

That's all for now.

CHRISTMAS LATKES

Mmmmmm! Organic ice cream sandwiches for dessert tonight. Right off the tree. Thank you, God.

I think the word organic, as a marketing phrase, has officially jumped the cruelty-free mako shark fillets in a lime-basil butter.

It even fooled me into believing it was healthier when they just kept it to meats and produce.

"These tomatoes are organic! Grown in a sun-kissed valley from the rich and loamy soil, pulled gently from the vine and on your table that evening. It''l make your hair grow back, lower your heart beat, and make your pecker, ZING!! Ha ha!

Not like those tomatoes over there, the wretches. Grown between the cracks of gritty urban sidewalks, surrounded by chalk outlines, and noise pollution. Then cut down by a machine...a machine!...which takes them when they're still GREEN!

And they go to a factory, where they're spraypainted red, and turn your guts into cancer. GET THEM OUT OF MY FRICKIN SIGHT!"

There's no difference except price, the cost of vanity raising the price of the organic stuff. Oh, and the organic stuff has somebody's poo on it, usually.

But then the marketers got greedy. Now, every product has an organic cousin and it's become meaningless because there is no health benefit to wearing organic shoes, or wearing organic deodorant. That can't possibly work. Body odor is as organic as it gets, and a product that tamps it down is the definition of unnatural. The circle of absurdity is complete.

Ya gotta admire Kosher. It's kept it's integrity through the lo-cal, lite, natural, oat bran, fat free, lo carb, and clear crazes.

No ham means NO! DAMN! HAM!

NO! NEVER!

ROCK HARD'S RICEY NUTS

Lemme tell ya sumpin' about ole Wachs.

He may be a disappointment in radio and personal hygiene, but when it comes to recommending quality products for his readers, few can beat him.

Many people ask me, "Say, where can I get healthy breakfast products?"

They know that breakfast is a mecca for junk food. It's hard to find stuff that won't give you instant onset diabetes.

That's why I recommend my cereal of the year.....

PERKY'S NUTTY RICE!

This is top echelon cereal, you people.

The name...

Sounds like their talkin' about some tig ole bitties right there, yep.

The taste...

Perky and nutty.

The crunch...

Just as you think you might bust a tooth, each nugget of Perky's Nutty Rice gives up the ghost like the treadmill for the cast of "The Biggest Loser."

Crunch is so important to me in food. I try to avoid foods that don't snap to.

Crunchless foods tend to clog up the urgent business of the bloodstream.

I found Perky's Nutty Rice at Whole Foods (Geez, ya think? I was fooled by the Amish hillside and the gluten/nut allergen discussion on the box)

This is not one of those paid shill blogs...but it can be.

SOUTHERN COMFORTABLE

The hell with holiday travel. I haven't left my house in 3 days. That's what Thanksgiving is all about. A chance to be openly depressed. The only reason I've showered is to get in some slap and tickle.

This is my first Thanksgiving in my own home in a decade. That's it. No more Thanksgiving travel for me for the next 5 years. If people in my life really like me, they'll show up.

My parents were the only ones who came this year. Not attending my Thanksgiving feast was the first thing my brother and his ex-wife have agreed upon since 2001, if I could brightside it.

My sister went to Jamaica for her father-in-law's wedding, which is OK, unless you consider it part of a continuing pattern of excuses, dating back to the days when I would lure her into the bathroom after I took a huge dump and locked her in with the odor, as to why she can't travel to Georgia more than once a decade. Maybe not a lot of flights here from NY.

Well, more food and fun for me.

Here's our premium quality, tightly cooped, genetically modified, assembly line slaughtered, frozen turkey.

Here's our turkey frying rig out back on the lush green barely legal lawn.

Old Man Pickle Nose prepares a post-breakfast snack. He's a good cook. His secret is aging. He treats every meal as if it could be his last.

We engage in sports.

Happy hour! Fresh guac and chips. I missed out because I was busy

Back to involvement in sports, and the film industry.

The two turkeys! HA! Brown and crispy, the way they serve it in heaven

Crispy potatoes. Don't they look good? Yeah, well, they were.

Crispy asparagus. I actually enjoy the smell my urine gives off after eating these.

Crispy cornbread stuffing. Tastes like manna, photographs like hell.

From scratch pecan/choco pie with a crispy crust and homemade caramel sauce spooged on it. One bite of this delight can supply the caloric needs of 10 children in Darfur for a month. It sure takes the pressure off the job search when you have this pie in the house.

Home made cranberry sauce with crispy bits of caramelized fruit. Oooh, doesn't that look tart and sweet? Yeah, you bet it does. It tastes like an orgasm. This is my contribution. I made it 3 days ago in the slow cooker. My secret is vanilla extract, brown sugar, and a special raisin wine from Spain. That's all I'm saying because I'm thinking of going national with this one day with a franchise chain of cranberry-centric eateries.

Cranny's. We'll even have a play area for kids with a giant cranberry bog they can swim around in after eating their cran-burgers and cran fries, and wash it down with some cranberry soda. We'll have cuddly characters like McDonald's has. Urethra the Clown will play up the cranberry's role in promoting urinary tract health.

Let the feast begin with a crispy turkey wing. The skin is like eating bacon. Turkey that tastes like bacon. Score! It's a club sandwich without those other non-essential ingredients. Fuck off toast, lettuce, cheese, and tomato.

Time for more athletics. Even OMPN is surprised at the ease with which the Falcons take it up the ass repeatedly.

Tea...because it gives the illusion of health.

Good night.

FLUCKED

Tonight's snacktime cereal is Special K Chocolatey Delight.

This cereal makes me sad. Special K is a dignified cereal for older people who think they are taking nutrition and care of the self seriously. Special K is garbage that carries itself like health food. It's an Afterschool Special behaving like 60 Minutes. 

While it's true that, all else being equal, the hardcore Special K eater will outlive the loyal Lucky Charms eater by 27%, it's neither a hurtful or helpful cereal. It has a nutty, crunchy taste that people of all ages can enjoy while they slopped some emergency calories. It's called Special K, and it was special. Not in the special way we condescend to our handicapped people, but in the special, quiet conservatism that surrounds a cereal represented not by a cartoon mouse on the box, but a bowl of it, pure and simple.

Now Special K has added chocolatey pieces and flake sweeteners. Special K is acting like the senior doing the Electric Slide on the cruise ship.

The taste is excruciatingly mediocre. What do you expect? Chocolatey pieces do not belong in cereal. Period. The secret to good chocolate is it's meltability. The better the melt, the better the flavor. There's no melting here, kids. Not in cold milk.

It's like eating pieces of a BIC pen cut up and dipped in chocolate. A mistake of monumental proportions from the R&D people at Kellogg. These chocolate bits have no shot of melting even in the milk of Satan, and the tip off is that they're called "chocolatey" pieces. Not chocolate. Chocolatey. Kinda like chocolate, but not exactly. This is minstrel chocolate. Mockolate is mocking this chocolate. Some people call that fake.

Fake chocolate is usually made from some petroleum byproduct that NASA discovered and fed to the astronauts to see if they could cap diarrhea while in space, and has a melting point far beyond the typical breakfast cereal environment. Chewing on the chocolate pieces has all the satisfaction of eating wax lips.

Special K. It is for you I weep...but not just yet, because Britney has lost custody of her kids. She was bobbling them and couldn't get her feet in bounds. Possession: Federline, on downers.

I have wet myself in disbelief. And Britney getting the news just after she'd taken the two darlings on a trip to the wild dingo store! That so crazy.

Reaction from Britney was muted. "That how my baby flow."

Meanwhile Federline was ebullient: "NATIONWAAHHHD IS OOOONNN MAH SAAAHHHD...yeeeeuh!

Superior Court Judge Scott M. Gordon ruled that ex-husband Kevin Federline will take custody of Sean 2, and Jayden 1, beginning Wednesday "until further order of the court." The order stemmed from an unspecified oral motion made by Federline's attorneys and was handled in a closed-door hearing.

Apparently these Federline attorneys won the case by pantomiming blow jobs whenever Britney's attorneys spoke. Hell of a strategy planting the slut seed in the judge's mind.

It's sad all the way around. Little Sean Papazao and Jayden Bootay won't be able to roll around unharnessed in the back of the Escalade anymore. Britney will have a tough time getting HD reception since the kids won't be available to wrap in foil and tie to the antenna. Perhaps they'll meet again when Britney is caught sleeping with the boys' high school buddies.

We can take comfort in the fact that since they have hit their heads so many times on Sakrete bags and 50 gallon drums that there's a chance they'll never come to understand the sudden twist of fate and luck (fluck) that has swept their way, although even the pinkest brain would be hard-pressed to detect a coke line's difference between the two ghetto-ized suburbanite parents.

I say give them to Britney so she can finish off their miserable futures. Young males who will never grow with a mother's love and raised by a white rapper; one need not be an actuary to calculate the life span and it's quality for these tots. These are the children of the Clinton generation, and we must cleanse them from our society.

The Spears saga underlines how all too easy it is for ill-equipped people to breed. People who have no skills at all can do it legally. People who can't operate a paper clip can do it. People who don't know what nostrils are can do it. We need to clarify some legislation on the matter. If it were this easy to bleed to death, don't you think laws would be passed?

As the great shemale prophet, Crocker, once pleaded....

Thus spake Crocker, and it has come to pass.

THE STORY OF OH!

