Nice job, caregiver

Her: Yeah, my friend is doing a midnight improv show. And, I'm just wondering if you think that would be an okay place for a kid or not really.
Me: I would say that it isn't.
Her: Why? Because of language.
Me: Possibly. We recommend 17 and up for all shows. With it being an improv show, we really don't know ahead of time what is going to be said. So, yeah, I would say it would be a bad idea to bring a child for that fact.
Her: So, if I bring the kid, will you just not let us in?
Me: How old is the kid?
Her: Seven.


Seven. Never you mind our age minimum being (inexplicably) ten years old, why won't he be in bed at midnight? The little scamp needs a night of 'fucks' and blowjob jokes before being tucked in, I guess. Ahh, to be young...

Fashion common sense

Flip flops. A summer necessity.
Makers and designers of flip flops, I don't understand. Your job is to create a thing, and I am behind that one hundred percent. You're lucky, but you should maybe think about another outlet for your artistic side. A craft project at home, perhaps? Paint a mural in your family room?

Casey. What are you talking about?
This, fools.

Now, this flip flop design makes sense. The floral pattern covers a large area, leaving some of the color to peek out above the toes of the wearer. I can accept flip flop artwork such as this. However...


What the fuck is this noise? The design is positioned perfectly underneath your grubby foot for absolutely no one to see. Unless the soles of your dogs appreciate a fine piece of art, this is pointless. The only time anyone will see this is when you take the damn things off. At that point you've worn them, leaving the prettiness (Let's be kind. Someone thought this was pretty.) sullied by your sweaty, dirty foot grime. This is a travesty and it makes an artist and fashion lover sad as hell.

Flip flop designers, respect yourselves. You are better than this and deserve to have your creativity exhibited someplace other than a flimsy piece of foam upon which a person's pedal extremity shall rest.

Just cook a thing, dammit.

So, from what I can tell, this woman is famous for writing a blog about falling in love with and cooking for a cowboy. Any person out there familiar with this so-called "Pioneer Woman" think I'm way off base?

Her name is Ree Drummond, and her blog states- "I channel Lucille Ball, Vivien Leigh, and Ethel Merman." Fantastic. Those were some cool ladies, I suppose. And apparently she does cooking segments on the Today Show, a morning program that I love to hate more than America loves to hate Charlie Sheen. She prepared some sort of flank steak with pasta that did not look the slightest bit healthy which means it is probably delicious. She has red hair which almost always wins me over when it comes to people.

Her gimmick is what kills me. Ree Drummond is famous for falling in love, as far as I can tell. Any cooking segment that is littered with the phrase, "The first time I cooked this for my husband..." kind of just makes me want to upchuck, which is the opposite of what you want. Okay, I get it. You like that dude. I just want to hear how long you cook this flank steak. If I try this at home, I don't need to know how terrible it was the first time you prepared it or how sweet you thought it was that your "cowboy" ate it anyway.


I have said it before, and I will say it again. No one else in the world is as excited about your love life as you may be. It just isn't going to happen. Not even your mother cares that much. Please, just cook the damn steak.