Little Debbie Reprise

BY FAR the most popular post on Just Plain Stupid has been Basketball, BWG, but No Little Debbie Twinkie. original The only negative comments have been along the lines of – Hey, get to the point! This post is longer than my mortgage agreement. So here’s the good part:

Today’s post is brought to you by:

Little Debbie makes great snack cakes that taste consistently good because in addition to the unpronounceable stuff, they are made out of mostly sugar and fat – mmmmmm – good! There’s nothing like that teeth-stinging feeling of sugar crystals bonding to your enamel when you bite into a Little Debbie cake. You can eat three, or sometimes even four before you start to feel sick to your stomach!

Try this trick – eat a box of Little Debbie oatmeal cakes right before you go in to have your blood tested. It’s a great way to con a health clinic out of free insulin, or maybe even a heart bypass!

And you’re supporting America when you buy Little Debbie. I don’t know where they’re made, but even if they’re made North Korea, Iran, or… France, you can be sure that Little Debbie is sending campaign money to senators and congress-people in order to keep their darling baked and processed sugary fat balls on the market.

Surely, at this point in my presentation, the fine folks at McKee Foods are pricking up their collective ears. “This is REAL marketing!” says Little Debbie, now 62. (She’s looking svelte after losing 125 pounds thanks largely to a leg amputation due to gangrene during her last diabetic coma.)

That’s right, Little Debbie, and I’m just getting started! Send me your sweet and fat advertising money and I’ll do a little work (or get others to do work if they’re cheap) to help you produce your own webcast, much like Headley and the Rug (and Cral) that had such a wonderful run on public access TV in the summer of 2002. I’ll even ask the stars of Headley and the Rug (that I haven’t borrowed money from) to be celebrity guests on your show - The Little Deb Web!

Look – I’ve even written you a theme song! (with apologies to Leslie Bricusse, Anthony Newley, Willie Wonka, and the ghost of Sammy Davis Jr.)

The Little Deb Web

 

Who can make your fat rise?
Like Winnie of the Poo
As if you swallowed Tigger, long with Kanga and her Roo?

The Little Deb – In her Little Deb Web
In the Little Deb Web your triglycerides go wild
And then your brain becomes goo


Who can make your glucose
Replace most of your blood
Till your red cells and your white cells form a candy cane flood?
The Little Deb – In her Little Deb Web
In the Little Deb Web you won’t find no fruits and veggies
She don’t believe in that crud.


The Little Deb makes all those tiny cakes

From ingredients obscurious
Reading them you would be curious
(If they) hadn’t rendered you delirious.

(rinse and repeat)

On the first show, Little Debbie could talk about her acquisition of Drake’s Cakes, the makers of Devil Dogs – my FAVORITE snack food! (after Pop Tarts, and Doritos… and whatever those free mints are they leave on the counter at the Lighthouse Diner… and maybe some other stuff I can’t remember right now.)

But why just the Drakes brand? Why not all Hostess snack cakes?

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/01/30/twinkies-deal-hostess-bidder_n_2586715.html

I did some research and it seems like the leading suitor for Twinkies et al is the same company that makes Pabst Beer. PBR and Twinkies – sounds like a recipe for a coma right there. Do we want our fellow junk-food obsessed Americans pre-mortally embalmed by this dangerous combination?

I say NO! (largely because I’m hoping for money from McKee Foods, but if anyone else offers to pay me, I’m flexible on this point.) Little Debbie is the obvious lair from which to raise the Twinkie Frankenstein from the depths of bankrupt oblivion.

Rise! Rise!

How can Little Deb Bake

All those cakes from Drake

A feat that’s hardly rinky-dinky?

She barely even lifts her pinky

(spoken) Hey Hostess!

She’s the girl to bring back Twinkie!

That oughta bring the money rolling in. I sure hope Little Debbie doesn’t pay me in Cosmic Brownies – I don’t need the flashbacks.

The original post didn't have a vid.  Listening to this guy has almost the same mind numbing effect as a box of Little Debbie.

Truly - S W McFarland

 For those of you too cheap to buy my books, Trouble in Taos Taos and Volition Man Volition are free downloads on Amazon this weekend (June 27 – 29 2014.)

That doesn’t mean you can’t go back and buy it later. I could use the cash.

Stanley McFarland, a fellow living in the delusion of his own hilarity, has asked for this post for his “humorous,” (I have to assume he’s talking about a bone,) essay.

Actors, Stay to the Script – Truly

by Stanley McFarland

I think I was 10 or 12. I’m pretty sure I wasn't 11 because odd number years don’t work out so well for me. I was watching the Academy Awards for the last time without being socially coerced to do so. In that even numbered moment, I learned the one great secret that the Academy Awards and the acting profession had to tell me:

When someone says, Truly – get ready for the big lie.

“I am so moved – truly. The people I worked with on this film are truly very special, very wonderful people. I will truly treasure their friendships for the rest of my life.

I want to thank the director who truly showed me amazing things about this profession. I am truly, truly so very grateful.”

What a load of hooey!

Six months later you read about the bickering, the nasty jealousies, and how incompetent everyone thought everyone else (except themselves) was.