You're looking at a picture of one of my top 3 all-time cereals, Ohs!

Ohs! are an onomatopoetic cereal. I find my self saying "Oh!" everytime I delightedly crunch into a handful. And, as the box claims, they are always a great value at half the price of other extended adolescent cereals on the market.

I'm just a little annoyed by the spelling on the box. Is that an exclamation mark doing double duty as an apostrophe to save space, or an apostrophe trying to pull off an exclamation? It doesn't matter. THERE IS NO APOSTROPHE IN OHS! Dammit.

It's not a possessive. The cereal wasn't invented by Sadaharu Oh or resemble little sculptures of actress Sandra Oh, and the box doesn't belong to the cereal inside in which case it would be spelled OHs' anyway.

It's not a contraction of "Oh is" cereal which would be too conceptual for most sweetened cereal buyers, or "Oh was" cereal which would be gross as it suggests a food product that had been pre-digested by paramecium and maggots. No, it's simply the plural of Oh. One piece of that graham and honey cereal with the oat bits in the middle has been trademarked as an Oh! by the Quaker Oats people, and many of them are called Ohs!.

Oh! By the way, they make computers now that can fit all the graphics properly onto any cereal box.

IT AIN'T MY DAMN CEREAL....

CRUNCH ADDICT

Shit! Help! Damn..what the..oy!_{....fffffffffffffffff...}

I hope my dentist is reading this early in the morning. If you are, call me as soon as you can. I just broke off my temporary fake teeth again due to cereal eating.

This will be my third reglueing since getting them on Thursday.

The first was two hours after getting them on. The next was Monday the 20th, and now this. I hope he's not mad. I'm in a tough spot. I can't help it. I'm addicted to crispy and crunchy foods and it's hard to go cold turkey hold the fresh baguette. I also have business dinner plans Wednesday, and I cannot go in there looking like Nosferatu. Besides, air makes my stumps hurt.

I know that's a lot pressure on you, but you are the professional here and I'm the amateur. I'm not prepared for this pressure. Had I been screened for my addiction and then told of the burden placed on it by this dental project, I would have trained myself better by eating more soft foods in the weeks leading up to the big day.

Listen, I know it's all my fault and I'll try to exert a little more self-control for the remaining two weeks until the permanents. I'm a fast adapter, and I'm determined to reach my goal of at least two days without a re-glueing. Do you think I like holding my teeth in with one hand while drinking water with the other? It's not refreshing, I assure you.

Just understand this crunchy-crispy addiction is harder to stop than alcoholism. Food is not nearly as satisfying when it's not bitten into and chewed properly and the skull can't feel the sensual vibrations of crushing victory over it's prey. Dinner tonight was plenty and good, but I'm still kind of hungry because I didn't chew on much of it. I feel like a boy who came late to the party, scrounging the last coagulated swedish meatballs and crumbled chips.

How about you just book me everyday for the next two weeks at lunchtime for a quick re-glueing and I'll buy lunch for everyone who works on my mouth? If I don't need it, I won't come in, but I'll still pay for the lunch.

I'm gonna try to get some rest. See ya tomorrow? Call me. Please?

xoxoxox

Nosferatu.

GUT INSTINCTS

I went to Quizno's and the line, already slowed by the language barrier and the sandwich maker trainee on the job, slowed even further by a request from the conscious consumer in front of me inquiring if the political refugee behind the counter might have any fat free cheese available?

Fat free cheese. On a sub piled high with smoked meats and secret sauces on a honey wheat roll, in a place where chips are a side dish and a juicy, meaty prime rib sandwich with au jus, onions, and cheese is a top seller.

Where do people get the idea that Quizno's is a healthy food place?

Just because something is assembled and toasted before your eyes doesn't mean it's better for you. It's just more recently assembled, that's all. What nutritional value that has is not known by man.

I'll bet if McDonalds started to let people see them fry the burgers to order, many people would come to believe that McDs is a healthier place to eat despite not changing the caloric content one tasty iota.

I know some people who are pissed that McDonalds doesn't allow them to buy rare burgers. Isn't there enough for your antibodies to do as it is? Is it even possible for matheticians to calculate the amount of time a McDonald's burger could be on a griddle and still wind up rare?

Subway is not a health food store, either. Let me explode that myth. Just because that fat-ass Jared says it helped him lose weight, don't be fooled. What Jared doesn't tell you is that he could have eaten just two pieces of Popeye's chicken every meal for a year and lost weight he was so heavy. Subway has some lean items, but it's not medicinal.

Let's review. Quizno's. Not a health food store. Fast food. Not a health food store. It's fast. It's fun. It's comforting. But it's not a healthy lifestyle. Stop asking for fat-free cheese, you. It slows the line down and makes you look foolish. Go home. I'm trying to buy my family a snack.

Then my mother called to complain about my father.

"Your father almost burned down the kitchen today."

I'm sure.

"OK, I give up. Why?"

"He was making chicken wings."

I have to give my mom credit on this one. Their kitchen at the beach is tiny, and why the hell does he have to MAKE chicken wings there instead of going out and buying some from one of the 80,000 junk food merchants that line the beachfront highway covering 3 states, as any sane person would do?

It would be inaccurate to say that niether of them misses a meal. While it's true, it's more accurate to say that none of their waking minutes misses a meal. They're like a test couple for some misbegotten Ronco product that never saw a store shelf. Meal-A-Minute! The amazing new funnel that helps you eat every minute of the day!

Then George Stein called because my wife got a speeding ticket and it turns out that this is a death penalty case--Clayton County. They're cracking' the whip down there and I can't say I blame 'em---so we need his help. But I was on the bowl, so I called him back.

"Who takes a crap at 6pm?"

"I just did."

"I read an article in Prevention Magazine that says the best time to go is in the morning."

"What is that supposed to prevent?"

"I don't know. It said it's just a better time."

Well, my apologies to the poop schedulers at Prevention Magazine for being such a maverick, but I go when my belly tells me, morning, noon, or night. Here's an article idea for you. It prevents me from crapping my pants, and that's all the prevention I need.

GFC

I ordered French Toast today at the breakfast shop.

"Ooh, that sounds good," said the waitress.  She makes it sound as though I invented French Toast on the spot. Well, is it good? I don't work here. Is this a real waitress or an imposter who tied up the real waitress in the back and is stealing all her tips?

For the record, it was good. Very good. But I forget the name of the place except that it had a Jewish name. Oh, big deal. Like you can't get comparable French Toast anywhere else.

I have another recipe for y'all. So many people enjoyed my burger recipe last May, even after being offended by it. It is amazing to me, too, that people can be offended by a burger recipe, yet they were. I think it was the "my way or the highway" approach to cuisine that I like to take with my recipes.

This recipe, as with the hamburger, is as flavorful as it is audacious. It's a simple fried chicken recipe, but you southerners and negroes aren't going to be happy about it. The key ingredient is Greek yogurt. Crazy delicious.

"SUMBITCH! thathardagumjewbawsumbitchgawnduntellmegoanmakemuh chikininthatthuryogurt? Sheeyit. Hail naw!"

See? Already the stubborness. Fine. Eat thighs dipped in Shake 'N Bake. Hate yourself.

HOUSE OF WACHS GREEK-FRIED CHICKEN

-chicken (duh)

-Greek-style yogurt with 23% milkfat

-flour

-3 tablespoons of garlic salt

-2 tablespoons of coarse ground pepper

-1 teaspoon cayenne pepper

-lard

1. Rinse chicken and pat dry.

2. Coat chicken with yogurt.

3. Put in refrigerator and run errands or look at web videos for 12 hours.

4. Season chicken with garlic salt and the peppers.

5. Coat chicken with flour.

6. Heat lard on medium low heat. When it melts, it should come up 1/4 way up the pan.

7. Fry chicken in melted hot lard for 6 minutes a side for boneless chicken. 11 minutes for bony chicken.

8. Eat.

9. Apologize to me for being thick-headed.

This is the best yogurt to use.

Could anything be creamier than a Greek Yogurt called Fage?

Whoa, hold on! Calm down, juveniles.

Well, listen. I'm pronouncing it "Fag-e" anyway. If this company really cared about the feelings of fags, they would have changed the name of the product.

I think it's disingenuous to print the tiny plausible deniability pronunciation on one side of the container, while getting full benefit of the hilarious and titillating name of the product on the other side of the container.

ETHNIC SPENDING

After receiving a call from Blockbuster threatening corporal punishment if they didn't receive the videos we had out for a week,  I jumped into my Wachs Utility Vehicle, the vehicle that does what I tell it, to drop the videos off and spare my family's knees years of agonizing rehab.

The grand opening of the new Super H Mart was in full broom down the way, so I stopped over there after appeasing my video overlords and trying on some hilarious party ears that were on sale.

I don't know why they call it that. Super H Mart. Was that because K-Mart was already taken? Why the "H" then? Does the word "Korea" in Korean start with an "H?" Wait, let me look it up. On the internet, there is no need to look feeble-minded.

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

Han Ah Reum (Korean: 한아름, Hanja: 韓亞龍)—which also markets itself as H Mart and Super H Mart—is a Korean supermarket chain with several locations in the

United States and Canada.

From the Washington Post

..the name Han Ah Reum (HAR), translated from Korean as "bountiful..."

And a bounty indeed. A bounty of perfume, Hello Kitty merch (I couldn't resist the backpack), jewelry, oh, and food.

