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Archive for July 29th, 2010

I love Pulp Fiction.  Laconic pup sent me a link to youtube movie that is a compilation of all snippets where the world “****’ is used in the movie Pulp Fiction.  If you are at work or have little kids, only play this if you have headphones.

Who the hell posted this or sent it to me recently?  Who came up with it?   I can just see Hobbes saying:

I been saying that sh*t for years. And if you heard it, that meant your ass. I never gave much thought to what it meant. I just thought it was some cold-blooded shit to say to a motherf*cker ‘fore I plunged a tooth in his ass. But I saw some shit this mornin’ made me think twice.

****

My son, who is four – named Frankenboy because his run-in with a several hundreds-of-pounds fountain last year that tried to crush his skull left him with a hell of a scar – has made me proud.

It all started when I brought home two bags of Doritos Second-Degree Burn chips.  I like them a lot.  They are not the most flavorful of chips but they have some flavor and I like them.  They are also hot enough that Cruel Wife won’t eat them ( based on the folks I know, she’s probably somewhere in the top 5 percentile in heat-tolerance) and Zoe-pup now fears them after eating half a bag one night.  To give you an idea, they don’t sell them in the big bags – they only sell them in single-serving bags.

I was sitting there with my fresh-made reuben sandwich – loaded with kraut, swiss cheese, dripping with dressing, and piled high with meat – and munching on these chips.

My boy was sitting to my left and I heard his little voice say “I want some chips, please.”

I said “No, buddy, these are hot and you wouldn’t like them.”

Just then I felt a puff of air on my hand as he was blowing on the chip to cool it off.

“Bud, these are spicy hot – they aren’t hot-hot.  They would hurt your mouth.”

More puffs of air wafted over my hand and little bits of chili powder dusted my reuben.

I tried again, figuring repetition would enhance understanding.  “Bud, they aren’t hot but they are spicy hot and they would hurt your mouth…”

Sayeth the boy, “I want some chips” and he reached over to pinch the chip to see if it was truly hot to the touch.

I looked at Cruel Wife resignedly, “You know, he’s just not going to get it unless he experiences it.”   She wearily nodded in agreement. “Let him have one.”

He took the chip, crammed half of it in his mouth, took three munches… and immediately grabbed his juice and drained the container by three-quarters many times faster than I thought a fluid could actually flow.  His eyes were open a bit more and he was sucking air.

“See, pal?  They’re spicy hot.”

He nodded and took another bite.  Then he grabbed Cruel Wife’s ice-water and drained it of two inches worth of water with efficiency that would make Dracula moan with admiration.

He nodded, glassy-eyed, as if to some unspoken wisdom – and then asked for another chip.  Still shaking my head I complied with his request.

Chomp… nom nom nom… crunch crunch crunch…

SLUUUUURRRRRRRRRRP.   SLUUUUURRRRRP. <burp> <excuse me>

“Can I have another chip please?”

Chomp… nom nom nom… crunch crunch crunch…

SLUUUUURRRRRRRRRRP.   SLUUUUURRRRRP. <burp> <excuse me>

I made up my mind that I just could not make up my mind as to whether I should be proud or write him off as an idiot.  Being a chili-head, I eventually opted for pride.

He ate three chips.

Twenty minutes later I hear a scream from the other room, “I NEED THE BATHROOOOOM!”   Apparently all that liquid must go somewhere.

Lest you think that I bullshitteth thee, take a look.


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