Here’s a Stanley maxim: Actors never act so poorly, than when they are portraying themselves. Well maybe I borrowed that from..? Somebody.

Not that I’m disparaging movie-making. I love movies, and watch four or five a week (usually borrowed from the library.) But while a Coen Brothers or Joss Whedon film is a thing of beauty, the actors that inhabit these films are frequently tedious, disgusting, arrogant, and sophomorically ill-informed.

(Sometimes all at the same time.)

This isn’t just true of actors. Singers, athletes, writers, politicians, news-people and celebrities in general tend to be people I really don’t want to know – or know more about. This raises the question why information about these flawed and dull glitterati is a multi-billion dollar industry.

Are we a masochistic society, never happy when not scratching at our scabs, or poking at our toothaches? You could make an argument for that, but I think it’s something darker in our social character.

We, the public, take joy in seeing the mighty fallen. How much of our Revolution was about seeing King George III get his? 

 So many of our early movies were slapstick romps where pompous big shots got a pie in the face. Perhaps our schadenfreude has evolved beyond the script – to puffing up real life straw men and women of no real nobility, but great notoriety, and seeing them make fools of themselves in debaucheries, court appearances, and inane pontifical diatribes.

So to the celebrity, feeling a sense of noblesse-oblige that requires them to preach to us unwashed masses about the latest, faddish, social or political concern, you might as well know…

The joke’s on you –

Really.

I searched through several of the celebrity stupidity vids on YouTube.  I got depressed, so I'll spare you.  Here's two stupid celebrities I actually like!

Photo Man-up (or something like that.)

Rough Monday - no details.  Here's some photo manipulations that I like.

Parenting

Baby Inflation

Condiment Wars

Why Snails Drive Slowly

Babysitting Training

Hands On Training

Ouch

Friday 4:45PM

Can't Sing - Can't Fetch

Argh! Squeak, Squeak

Advanced Flossing

Okay, this one is not a photo manipulation.

Big Brotherhood Knows No Species

This video has nothing to do with anything - except that I like Danny Kaye.

O - I'll just have...

I have bagels for breakfast.

It’s not because I prefer bagels. Life is far too complicated for that. It’s that I know how to pronounce the word bagel and there’s a lot of comfort in that.

In a perfect world, I’d have that fluffy funny shaped breakfast pastry. I just don’t know how to ask for it.

Don’t get me wrong. I know the name for it. I just don’t feel right saying it.

Yes, I’d like a cup of coffee, some tomato juice and a quachsoahnt (spelled phonetically).

Any normal waitress would look at the guy who said that and unless he was Jacques Chirac, Jacques Cousteau, or Maurice Chevalier she would actively ignore him until he packed off his phony French accent to Mickey D's.

Stand back folks, he’s pretending to be French. It’s just a matter of time until he gets rude, lewd, nude or any combination of the above.

The other options are no better.

May I have a crescent roll please?

That name doesn't sound right unless spoken in the adolescent descant of the Pillsbury dough boy.

I could try the Americanizing compromise – cressahnt (again spelled phonetically). It’s an efficient way to sound both stuck-up and uneducated at the same time.

I’ll just have a bagel please.

How much of what we eat has to do with names? I’ve never tried mince pie because when I was six my brother (who loved mince pie,) told me it was made of shredded mice. I imagined the little mice that helped Cinderella, ground up by her wicked stepmother and stuffed into pastry dough. I know it’s not really made up of mice, animated or otherwise, and even if it were, the stepmother didn't do household duties, but as assuring as that sounds, the picture remains in my head.

Shoofly pie is very popular in eastern Pennsylvania. Winters are long there – maybe everything starts to sound appetizing after a while. I’d rather stay out of smelling range of that wonderful name image.

I eat asparagus, but that’s only because my Mom was smart enough to tell me it was something only grown-ups like, so I ate it to prove I was grown up. The trick didn't work when she tried it with lima beans, however.

Then there’s goulash. I’ll grant that it’s Hungarian, and goo might sound delicious in eastern Europe, but to create a viscous food that begins with goo is an almost certain way to keep little kids from eating it.

Name/image connection isn't foolproof. Abernathy, my neighbor’s kid, came over and saw a carton of mint chocolate chip in my freezer. As he was too young to read the carton, I tried telling him it was green ice snot with black boogers.

He still ate half the carton. Some kids just love boogers.

Unlike Abernathy, I am committed to my diet of easily pronounceable, non-image producing foods. In moments of fancy, I break free of my bondage – eating croissants, pate de foia grass, spotted dick,

well, you get the idea.

Or failing that, I imagine my whole wheat bagel to be a donut – or is it a doughnut?

Food spelling is a subject for another day.

Now some people will eat anything - as long as it's made of COOKIES!

Jesus Cheers for Notre Dame

Stop me if you’ve heard this one…

Now that I’ve put together a veritable manure pile of blog posts, it’s getting more and more difficult to remember what I’ve posted. I did a quick scan of my post titles. It’s infuriating how often my post title has little or nothing to do with what I put in the post. I’d divorce myself, but who would get custody of the Pop Tarts? Can’t take that chance.