The place is set up more like a grocery store with a flea market squeezed in the perimeter. They have more space for Korean DVDs than refrigerated, prepared, heat and eat foods. Oh, you can get some of that Acorn Pudding with some fried Kimchi, and a side of Sea Cucumber Porridge, but it really gets old after a few days of it and one craves variety. Sweet Buddha! Would it hurt them to stock some fresh Abalone Tofu Casseroles once in a while?

They did have a food court with a Chinese place, a Korean place, and a Japanese booth with traditional dishes and scary writing that are cooked to order for eat in or take out, so the Koreans are fitting in nicely into the American way of life by making the women work and ignoring their kids and all that, and then rushing around to get everyone fed.

The produce was of very nice quality and variety, certainly better than the local Publix, which has gone downhill deeply recently, and has not been able to rise to the competition at the Whole Foods across the street. It was cheap, too. One of them quart boxes of strawberries was a buck, fresh broccoli could be had for 58 cents/lb, and the more exotic stuff to these parts was only slightly more money than that of Dekalb Farmer's Market by which Super H seems to be influenced.

And tell me. Where else are you gonna get a steady, fresh supply of Crunky Bars?

I wouldn't go there for rib steaks or NY strips, but there was plenty to like in the meat department such as thin-sliced fresh and fresh frozen rib eye steak like they use for authentic Philly Cheesesteaks. It's hard to find this meat in this condition and quality at a Kroger or Publix, unless you are tasteless and don't care and choose to go with those putrid chopped and formed Steak-Ummmms (should be called Steak-Uhhhhggggs if you axe me).

I went with the fresh frozen because it was almost $10/lb. cheaper than the non-frozen rib eye, and what I'll do with that is go ahead and buy some frozen Tandoori Naan bread down at Trader Joe's. Toss that in the oven at 400 degrees for 5 minutes. Cook up the ribeye with some garlic salt and pepper plus some onions and green pepper for a few minutes in some hot olive oil, and dump the whole thing on the Naan bread now lined with a couple slices of provolone. I call it The Dehli Cheesesteak. "Pardon me, Adrian!"

But what I really come to Super H Mart for are the misspellings.

Well, that is the way "asian" is pronounced in the South.

How does that Earth, Wind, and Fire song go again?

Do you remember,

my 21st time with a cucember

This is parsley actually grown at a Catholic Franciscan high school in Baltimore.

Maybe Andruw Jones should shop here.

Peteetong!

THE DAY AFTER THE DAY THE MUSIC DIED

It saddens me that it has come to pass that David Chase's post-Sopranos explanation of the last show is a top story on Drudge.

Millions of Mexicans pouring over our border with money nets in hand pales in comparison to the millions of domestic illiterates clamoring to be spoon fed the meaning of every piece of culture they cram into their brains. Might as well let Pedro and his brood in for good.

My god. The very idea that a TV show producer has to flee to France to avoid his upset followers because he failed to pack a knapsack full of closure for 15 million thumbsuckers and their individual views on how his TV show should have ended, just really sticks in my gullet.

As I pointed out yesterday, The Sopranos didn't end ambiguously.

OK, enough. I don't want to start down the path of being the self-anointed expert on all things Soprano. I've got a whole other non-career to deal with that doesn't pay, either. I'm just saying, is all. We need to start thinking about deporting more than Mexicans. I'm sad knowing I will die before ever hearing someone say, "That movie was great. Can't wait to read the book."

Just because I read books doesn't mean I'm superior to people who don't, although I am, to be objective about it. I have my weaknesses, too. Fajitas make me panic.

They come to the table spitting mad and sizzlingly pissed, and the waitress scurries to the table, all hazmatted to the shoulders with her professional grade oven mitts, because the restaurant industry hasn't found the technology to make the handle out of wood, and an armed escort from the Chili's Police Department. And it's scary for me, especially since I often doze off between ordering and eating, face down next to a formerly frosty beer stein.

The fajita parade ends slumber and I'm groggy and it looks like someone is attacking me with a plate full of angry vipers. I panic for a second. Then it's a mad scramble to clear space on the table to give the fajitas the wide berth they need. Like mom's coming up the stairs while you're masturbating. I really think fajita eaters should get their own table. Once you've ordered fajitas, you're escorted to a private fajita room, the size of a walk in closet, with a table, some towels, a guard, and maybe a stripper pole, and you are brought your chow in there.

And by "fajita eaters," I mean people of all colors who literally enjoy eating the dish known as the fajita, and not a racist slur against a people of a certain country. Hey, gotta spoon-feed it. Look at what happened to the last guy who went out ambiguous. I don't have the cash to flee to France.

..Yet.

I've been hatching a great money-making scheme just in time for Father's Day. I'm sending Father's Day cards to wealthy elderly men with bad, at risk, troubled, foolish sons, hoping they'll be touched enough by my thoughtfulness to consider my request for their hand in holy patrimony and sticking my name in the will. All it takes is one. Real Dad, don't be jealous. We'll cut a side deal where I come back after my adopted father's death.

I recently sent a card that says "Be My Sugar Daddy This Father's Day," to Tim Conway, Sr. the father of my good pal for a number years, Tim, Jr. I've always enjoyed Tim Jr's carefree and easygoing manner that obviously stems from knowing that he has a rich dad who cares about him very much. Here's his dad running over his granddaughter with a remote control car.

See? Nothing gets in the way of their relationship. Not even a 3 year old.  I want to be a part of that scene.

I even sent him a little gift for good measure; a sweet TV/VCR combo unit with a copy of "The Best of McHale's Navy" put in the VCR. What's not to love?

Anyone know Rick Hilton's address? Michael Lohan? Shabba Ranks? I'm sure he has some lethal offspring.

AT LEAST THEY DIDN'T MAKE ETHNIC REMARKS

No time off when you are the Hoff. I'm not certain why this video of David Hasselhoff drunk is so shocking. I mean, it is shocking. Don't get me wrong. It's not often you see grown men drunk. I just don't know why it's shocking. I guess because his daughter is filming it and then releasing it to the media. Was she at a meeting at a publicist's office where Team Hoff assigned the roles?

"Honey, daddy is going to get drunk on April 17th. We need you to film it."

"Doesn't work for me. I've got a therapy session and horses, then I have to study for an exam. How about May 2nd?""

Because of my honest and positive relationship with my children, who were concerned for my well-being, there was a tape made when I had a relapse to show me what I was like. I have seen the tape. I have learned from it, and I am back on my game. I hope that someone else will learn from the tape, as I have.

So he got drunk to help himself see what he looks like when he's drunk. And to help others. OK. So I guess it was imperative to put it on the air. It's good for a child to see herself pleading with her shitfaced father on national TV to stop drinking.

Whatever happened to shame? If this his sober reasoning, he ought to stick to drinking. I don't think it's a problem. He's sitting on the floor, eating a burger, and not vomiting. Who's hurt? Maybe he learned something from the last video of him drunk made by the police.

Here's Bruce Willis drunk at the Nets game.What a contrast.

Bruce Willis gets drunk and asks out 15 year old boys on dates, drives them home in that intoxicated state, and gives a "whoopie kayay motherfucker" on national TV where children can be viewing, but Hasselhoff bobbing on the bedroom floor tussling with a hamburger is the tragic one. 

APRIL FRESHNESS

Happy Easter! It's almost done, but, ya know what? I'm gonna extend the festivities into Monday because I feel like it, and I can. My ancestors started this holiday by being accused of killing Christ, so if I want to extend it one more day, I can. I like Easter because it lets all the Jews off the hook. Several thousand years later the Christian religion is still thriving.  Jesus was resurrected, so it turned out good. We can all look back at that crucifixion and laugh now. What was everybody getting so worked up about?

I enjoyed a nice round of Easter golf with my specially painted Easter Balls. Have a look.

If you'd like one, take a walk in the woods at Eagle Watch in Towne Lake when you get a chance. They're all there.

That camera phone takes a whale of a flattering shot. If it weren't for this sudden global warming skein we've been having here in the south, I'd look more golfy, I assure you.

I enjoyed watching the Masters this year mainly because no one looked happy most of the time. It made the pros look more like me. I particularly enjoyed watching Tiger break his 5 iron against a tree, something that I enjoy doing and do well myself. I'm trying to raise my game a bit and I'm working on uprooting a bush with my driver. It's not as easy as it sounds, given the complex root system.

Another update on finding Kosher for Passover Coke: In response to my postings of last week, I received calls and messages from several mid-level Coke and Publix people who had gone to the trouble of obtaining the precious beverage.

Here I am, enjoying a 2-liter bottle of it at my home this evening.

As I suspected, it has the crisper, bubblier flavor of yesteryear, instead of the flatter, vegetable noted flavors of today's HFCS Coke. But boy am I cramping from 2 liters of gas-filled sugar water. Haven't done that since I was 23.

If Coke was smart they would bring back Coke with sugar as a niche brand since demand is so high. They could call it Nu Nu Coke, for the hip and semi-literate text messaging crowd, and do commercials with John Sununu. Or Coke 3, Coke Shoulda, Ye Olde Coke, Coke Before It Got Screwed Up, Coke This Is The Flavor of the Government Not Subsidizing Domestic Sugar Growers.

Enough about soda already. The vernal holidays of rebirth and redemption have passed and it's time to get on with the new year already and get down to business. In case you are interested in listening to radio on the internet at night, catch the stream all next week (4/16-4/20, dude), Monday-Friday from 9pm-midmight, as the House of Wachs returns to NY and 92.3 FREE FM. Watch your mouth, Imus! I think I'm being groomed.

