Because I'm Chick Pea-sy.....Chick Pea-sy On Sunday Morning

Well hello there, foodie friends!

Are you looking for the perfect snack to complement your luxuriantly peaceful weekends? If so, I can attest that you need to stay far, far away from the combination of Zesty Garlic Hummus dip and Baked Pita Chips. Even if the deafening sounds of crunchy crunchiness doesn't completely shatter your Sunday solace, the gastrointestinal aftermath that follows, surely will.
Listen to my Infidel admonition....... BEWARE THE LEGUMES!

Without going into too much detail, let's just say that if this flavorful duo was listed on a restaurant menu they would entitle it The Rudie-Pooty-Ripe-N-Tooty special. Oh great and holy frijole in the sky, me and the mini-Infidels did partake of the sinful hummus among us and spent the rest of the day toddling around like walking/talking Whoopee Cushions. We were deathly afraid to hug one another. :(

I talked to Carrot Jello last night because Papi said that she needs advance warning on the care of feeding of Elastic for when I visit her this summer. Rule number one: Under NO circumstance should you feed Elastic, hummus--especially after midnight because she'll wake up the whole house. Seriously, if I would have been strapped into one of those contraction monitors yesterday I could have visually seen the dramatic spikes charting across the screen with every bowel-ripping rumble. I'm not even sure that a contraction monitor has the capability of accurately recording the abdominal pressure that was going on......a Richter Scale would have proved far more useful.

Father Al Gore should focus his panic-riddled environmental agenda on the investigation and subsequent banning of hummus. Obviously hummus farts is contributory to widespread global warming and must be stopped!


CLIKETY HERE to support renewable energy credits based solely on harnessing the powerful force of hummus flatulence. Yeah, it may contradict the last sentence in this post but being contradictory is what Father Al Gore is all about.

Come On In And Have A Seat!

I'm not quite sure how I should handle a delicate situation that's erupted between me and one of my kitchen chairs. It's as though this chair is determined to rebel and break out of the pack no matter how much kindness I show towards it. I don't have these issues with the 7 other kitchen chair siblings that I lovingly adopted from Goodwill last year. I guess that statistically speaking I'm fortunate to have only ended up with one bad seed, but lately my chair has been taking some rather inappropriate liberties with my rear end. I have to draw the line somewhere. I can no longer tolerate this kind of booty harassment in the sanctity of my home.

Yeah, my chair seat has a break.....a fissure......a crevice.....a crack....a line of demarcation that perfectly matches my own line of demarcation located right down the middle of my butt cheeks.

Whenever I think that we've worked out all our problems and it's safe to sit down once more, the sneaky chair will go and pinch me bum all over again. I got my derriere lecherously pinched quite a bit in my younger years so I've built up some sort of a grab-azz immunity. It's Papi that I'm really concerned about. See, like most hetero males he feels threatened if anything or anyone touches the preciousness of his mocha posterior. After being repeatedly victimized, Papi now swears that our kitchen chair is gay. I disagree. The chair seems to enjoy an equal opportunity pincher status. It's also divided in two. So, obviously, it's a bi-chair.

Since it's nearly impossible to curtail the wily impulses of a bi-chair, I think we're going to have to just sell it. I'm thinking about making it part of a Do-It-Yourself kit for the lovelorn. The kit will include a vacuum cleaner (vitally necessary for creating self-induced hickeys), a hand-held shower massager :), and the pinchy-chair to recapture a time when your butt was irresistible to the pervy and lobster-clawed. I'm secretly hoping the Sit And Be Fit exercise lady on PBS will buy it as a ratings gimmick with people tuning in just to see the reaction of that one old fart unlucky enough to get stuck with the bi-chair that week.

Just think of the rousing games of Musical Chairs to be had! Just think of sitting relatives you despise in the chair at family gatherings! Just think of the butt boils you can lance yourself at home! There's nothing the bi-chair can't do. So, who is willing to take on the duties of Infidel Chairperson in 2008?



Clickety! Gracias.

The Smiling Infidel Plays Art Critic With Neither An Art Degree Or A Tweed Blazer With Elbow Patches!