So I’ve been working on a sports parody the last few weeks, and it brought to mind another sports parody I wrote 12 years ago. Almost immediately, my song was out of date. My second stanza of the first verse proclaimed that the Red Sox would never again win the World Series, I referred to the Tampa Bay baseball team as the Devil Rays, I mentioned Vandy – a team that’s gone to bowls the last two years – as a perennial sad sack, I reference Doherty as the North Carolina coach, and I mention Tommy Lasorda who everyone seems to have forgotten.

Thank goodness the Cubs have been consistent so far.

For a few years I tried to keep up – changing the song to reflect the changing nature of sports.

Boy did that get old.

So even if in my growing manure pile, I might have posted this song before – here, for the first time is the original 2002 lyrics (to be sung in a soft lyrical brogue.)

A Jig for Holy Sport’s Fans

(Chorus)

Don't ya know that Jesus

Cheers for Notre Dame?

The Spirit likes les Habitants

The Canadians the same

The heavenly host helped MJ

But the Lakers now they cheer

And the Father above’s a Yankees man

Though their fans drink too much beer

Oh heaven’s not a refuge

If you’re a Cubbie fan

Cheer all you like for the Red Sox

But they’ll never win again

Vandy and Northwestern

Are great with cap and gown

But don’t look to them for football

For they’ll always let you down

(repeat Chorus)

Oh, Mary’d like the Saints now

If she ever saw them play

Teresa was a Celtics fan

Till the poor got in the way

The martyrs don’t like Lions

They remember all the pains

And the Devil cheers the Raiders and

The Miami Hurricanes

The popes, they liked Lasorda

So the Dodgers had a run

The angels would help their namesake

But they don’t think baseball’s fun

The Oilers had a blessing

Till Gretsky left for Hollywood

And no-one likes a Devil Ray

‘Cause they’re just no damn good

(repeat Chorus)

Now Krzyzewski has the blessing

For Doherty is no Smith

The Demon Deacs want Duncan back

That heavenly monolith

And meanwhile all God’s children

From New York to Anaheim

Let mercy slow and evil grow

For on sports we waste our time

(last Chorus)

Don't ya know that Jesus

Cheers for Notre Dame?

The Spirit likes les Habitants

The Canadians the same

The heavenly host helped MJ

But the Lakers now they cheer

And the Father above’s a Yankees man

Though their fans drink too much beer

(spoken in brogue) Like a bunch of Lutherans, they are

(sung slowly) Their fans drink too much beer

Back in the 60s and 70s, My Mother the Car was often referred to as the worst TV show ever.  I wonder if people would still say that today.  There's a lot more really crappy competition out there now.

Life Hacks - Just Helping Out

 So I got this email from Gerontolia Veija from Granville Ohio:

Dear Headley:

Some kind soul sent me this series of pictures they called Life Hacks. I might not have looked at the pictures at all, but I thought it was a misprint for Hicks, and being raised in the country, I thought it would bring back memories.

I can’t make heads or tails of these pictures. Would you please explain them to me?

I’d be glad to, Gerontolia, let’s look at the first one.

 Hmmm, yes, I can see the confusion here. You see what we have here is a very hard form of cheddar cheese. I’m not talking firm, I’m talking about ‘push the crowns right off your teeth as you chew,’ hard. What our hacker is doing here is a clever form of shiatsu fromage massage. It not only softens the cheese, but it makes it easier coming out the other end (if you know what I mean.)

Next slide please.

 Right – got this one. Some smart phones require not only overnight charging, but overnight soaking – preferably in soy sauce. For safety reasons, you should only soak one end of your phone at a time – repeat – NEVER fully immerse your phone in soy sauce. By wrapping your ear buds around a thimble, they have better body and shine, and the picture of the wrecked fishing boat helps give your phone and buds ambiance.

Next.

 Ah, a little known dancing hack. We've all heard the term, ‘warming up.’ In order to dance better, one must warm one’s feet properly, by donning wool socks in your dancing slippers and then blasting them with your hair dryer. You’ll look like Baryshnikov out there.

Next

 This particular hack is for addiction recovery. The addiction we’re dealing with here is Tic Tac addiction, common among school teachers and state employees. The basil and the nutmeg are for light addictions, the cayenne and hard chili peppers are for a more serious problem.

Next

 This is commonly known as the WTF hack. Many of us have acquaintances that feel free to drop in anytime the feel like it. Even those who tell people to “drop in anytime,” really don’t want people to do that. Mounting this little do-dad, particularly the one that appears to be vomiting a Kleenex, will go a long way to make such annoying people feel less welcome.

Next

 This is our empty nest hack. While most children are more considerate now-a-days, living with Mom and Dad into their fifties, there are still insensitive types that leave at 18 or 19 abandoning parents who still have several “sit up straight,” and “don’t slouch like that,” admonitions ready but still unsaid. This little sponge is willing to soak up all that unused parenting.

So – is that the list, Geronlolia? I’m glad I could be of assistance. Here are a few of my favorite hacks to add to your list.

I wish I could hack this blogging thing as well as this honey badger hacks his enclosure.  Here's the video -