UNLEAVENED SODA UPDATE

Hey Wachs:

There is a bottler out of Texas that still makes Dr. Pepper with cane sugar instead of HFCS. It’s in Dublin, Texas. I’m leaving Austin Wed with an RV full of them heading back to Atlanta on Friday night. Happy to bring you some.

-kb

Hey Larry,

Every year, as I fill my shopping cart with dozens of yellow-capped two-liter bottles, I think of all the thirsty Jews, gathered around their passover trees, forced to drink bland, old-timey beverages by my maniacal hoarding...and I feel a twinge of guilt. I hope that revealing this location to you will somehow settle my karmic debt. Pay a visit to the Toco Hills Kroger and you will find what you seek. Supplies are limited.

By the way, if you don't like interacting with moderately retarded bag boys and surly, old cart-retrievers, then you may want to make your purchase by proxy.

Enjoy,

Scott T.

I called Publix corporate office back to inquire about the yellow-capped Cokes and where they could be found in my area to no avail. I might as well have been speaking in tongues.

"Where can I find Kosher for Passover Coke?"

"You want kosher Coke?"

"No. Kosher for Passover Coke."

I'm well aware that all Coke is kosher for general Jewish use the rest of the year. It's not like it has pig gel in it or anything. How do you have people answering your phones that are not trained or well-versed about product lines and brand extensions? Jesus! Are they all in Bangalore?

"I'll have to have one of the local stores call you."

I gave her my number, but received zero calls.

Passover is done as far as retail is concerned, so a trip to the Toco Hills Kroger is just not worth it at this point, but thank you, Scott T., nonetheless. I don't drink much soda anyway, so there's no urgency to go there and find disappointment that the lucky Toco Hills Jews have scarfed it all to slake their pious thirsts for the next week. Year 'round, I can just grab my keys and a switchblade and go to a nearby Gwinnett carniceria and pick up a liter or two of MexiCoke to satisfy the cravings for such a beverage that I typically get in the spring after a course of home allergy remedies. I suggest you do the same, thirsty, organic people.

HEY LARRY!!!!! IT'S TIME TO HIDE THE MATZO CRACKERS FOR THE KIDS TO FIND... DONT GOT NO EASTER EGG DIE---I TRIED WINE VINEGAR! IT DIDN'T WORK, TOMMY!

SONY CHAIRMAN TAPENADE

Finally, a restaurant that gets it. Crushing up Japanese to encrust our fish. Kudos Hannibal's!

WOULD SOMEONE BUYOUT MY SNARKY BLOG ALREADY?

I'm eating a bowl of Kellogg's NEW! Cocoa Krispies Choco-nilla flavor cereal, where they've gone and mixed the Cocoa Krispies with some Vanilla Krispies.They didn't have the Rice Krispies with Strawberries so I settled for this combo. Not bad. They've done an excellent job of busing the Krispie races so that even an experienced cereal eater such as myself is stunned at the harmony of the flavors and how they form an entirely new flavor which can only be described as choconilla. I hope that scientists right now are working the DNA on a hybrid cacao / vanilla bean plant so that we may never run out of this marvel.

Here's a press release for the strawberry version entitled, After Nearly 80 Years, Snap!^TNCrackle!^TM & Pop!^TM Welcome Company to the Bowl. Maybe I'll hold off until I get clarity on that.

My wife asks if she can just have the Vanilla Krispies, which are not sold separately and, therefore, are highly-valued for their distinct and delicate flavor when eaten solo. Unfortunately, my gas chromotology skills have eroded over the years and I sold the machine that separates cereal bits on Ebay to a small police force in Idaho for $87.

Now my wife asserts that her brother has the skills to make such a machine, due to the fact that he led a top roadbuilding crew in Iraq safely and underbudget.

"He's a swell roadbuilder and soldier, honey, but that's not the same skill set."

"Bet me." Which I declined, because my wife has no cash and I'd only wind up taking stuff I bought her back to the store, and I don't have any of the receipts handy, and I don't feel like looking for them. It's a classic error of time management, collecting a bet from your wife. What does she have that you're not gonna get anyway? If her brother was that talented, he wouldn't be living in Upstate NY on a houseboat. No way.

But I do have projects in the works these days in addition to my continued work in the legal field of extricating myself from the October Surprise of 2006. I am happy to announce on that front, the great Barry Scheck has agreed to take my case as part of the Project Innocence he's founded.

In addition, I've been trying to devise a system that allows you to eat a nutritious meal while you jog. I'm not talking about a Power Bar kind of thing. That's not nutritious. It's candy...with some protein mixed in. You're better off having a Snickers and steak sandwich.

I'm talking about a well-cooked, nutritious, sub-gourmet meal as a Rachael Ray would present, in just a skimpy diaper and brassiere of course, to her admiring fans. Soups, salads, sandwiches, stews, entrees, dessert, with no needles, that could all be consumed while one is getting in his miles on a track or trail.

I'm also busy putting together a drive to make March Black Future Month. I think it sounds more positive. Speaking of pandering, here are my three favorite Super Bowl commercials:

• the one where the guy looked like he was gonna puke
• the one where the guy got hit in the balls.
• the one where the dog did human-quality stuff.

They made me forget that I lost every single bet I placed on the Super Bowl. So did the beer. Yesterday's Super Bowl taught me one thing. Never bet on the team with the Jewish QB. And don't eat things you can't identify, even if it's on a plate and hot.

BEARS QB REX GROSSMAN

-------------

Update

The G-man is NOT Jewish. The G-man is NOT Jewish!

Still, don't bet on the QB with the Jewish-sounding name.

Don't put your money on a team led by Jay Fiedler or Sage Rosenfels in the SB.

I am not Jack Bauer's brother, either. Carry on.

GOOGLED

Where boredom meets practicality, that's where you'll find me these days. Yessiree. I even called George Stein and asked him if I could go to court with him for some municipal entertainment, watching slobs worse off than me tell their stupid stories to exhausted and bemused judges.

I felt bad about aborting the "Whiskers of Fate" Project. I thought it was of low moral character of me to shave my promised beard just because I was a little uncomfortable, callously not thinking of the people out there who want to be entertained for free.

"Hey man, art should be a little uncomfortable to be good art," I thought to myself. "Now, pick your nose....OK."

I have the stitches from my neck surgery...

(good news...skin cancer free!)

...and I want to shave but I am scared to open the hole in my neck with my Gillette Good News razor bringing blood and tragic irony upon myself. So here's the Solomonic wisdom I've come up with on this
issue.

I've shaved half of my face. Isn't that crazy?

I was just grabbing a snack and chatting with the family for about 20 minutes and they didn't notice, so this outghta work until I get the stitches out on Thursday.

I was enjoying some Trader Joe's Blueberry Soda during snack. I don't have to tell you how refreshing and enjoyable a glass of blueberry soda can be. So my question is...why is it so rare? How come I have to go to some exotic, esoteric food store to get it? I just don't get how, as a culture, we outright reject certain fruits for certain food projects? How come it took so long for America to embrace the exciting pomegranate? Now everyone has that flavor in their arsenal, but what was the delay? I'm mystified.

Has the Lord imbued only the people in a sparsely populated enclave in the Finger Lakes of NY with the knowledge of Grape Pie? Most people look at me as if I've asked them to eat turd jerky. Hey, United States. It's grapes, it's flaky crust, it's warm. Make it. Eat it! Trust me. Damn.

After "snack," as we like to call it here at the Wachs Estate Vineyards, I did some research and I'm now America's 4th most googled guy on FM radio behind Stern, Limbaugh, and the KDND morning crew.

Don't get me wrong. I see the good in Google. From it's subliminal first three letters (Calling it "Goodle" would've been less catchy and so treacly), to it's uncanny ability to allow anyone to earn a living by playing Team Trivia in bars with the help of a concealed transmitter and laptop. But this damn Google has some downsides to it, and you should know about them.

This damn Google seems to have a beta test engine going on called "Google People With an Axe to Grind Against Wachs." I've been making swift and exciting progress on the job front for the most part, but I'm having trouble on closing the deals because some of these hirers always seem to find the people who you fucked with, or weren't sensitive enough to, and you haven't seen for 15-20 years. Twenty years ago! Sweet Martha's Scrotum! I was just a young laddie. I wasn't married, I wasn't yet a father, I wasn't an investor, I didn't own a home. Didn't raise chickens on a windswept Kansas farm. Hadn't seen the WIZARD!

I was a guy who got to do what several million American youthful males wanted to do: get paid to talk on the radio and get girls on the phone. I was a big hotshot. And then when D student Wachs made more money than my brother, the Harvard Doctor Wachs, well then. Who's got the best penis now?

Anyway, my point is that people change a whole bunch as they age. Even Manson is  less extreme these days what with his latest crusade to insure that the pigs, when they are murdered, have the right to a clean knife in their throat.

But this damn Google brings the past back to the present a lot easier. Now, you don't have to buy boots, gloves, or bus tickets.

It's not life or death, but it does take several weeks to untie all the mixups that ensue when people still think you're 25, and it's a big pain in the ass, with lonely nights on the road, diddling in the hotel hot tub before turning in to watch some Kimmel and giving out a sigh before getting some shuteye for the big interview. So, what I'm trying to tell all you people out there......hold on...out of breath. Be careful what you do, kids. The mischief train broke down 'bout three miles down the road...and...and...can I get some water?

So I'd like to apologize now to the following people (and they know who they are) who I must have done something to but they can't just move on about it:

Sorry to the GM whom I called a rookie and questioned whether he really knew what he was talking about. Turned out he did. Edge: GM

Sorry to Kato Kaelin for being mean to him and pranking his show when he was on before me. Turns out he was just scared OJ would kill him next. Edge: Kato

Sorry to the GM who I called a suicide hotline about. Turns out he's still rich. Edge: GM

Sorry to Jimmy Baron for calling him gay all the time. Turns out he's getting residuals for his appearance in Endless Love. Edge: Baron

Sorry to Southside Steven for calling his mom a dried up old lady. Turns out he's on the air slinging that "Yeah C'mon," and his mom is not dried up. Edge: Rickman

Sorry to Jimmy Kimmel for Eric calling his kid meanspirited things on the air. Turns out Jimmy's on national TV and I'm not even on radio. Edge: Kimmel

Sorry to Howard Stern for baiting him in an argument in which he looked very bad. Turns out Howard got paid a lot more than I did and has a supermodel bikini girlfriend. Edge: Stern

Sorry to the producer I fired because he didn't pick up the check during a dinner meeting. Well, turns out that was a good move. Edge: Wachs

7-1 your final. Wachs takes the loss. Good night, everybody!

By the way, internet privacy advocates...good fucking job you're doing.

---------------------

UPDATE:

I've been told that, due to my recent criticism, "Armed and Famous" has been removed from the airwaves.

NAAN NAAN NAAN, HEY HEY HEY

Have any experts or historians figured out what the biblical food manna is made of?  According to vegan Christians, it wasn't a meat product. It was a coriander seed with a honey wafer taste. Yummy! and Bullshit!  Oh, how convenient. God didn't want people to eat animals either. Isn't it amazing how godlike you vegan Christians are?

Mexicans think it was a bunch of hallucinogenic mushrooms, Jews think it was a small piece of cake, and I think it was Tandoori Naan. It's also my latest food fetish. Goodbye apples! Nice knowing you Dippin Dots! You're now the ice cream of the past.

It's pronounced non, as in non-demonitional, non-starter, nonsense. I'm very much addicted to it and just writing this makes me want some, like writing about sex makes you horny....

OK, I'm back from eating some naan and rubbing one off. Let me continue...

Naan is Indian bread. Not the Columbus-style Indians, but the real ones in India. Naan is like a real crispy English muffin but flatter. Think about that. A. Real. Crispy. English Muffin. The milk/yogurt combo they use in the dough, instead of water, makes it as crispy as something fried. That's why I enjoy it so much. I maintain that if you make any food crispy or crunchy, you can rarely fail to attract an audience. "Someone will always eat anything crunchy," is my personal mantra way back from my days as a chef when I overcooked a lot of stuff.

Naan is harder to find than others in the flatbread family. Tell ya whut, it's no pita or foccacia. No sirree! When you can get it, it's expensive. You can go to an Indian restaurant and order several buckets of it to take home, but then you  feel guilty and stay for a meal and pay another $40 on top of the naan for the meal. Plus, it's a pain in the ass and I think socially inept to call a restaurant for take out and order only the bread basket.

At Whole Foods, they sell frozen naan, and, although it's 3.49 a box of three pieces, I figure I'll stop buying all other bread (what's the point, now that manna is available?) and maybe steal some bikes from area youth to help pay for my habit. It's almost as good as the fresh, and that's why they run out from time to time leaving me frustrated and writing obscene and bitter things in the frost on the freezer case door.

If you know of any sources of cheap(er) authentic, and plentiful naan, please let me know. The naan they sell at Dekalb Farmers Market is mass-produced Wonder Bread with some seasoning thrown on it that clearly is not baked in anything resembling a clay oven. I don't think the building they make it in has any bricks even! I think Trader Joe's down the road needs me a visit because I heard they carry it, but it might vary from store to store. Making it at home is where I draw the line. I just want to eat it, not marry it.

COLTS ARE GOING TO THE SUPER BOWL!!!

COLTS ARE GOING TO THE SUPER BOWL!!!

...oh wait...I thought it was 1977.

I'm one of the millions of Baltimorons who had their team abandon them by the Irsays in the middle of a snowy night in 1984. Old Man Pickle Nose called me when the Patriots went up 21-3, all excited.

"Ya gotta love this game," he hollers into his phone. The combination of the excitement of watching football at a bar in Montana with his one-eyed pal, away from my mom, his senior hearing, and the cell phone had him yelling with a heartening zest I hadn't heard in years. He's still got it, the old boy. I apologize now for choosing this moment to come out of the closet.

"I was kinda rooting for the Colts, Dad."

"You what?" Deafness or disbelief? "You must be joking." Disbelief.

I could feel the inheritance money slipping through my fingers like a Tony Romo hold. Truth is I've been secretly admiring the Indy Colts for sometime now, and I think after 23 years of pretending to hate them, enough is enough.

In 1984, I lived on Long Island and hadn't gone to a Colt game in about 5 years, mainly because they sucked so hard. This was before parity and the cap when a joke team had little chance to improve in one season barring a change in ownership.  It's not like when they left, they were a top team with a wait list. Even their top draft pick one year, Art Schlichter, bet against them.

I also really think Peyton Manning is a great and admirable sports person because he doesn't act like an asshole off the field like 99% of all the other sports celebrities, and he's funny in his commercials. Playing against that genius but douchebaggy Bill Belichick with his handcrafted Flashdance monk outfit, it really was time to openly root for the Colts. Besides, Baltimore won a Super Bowl with their stolen team before Indy did, and the Big Fat Irsay is dead. And by the clues in Colt team prez Jim Irsay's nose and teeth, he could be grasping his final Lamar (Mike) Hunt Trophy, so I think the grudge should end now. And it has.

Now I will openly root for the Colts two Sundays hence in Miami against The Da Bears. This should be the best Super Bowl ever. Hey media! Here's a fresh angle to enliven the ensuing two weeks before the big game. Did you know that this is the first Super Bowl with African-American head coaches!  After this Super Bowl is over, crime, poverty, single motherhood, and the smuggling of pot in water bottles will finally end!

Run with that. Try to sound pious and serious. It's not annoying as hell yet.

FOOD OF THE LABS

I really like apples. I never knew I could eat them until a few months ago because I assumed I was allergic to them. Turns out that's just in the skins. The rest is fine, so long as it's peeled.

It's really opened up a whole new world to me. It's a big deal. Imagine if you thought for your whole life that you were adopted, and then you realized that you weren't. How awesome would that feel?  Well, that's how I currently feel about apples. Maybe that's a little extreme. OK,  I feel like Helen Keller with a new head.

I already have invested in the A505

but things have been going wrong lately on it ever since I dropped it accidentally. It's a very delicate instrument, and I think the fall threw the azimuth camber slightly off kilter, which, as you can imagine, is devastating in a machine where timing is crucial.

Who invented this? That man is a genius. According to Don Thornton's excellent and heartwarming treatise, "Apple Parers: A Slice of American History," the Father of the modern lathe peeler is 1850's inventor Ephraim Pratt who desired to have one hand free while peeling an apple. Hey, me too! Ya never know who's gonna walk into the ole Chicken Ranch when you're peeling an apple.

I've done some research by purchasing and tasting every variety I can get my hands on lately. I am the Noah of apples. Jewy Appleseed. Number 1 favorite is the Granny Smith. Not only does it consistently deliver crisp apple flavor in every bite, but I like how the apple naming people cleverly tricked Americans to admit they eat Granny Smith. Comedy gold.

Almost tied with Granny Smith are the Honeycrisp and Pink Lady varieties, but they vary in quality from store to store. Let the French eat their plain apple-flavored apples with their genetically modified foods phobias. More for me.

Honeycrisps were made by grafting the DNA of honeybees onto the DNA of a Crispin apple. Pink Ladies are derived from the time Jeff Altman masturbated in an orchard.

PINK LADY

Jeff

Pink Lady AND Jeff

Honeycrisp

My bottom worst is the Red Delicious. It is red. I will grant the apple namers that much, but it is by no means delicious. You might as well dip a banana in apple juice. What a misnomer.

Hey, tell me your favorite apple stories, and I'll read them on the air here at Got Nothin' 93.8.

TAKE TWO SANDWICHES AND CALL ME IN THE MORNING

Nicole Richie seeks medical help for thinness

Good luck, Nicole, with your thinness disease. Gosh, that's a tough break. A friend of mine had this problem once and I think her doctor prescribed food or something, but I'm not exactly sure. Hang in there, baby. Just chew it.

WHY WE ARE FAT

MMMM...turkey, cheese, and fizzy candy! At Cantor's Deli it's called "The Corky."

WHILE MY DJ REVOLVES IT

Tonight, my family and I actually went out of our way while going home to get to a Wendy's for a Vanilla Frosty, or Frostie, or Frostee, or Frostye, or whatever marketing illiteracy they use. I'm still reeling from the stupidity of it all. I've probably tasted vanilla every single day since I was old enough to form flavor memories, yet there I was, driving out of my way for vanilla dairy ice, because it was new to Wendy's. Yes, that's correct. Wendy's and vanilla have never crossed paths until this day. The Frostyiee you grew up with has always been a chocolate only affair.

My wife worked at a Wendy's in 1981, and even then, every 3rd customer at the drive-thru would make the assumption and ask for a Vanilla Frostyieeiye, so until now, the Wendy's Vanilla Frosteeeyiieiyye has been the reverse Abe Vigoda of dessert treats. Dave Thomas must have had a prohibition against vanilla when he was alive due to some unfortunate encounter with a vanilla pod or irrational hatred of Madagascar and it's people. It might be wise to exhume his body for evidence of foul play by an eager Wendy's executive with plans to make VP by introducing vanilla to Wendy's customers, yet frustrated at every turn by a terrified Dave Thomas.

Still, it took about 5 years after his death for Wendy's to bring vanilla to the public. Dave must have faked his death so many times over the years to see what his board of directors would say at his bogus funeral, that such caution was not unwarranted. Still....

Then it gets even better. The Wendy's we visited was out of vanilla! SOLD OUT! of vanilla! Well, you coulda put a finger in my chili. The most ubiquitous flavor on the planet, which finally reached the 'Japanese WW2 vet hiding in a cave' of the fast food world, the Frostyiiyiyeeoo, was now gone again! I could have spit in any direction at that moment, and hit a place selling vanilla ice cream, but this Wendy's, with all it's signs touting this new flavor breakthrough, was barren of it.

What is it about the marriage of Wendy's and vanilla that excites the public so, as if it were indoor plumbing in Alabama? What is the name of that phenomenon? The Tipping Point? The Bell Curve? Pent-up Demand? Maybe it's called "The Cheating Spouse."

Woman comes home to find her husband--let's call him Bill--in bed with another woman.

"Why, Bill? I give you sex whenever you please!"

"Yes, but I've never had HER sex."

We were all cheating on our other sources of vanilla that night. I'm sending a $4 million dollar ring and a case of roses to McDonald's come morning.

We then drove to a second Wendy's filled with the local teens celebrating a big night of searching for their identities and finally received our Wendy's **NEW** Vanilla Frostyeeayeeeayeoooo.

I took 4 spoonfuls and tossed it out.

MEET THE BISCUITS

OK, pervs. Here are The Biscuit Girls of Cumming:

You can meet them for yourself at That Biscuit Place in Cumming. The owner, and head rancher, Mark, was kind enough to bring them and food down on Friday. The Biscuit Girls are also scheduled to appear at this Tuesday's Cumming Jews Basketball game, 7pm, at Forsyth County Central Park on Keith Bridge Rd. (306) 1 mile west of GA 400(map below).

Please support your local Jews, no matter where you are, or else America will cease to exist, and these Jews are fighting for their playoff lives at 3-3 on the year.

THE LIVID GOURMET

Let me tell you where the Wachs family will never be eating again. Dolce Vita on Peachtree Parkway in John's Creek. Have a sweet life. Let me know when the lease is done.

Meal total: $102 (tip included). For that we got, Osso Bucco, Caprese Salad, Lobster Bisque, Spinach Salad, another soup that I don't know the name of, and two glasses of wine. I don't think anything, except the wine and salads, escaped a microwave. Oh yeah, and we got the animated waiter from the cooking DeVry who got into the restaurant business despite being born without taste buds. I wept at the inspiring tale.

"I'm a big fan of Osso Bucco, and ours is some of the best I've ever had," went the recommend. Based on his size and what I received, I'm prepared to say that he must've have eaten all of their best Osso Bucco. Or maybe he was a big fan of lukewarm, dry Osso Bucco covered with a learner's permit-style exotic ketchup. I refuse to believe anyone on the staff there is Italian, and if they are, I'd like any members of the Mob currently in Witness Protection living in the East Fulton/South Forsyth/NW Gwinnett area to stop in and have a chat.

How on earth does one go to C-School, sink a million into a restaurant and not know how to cook? The lobster bisque was melted lobster ice cream. Can't get enough of that White Lilly flavor bursting through every bite, either. Yummy!

Other insults to the pwallete included Caprese salad with Costco amounts of olive oil, mozzarella fresh from the Publix dairy case, cut unevenly with a serrated knife, and room temperature roma tomatoes (AKA Rooma Tomatoes) cut with the grain so one could enjoy all it's tasteless pulp and fiber. I just may have to go back for the Lengthwise Cut Steak. My jaw muscles are a little flabby these days, and I got a new crown I want to take for a spin.

The other soup. Can. Not eat. Rolls were frozen bake-offs, but warm, and the ice water was cold and plentiful in my glass and in my wife's lap as both waiter and water person refilled via the tip of my wife's nose. Dessert was great because we didn't purchase any and bought Milk Duds and Twizzlers at Blockbuster.

I give this joint an A for Avoid, and that's an upgrade from it's previous tenant, Barfelona, which I suspect was run by the same owners judging by the microwave-based cooking and the fact that they had my wife's phone number in their database when she called to make a reservation.

One could eat lunch AND dinner in the same day with better quality Italianesque salads, Panini, pizza, and sandwiches for 40% less total for the two meals and no duplication of menu items, at Panera bread next door. No wine there, but who cares? Take it home, and get your own bottle at Publix, where it's hard to find a bad wine that not even the local bunko crowd would touch. And you don't have to tip people. Macaroni Grill is also cheaper and fresher, and Napa Valley is at least worth the prices and has the wine.

I took one for the team. Now accepting Pay Pal donations from area residents to recoup my loss.

FRUIT BASHING

I don't like summer as much as I used to because I get so cold. My house, every restaurant, the studio, the supermarket...all provide the sweaty summer citizen with meat locker temperatures to battle the southern heat.

Today we got out of the igloo and into the warmth and headed to Athens for some late spring berry picking.

Since it's late in strawberry season, the ones remaining were so sweet is was sexual. The picture is blurry to capture the feeling of deliriousness when biting into one. Not really. I have a crappy camera on my phone and I held it too close.

I employ the "pick 2, eat 1" method of harvesting berries. It stretches your U-pick fruit dollar further and provides the instant gratification one needs after deciding to drive 100 miles for some fruit. It's also a clue as to why the United Farm Workers were headed by Cesar Chavez and not Steven Speilberg.

Our blackberry picking was curtailed by thorns and a chicken that kept following me around. I could tell the chicken was pretty horny, but I was not in the mood and I had a headache. But all told, with the blackberries and the blues and the straws, we got 2 gallons of berries for $20.00...a savings of $12.00 over retail hothouse fruit, $15 if you count the eaten berries in the field. Subtract half a quarter tank of gas, and some diarrhea meds for eating fruit right out of the dirt, and it's just about a break even day.

To make room for the new fruit, we had to get rid of some oranges that had been laying about for a week and a half, so we decided to hit them with a baseball bat into the woods. The resultant fun was my daughter's Father's Day gift to me, a short film of her making called "Orange Baseball." Remember to hit 5 a day for best health.

EAT, DRINK, AND BE SCARY

"Did you know the #1 cause of death in the islands is being hit on the head with a coconut?"

I did not know that, Dad. But thanks.

I haven't the vaguest. I'm not even sure what islands he was referring to. All I know is that here we are, in the kitchen, discussing death again, over food, for the fourth time this visit. Just kill yourself already, if it's so interesting. If this is a glimpse forward into what's in store for me when I hit 65, as with the baldness, stubborness, and weird-looking dick, I'd just as soon get a hot 25-year old girlfriend and a bunch of booze and pills now and let fly before packing it in.

Last night, as a steady stream of hookers and girlfriends with big bolt-ons, all belonging to guys my age came trampsing into Dick and Harry's in Roswell, my father was discussing probate issues and funereal etiquette with my family while he dined on $70 worth of fried seafood.

"If you decide to have a point/counterpoint during my eulogy, you will get nothing."

"Don't you want your funeral to be fun?"

"Not if I'm uncomfortable with it."

Great news for we the living, however. Dick and Harry's restaurant accepted my offer to take a picture of them with me and hang it up on their wall!

In fact, one of my stated goals for this year--on view to the public by request at The Legal Offices of George Stein--is to get my picture put on the wall of as many restaurants as I can and not stop my effort until I'm the most well hung man of all metro Atlanta restaurants.  It's part of my vision of Wachs ubiquity that has already staked a major claim in the radio and blogging industries, set the short film community abuzzin', and has had tens of people bear witness to my lunch eating in all corners of this fine city.

20 years from now people will say, "I see this guy's picture in every restaurant, but who the hell is he?"

If you would like me to stop by your dining establishment, get a photo of me eating there, and put it up on your wall, then feel free to contact me here.

MY DINNER WITH ANDY FASTOW

First a defensive note:

An inquisitive reader from Florida has demanded that he "deserves" better than updates 3 out of 7 days a week here on the ol' website, as if there were such an entitlement. Days are still 24 hours long, my friends, and this site was born during an era (2004) when I had most of those 24 free of obligations and appointments and mental and physical exhaustion from creating fantastic talk radio 20 hours a week at an ungodly hour with people who can't stand me and think I'm ugly.

I'm not tapping out Von Haessler style and leaving you high and dry. That would be a grave misstep. From here on out, I'll likely pile them up on the weekends, except for important announcements during the week. You deserve that.

OK. Let's catch up.....

What sort of person serves frozen TV dinners to company when they come over for a dinner party? No one I could be friends with. But that is exactly what the people at Stouffer's are asking you to do in their commercial for one of their lines of elegant frozen foods.

The commercial shows some person of apparently decent means, judging by the home furnishings and place settings at the table, serving their dinner guests microwaved Stouffer's Corner Bistro dinners dumped onto their serving china to make it look like they have a top chef toiling in the kitchen. What vulgarian would do such a thing? There must be a sizable market of indicted CEOs and foiled Democrat candidates trying to keep up appearances on the cheap for Stouffer's to try such an advertising gambit. Hey, Daimler-Chrysler! Now would be an excellent time to roll out those Mercedes-Benzes made entirely of particleboard.

TV MAKES YOU FAT AND STUPID AND IRRADIATES YOUR SPERM

If you want to see what's happening in America these days, there's no better snapshot than a supermarket. All of your neighbor's habits and dramas are revealed. After this simple primer you will become so good at insinuating what a person's innermost secrets are, that I will be forced to buy a smoked plexiglass grocery buggy to use at the store. I always make it a point to peek into the buggies that pass. Those aren't just grocery items in there. Those are clues. See the eye drops and Twix? Drug addict. See the low carb yogurt and Triscuits? Slut. Who's gettin' it on? Pretend to be earnestly comparing sunscreens, but all the while keeping an eye on the condom aisle.  If they go over to frozen foods and the bags of salad afterward..Ka-ching! Horny and divorced.

Check out the bench in front of the prescriptions booth. Relatively healthy people, such as myself, who occasionally swindle a lawyer-shy doctor into overprescribing pain meds and cough syrup for a runny nose, kill the prescription wait time by bouncing giddily about the store to purchase a good beer and pizza to go with the drugs.  It's the real sickos that stick by the bench, morosely pondering where it all went wrong, in no mood for samples of  Nestle's new Injectable Cookie Dough. I feel bad for them, and it's times like these that I wish I were magical and could heal them with a touch of a finger in exchange for some free landscaping or debt relief. That would be great.

Witness first hand the minimum wage forcing employers to hire more and more deeply inconsistent workers. Deli lady, what good are plastic food handling gloves if you yawn into and handle money with them? Do you think it's to protect your nails?

We are also an alarmingly infantilized bunch. Our life expectency should bust through 80 soon, despite the best efforts of terrorists and trans-fats, yet our collective emotional growth is still stuck at about 20 and declining.

Don't believe me? Ask the cuddly Publix shark.

YAY! Sharks like fruits and veggies, too. Throw Richard Simmons and Terri Schaivo into the ocean! YAY!

Or Fannie, the ceiling fan duster.

Or, the publishers of

I've always thought breeding is way too easy as it stands without a volume of this sort right next to the book of Secrets of the Pillsbury Bake-Off.  People who are incapable of doing anything else engage in breeding with a stunning casualness. We need fewer Reproducing for Retards instruction manuals and more breeding laws. If people were catching on fire this easily, don't you think laws would be passed? 

Is there no topic too sacred for the Dummies? Apparently, Iran has gotten a hold of "Enriching Uranium for Dummies." Good idea. Maybe the bomb they send over will spawn more great works of literature in the future like "Pregnancy for Two-Headed, 13-Fingered, Prehensile-Tailed Dummies."

Tinker with that 1st amendment while you're under the hood. God help us all. I'll be over at the prescription bench, praying with the other relief seekers.

NEW! CHEESE PIMPLES!

Let's review again for the food service people out there in the internets. The word "chunky" is an acceptable food descriptor. The word "chunks" is not.

Clear? Now then. Next lesson:

The word "lumps" = not good.

Same for it's brothers, "Lumpy," and "Lump."

I love crabmeat despite, and not because of, it's designation as "Jumbo Lump"

Bob's Mint Lumps. A sex change in every bite! Myhumpmyhumpmyhump. My minty lady lumps!

HOPE NOT DOPE

It's every parent's worst nightmare. Your child finds your stash of crack cocaine, eats it and dies. OK, not every parent's worst nightmare, just some.

This actually happened the other day in the idyllic, Southeast Georgia town of Vidalia, heretofore known as a major source of onions and illegals. Vidalia will become, after Congress hands out Latino amnesty for votes in the next few months, America's 6th largest city and the new home of the Tampa Bay D-Rays.

According to the sad account, Ms. Latoya Dixon, a longtime employer of thousands of American taxpayers, placed her supply of crack in an M&M's jar to, you know, to keep it in a place the kids would never think of looking. Ms. Dixon's blessings ran out when her two-year old found and ate the crack, and then died before another taxpayer-funded bailout could rescue the poor child. Horrible news, right?

Wrong. According to today's Atlanta-Journal Constitution, everything's peachy in Oniontown. Scroll down for the headline.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Way to brightside it.

EAT SOME HAM

More RG commericals have been edited and completed. If you're a busy executive like many of our fan base, and can't get to a TV, or perhaps you just don't know what TV is, here are the new versions of the commercials that will air over the next few weeks

here

and here

and here

and here

I think

you

get

the

drift

knowwhati'msayin?"

--------------------

Look! It's a lady ham!

I would definitely eat that.

Tip of the hat to The Pron Czar for bringing this to my attention. Completely out of character for him, but welcomed.

-------------------

Senator Chip Rogers (R-Woodstock) paid us a visit on Wednesday's show to discuss his bill (now certain to be law in GA) to curtail the Hispanic hijinks.

He was gracious enough to take all callers pro and con and sign yesterday's copy of the AJC with his picture accompanying the top story of the day.

You can purchase this historical document on Ebay.

FREE! DIABETIC ONSET INSIDE!

Questions for Big Cereal:

What is "Big Yellow Taste?" I'm not coming up with anything pleasant.

How many faces were rejected for the box before settling upon this one?

Here's a cereal that is a re-creation of a frozen breakfast item that is a re-creation of a waffle.

My question: How many more steps before it's not considered a food? And are you worried that people will store these in the freezer?

Don't you think these items should be exempt from federal nutrition labeling mandates?

WWEC

It's time for another Watch Wachs Eat Club meeting for this month. This time the hat of giving will be on the table at Swallow at the Hollow, 1072 Green St. in the heart of Roswell.

This Atlanta classic will be the site of some of most frenzied eating of the year because I really lose all inhibitions when I eat their euphoria inducing ribs with a side of mac and cheese. It's no wonder people are whispering, "Wachs is getting a little fluffy around the middle these days."

Don't care. Bring your appetite and some friends. Stare and enjoy. Get a free WWEC sticker while supplies last. (Note to dude who printed up the last batch: I need more.)

And this meeting, I'll select one lucky table for free beers. It all gets swallowed sometime between 11:30 and 1pm, this Wednesday, Jan. 25th, 2006.

All About Me

Here's another in an occasional series called: People Who Look Like Wachs in the News!

For today, the feature is called: "Wachs Look Alikes in the News," because today's Wachs lookalike is not human.

Here's the headline: Dozens of beached whales shot in New Zealand

I'm not gonna lie and coverup. This is a Wachs lookalike, therefore it goes in. Photoshops aweigh!

-------------------

The next WWEC (Watch Wachs Eat Club) event for 2006 is this Wednesday, the 4th of January. If the holiday eating wasn't enough, this should round things out for you. After careful consideration of all the emailed suggestions, I will be eating my lunch at Blue Moon Pizza, 2359 Windy Hill Rd., 1 mile west of 75. As usual, I will be eating sometime between 11:30am and 1pm, depending on the level of traffic and post-show drama.

But be there I will with exclusive WWEC stickers so that you may prove to your friends that you witnessed me eating. Here are the rules once again:

OFFICIAL RULES OF THE WWEC (WATCH WACHS EAT CLUB)

-I will occasionally announce where I will be having lunch on a particular day.

-I will be at said location anytime between 11am and 1pm on said day.

-You may come in, find a seat a comfortable distance from me, and watch me eat.

-Talking to me is not allowed.

-Waving/saluting is allowed.

-Obscene and rude gestures are not allowed.

-Anything that, in my judgement, infringes upon the enjoyment of other diners will not be tolerated.

-Photos from a comfy distance are allowed.

-The next day, you must call the show at 404-741-9696 to discuss your observations and ask your questions.

-Violators of the rules will hasten the demise of the program and ruin it for the others.

-There will be amendments to this Bill of Rules from time to time.

AMENDMENTS 9/19/05

-You may speak to me only outside of the restaurant in addition to snapping photos.

-You may approach the table only to throw money into the hat or to grab a new "I watched Wachs eat" sticker while supplies last.

-You may not ask about the availability of the stickers. If they are available, they will be on the table for the taking (one per customer please). If you do not see them, they are not available...move on! You may be jeopardizing someone's view of my eating.

--------------------

To reiterate, we will be back on air, TUESDAY, not Monday. Please keep your griping and grumbling to yourselves about our vacation schedules. Your FUs regarding this matter will be dismissed to clear room on the voice mail for actual entertaining messages.

We appreciate your missing us, but nobody likes a bitter, selfish person who only cares about his own world and gives not a concern for the people who work mightily to see to it that his world is made just a little bit smoother by broadcasting common sense, truth, and justice. Heroes need to rest, too, and who are you to comment on how much relax time that accomplished, professional broadcasters like us need? Mike Vick just started a 7-month break. And he sucked this year. Superman even had a retreat, and he was syndicated. So, let's all give it a rest for one more day.

5-hour Party People

Here are some photos of the Regular Guys/Miller Lite Christmas Party last night at Jillian's in Lawrenceville. Thanks to the many thousands who showed up to pay homage and watch Ben the Bunnyman whip Bob the Bunnyman's ass and thereby win the Million Dollar Contract from the Regular Guys Show. More details and audio on Friday.

Norma Lee and Joe

Garrett the 40-year old Intern enjoying his Christmas Krystals and pie.

Ben Bunnyman with a picture of himself on his shirt.

Ben shows off his nabs of neel.

Eric discusses the fight with Disco Inferno

Dumb (and drunk) Santa

The Cheetah Girls don't think Norma Lee is an old douchebag!

More to follow as soon as Virgin Murray and staff relinquish their hangovers and email me the pics.

If you attended the party and have some photos of the party you'd like to share, send them to:

regularguys@96rock.com

Remembering Rachael

Rachael Ray of the Food Network was on the show today a year after I stalked her at her last appearance at the Viking Store in Buckhead. Herewith is my account of that meeting from a couple of Thanksgivings ago:

----------------------

We are headed off to see FoodTV’s Rachel Ray, host of 30-Minute Meals, in town to sign her new book. I don’t know the name of it, but I’m guessing it’s about making meals in a half-hour. The lines are pretty long for a woman who makes leftovers on cable TV. The definition of star certainly has expanded in the past few generations.

Rachel Ray is better looking in person than on TV which makes her look chunky, and she has an unnatural, emphatic way in front of the camera. But in person, she’s looking mighty hot, even if she still displays that Long Islandy, Hebraic, high maintanence enthusiasm that grates after the liquor wears off.  She and I would divorce within minutes. I wouldn’t have the patience to tame her.

She has a big rock on her finger and her publicist tells those of us in line that she is engaged. This makes me sad, not because it diminishes my chances of getting personal with her, but no married woman who cooks should be gallivanting around the nation instead of at home making a nice hot meal for her hubby. That’s just wrong.

“I love the biscuit!” she shouts to someone at her table. Evidently a groupie came out to meet her after sending her a fan biscuit of some sort. What is it about some people that they insist on giving gifts to people they see on TV? I love TV and I have many favorites. It never occurs to me to send them a little trinket of gratitude for their performances. Do they not get paid and rewarded enough in their daily lives? How many frickin’ awards shows do these people have? What the hell they need your “Biscuit” for? If it was any good, you’d have your own book tour and show. Get outta line. You’re holding up an honest creep. Me! I don’t have time to buy gifts and write cards. I just want to fuck Rachel Ray. That’s all. Get out of my way!

Hey, Creeps. Here’s how you do it:

The move in...

...Boom! I'm holding on like a salmon.

Look at her. Feigning shock and surprise for the camera. Meanwhile, out of camera range she is lustily grinding her loamy rear loins into mine and giving me a hand finish. Satisfied, she then haughtily signaled to one of the Viking Kitchen security personnel wearing his official chef uniform to escort me away. But that’s OK, because unlike Ms. Ray, I don’t need 30 minutes to make a stew.

My Dinner With Tawdry

Took the family to Macaroni Grill tonight for dinner. I know what you're thinking: Wachs is not afraid to throw some money around.

We like MG mainly for doodling on the table paper, but the food is pretty good, too. My daughter is 14 and is starting to regret that we're sometimes seen in public with her, so she refused permission to publish hers. Here's what my wife and I drew this time around:

Mrs. Wachs drew Larry the Lolly being licked.

I call this one, "Talking to a taller black gentleman at a party."

Weirdo on a t-shirt

This one caused a lot of controversy at the table. I idly doodled a lady's ass. You can see my wife's censorship markings. Fortunately you can't hear the lecture. Such a big deal over nothing. It's less rude than my head being licked, if you want to know my opinion.

You can buy these if you want. Let me know.

WWEC returns

Watch Wachs Eat Club^TM returns this Wednesday (11/30) at:

Sonny's Real Pit BBQ

660 Duluth Highway

Lawrenceville, GA

Pumper the Free Gas Fairy^TM will be there too, looking for hot girls (no fatties) and giving away free gas.

Hats off to Thanksgiving

Wachsgiving was fun and all to the usual point of enough already. The only lousy thing was the Northern-fried turkey. Nobody bothered to brine it before frying. Stupid Yankee Jews. Trying to be all rednecky chic. So condescending to us transplants.

My personal holiday death toll was officially 10 pounds gained. A little kick-boxing with my personal trainer, porn star Tabitha Stevens, will knock those off. Or not. I might just keep going for the fun of it and see how many pounds I can run up until the end of 2005. It'll be a tribute to a bloated, flabby year.

As opposed to past years, this was a relatively peaceful Wachsgiving. Only 2 controversies this year:

--I yelled at a kid in front of his parents because I believed he had rubbed his groin on my leg , or at best, snuggled up against me in an inappropriate manner, during football watching.

--My family was enraged when I told my 5-year old nephew that the police were coming because he was messing with the phones too much.

We'll discuss on Monday with my sister, who suddenly is an in-demand piece of ass of late here in RG Nation. Thankfully, we avoided a third controversy because of her quick thinking in flatly turning down my request for a handjob.

Old Man Pickle Nose still has no email address. He has broadband, but no email address. Doesn't like email. Doesn't want to be bothered. It's a ridiculous lifestyle he has. Abject Laziness is the only explanation for this phenomenon. OMPN is not a stupid man by a long stretch. He once belonged to MENSA. Don't know why he dropped out, but I'm often reminded that it was his decision, solely. In or out of MENSA, he certainly is smarter than the guys who go online, and, much to their surprise, find out that the 14-year old hottie is really a cop. THEY have mastered the curveball called email. OMPN has not.

This has led to some mind-boggling scenarios. Such as the time my brother-in-law had to buy a new computer on-line for OMPN because OMPN doesn't trust the internet yet with his credit card. I see his point. The internet still has nothing on the safety and security of a 22-year old wearing an ill-fitting Best Buy shirt handling the keys to your life.

Then, because OMPN doesn't like/have email, he made my brother-in-law give Dell his email address for the confirmations and service records, print out the emails and fax them to OMPN for safe-keeping. It's a dumber concept than homemade chewing gum!

My daughter's school is having something soon called Hats Off To Drugs! Day. I'm told the school still frowns upon drug use despite the use of the festive and tributary hat coming off.

It makes me uncomfortable like this does:

YAY! Cancer! That's the message I'm getting. And beavers love cancer! I'm getting that message, too.

And you can sure as hell bet that kids will think it's OK to take drugs after Hats off to Drugs Day at her school. And they're right, but they're not supposed to know that until they get older.

But even if my judgement is wrong about this, it still begs the question of what is the correlation between hat and drug use? Do the kids normally wear hats at school? I haven't seen it. My daughter would certainly remark upon it if, say, all the boys started wearing hipster fedoras in class, but she hasn't, so they don't. Hats on..hats off...drugs..I don't get it. The new Atlanta slogan makes more sense if I could remember it.

McBarrier

McDonald's Dollar Menu has a double cheeseburger listed on it. Didn't want the cheese. Wanted the price. However, a "no queso" double is MORE! Less calories=more money. Trying not to be as much of a fatass? That'll cost you. No wonder the poor are more obese. It's easier to acheive.

I prayed to the immigration gods that the gal at the window would have a clue, so I ordered two double cheeseburgers with no cheese. With the drink, the whole thing came to 3.14, so I got what I wanted plus pi.

Corny cheese

Most people I know like to eat corn or at least have little objection to it. In addition to being a flavor carrier, it's nature's way of testing the efficiency of one's digestive tract.  Most food entrees are enhanced by some melted cheese on them. Want cheese on a sandwich? I'll bet you do, fat boy. You can understand my confusion then as to why people refer negatively to some bits of pop culture as "corny" or "cheesy." It's so good it's bad? Or is it so bad it's good?

Corn and cheese are pretty cheap and common, I'll give you that, but those fancy blue corn chips they sell at Whole Foods are pretty pricey, as are certain kinds of fromage at the left-wing food stores around town. What say you about a bowl of blue corn chips used to scoop up some melted brie? It's corn. It's cheese. But it's not corny or cheesy. It's damn good.

Next time you hear a bad song, see a lousy film, or get a Kincade painting for Hanumas, tell people you thought it was very "Nutrasweety."

Reposted-Official WWEC Rules. Know them.

OFFICIAL RULES OF THE WWEC (WATCH WACHS EAT CLUB)

-Roughly once a week, I will announce where I will be having lunch on a particular day.

-I will be at said location anytime between 11am and 12:30pm on said day.

-You may come in, find a seat a comfortable distance from me, and watch me eat.

-Talking to me is not allowed.

-Waving/saluting is allowed.

-Obscene and rude gestures are not allowed.

-Anything that, in my judgement, infringes upon the enjoyment of other diners will not be tolerated.

-Photos from a comfy distance are allowed.

-The next day, you must call the show at 404-741-9696 to discuss your observations and ask your questions.

-Violators of the rules will hasten the demise of the program and ruin it for the others.

-There will be amendments to this Bill of Rules from time to time.

AMENDMENTS 9/19/05

-You may speak to me only outside of the restaurant in addition to snapping photos.

-You may approach the table only to throw money into the hat or to grab a new "I watched Wachs eat" sticker while supplies last.

-You may not ask about the availability of the stickers. If they are available, they will be on the table for the taking (one per customer please).

If you do not see them, they are not available...move on! You may be blocking someone's view of my eating.