I'm fairly certain there's some sort of deep and profound spiritual meaning to this fountain- it may even be rooted in mythology. I'm obviously way too low-brow and uneducated to get it because all I could think of was my own bitter disappointment that the artisans didn't go all the way and route the water to stream out the penis or at least the dolphin's blowhole.
This work of art sits smack in the middle of the entryway to Methodist Hospital in downtown Houston. We got to see it up close and personal when visiting my Grandma a few weeks ago. It's not everyday we're allowed the opportunity to absorb such artistic magnificence as a naked man riding a dolphin as though he's performing in an underwater rodeo at a nudist resort. I especially like how he's waving one arm in the air. It has a definite Yeeee-Haaawww, Ride Em' Dolphin feel to it! Of course I had to take a picture. Of course.

We looked around for some sort of donor plaque. We didn't see one but I'm guessing wherever it was the plaque read: This Fountain Lovingly Donated By A Joint Collaboration Of The Freudian Society Of Houston and N.A.M.P.L.A(North American Man-Porpoise Love Association)

A Very Special Infidel Easter Episode Without Any Special Guest Star Appearances

We're bonafide Infidels, so naturally we celebrated the resurrection of our Savior yesterday because that's just what bonafide Infidels do. However, if you assume that we traveled the traditional super-suburbanite route by getting the mini-Infidels all gussied up in matching pinafore dresses and pastel seersucker pants for a picture with the Easter Bunny followed by a gay afternoon coloring eggs, you'd be wrong. First of all, calling eggs "colored" seems racially insensitive and I certainly didn't want the E.E.O.C to show up and squash our Easter fun. Instead, we started a new tradition. I didn't have time to fill plastic eggs and hide them like I usually do so I instructed the mini-Infidels to gather around in the living room with their baskets and then we played a little game I like to call "Easter Parade." I pretended to be a giant parade float coincidentally constructed out of elastic waistband pants and an obnoxious 'Where My Peeps At?' T-shirt to look exactly like me. Wow. So there I was, gliding gracefully down the carpeted thoroughfare, tossing candy and treats out wildly to the enthusiastic parade crowd as I passed by. It was chaotic, sure, but nobody got maimed or flattened in a frenzied Skittles stampede, so it's all good.

The two eldest Infidel daughters put the squishy, glitter putty they caught during the grand Infidel Easter parade to good use. Infidel daughter the second lovingly crafted hers into a gelatinous thong bikini. It's not one of the Ten Commandments but I'm relatively sure it's written somewhere that Thou Shalt Not Construct Thongs Out Of Silly Putty On The Sabbath Day Nor Easter.

We shopped at Sam's Club on Saturday to prepare for our gala Easter dinner and Sunbum pointed out this box. Yeah, inexplicably, the words: DO NOT CRAB is printed on it. Who do those Chinese think they are telling us not to crab like that? Maybe it was a misprint and it should have read: DO NOT CRAP. The Chinese want us to stop crapping so that we all self-implode. Sneaky Chinese. They really are out to get us..

Melody desperately needs a new bed but we just don't have the space for one. Luckily for us, Sam's Club sells a practical bedding solution for the low, low price of $24.99. Melody gave her new sleeping arrangements the all-important butt-plopping test right there on the Sam's Club floor while striking a Cleopatra pose for the camera. It's a bed fit for a dog named Queen!

Cheese Balls!
Oh, those poor, pitiful little cheeses having to live life without their balls. :(

We chose the herb-marinated salmon for our main course and washed it down with a robust and fragrant grape juice vintage 2007 from the Kroger frozen aisle vineyards. Yeah, I know that you're not supposed to drink white grape juice or swill from wine glasses filled with Hi-C Punch when dining on fish. We're not completely unrefined heathens, even though we are eating off of melamine plates I scored for cheeep at Target and drinking from dollar store plastic cups.


Thank you for joining us on this very special Infidel Easter Episode. No chocolate bunnies were harmed in the making of this post........ mainly because we don't buy chocolate bunnies until they hit 75% off at the After-Easter Sales.

CLICKETY! Gracias.

It's Fantastic-Frou-Frou-French-Food Friday!

This Frenchy-French Crepe Cafe opened up here in the Houston suburbs last summer. It's a welcome change of pace to have a bit of Ooh-La-La added to the landscape since we've already reached the maximum quota allowed per capita of Mexican restaurants that specialize in serving food identical to your favorite Banquet brand heat-and-eat frozen dinner entrees.
I guess as parents we just haven't infused enough culinary culture into the life of our mini-Infidels because oldest daughter, Sunbum had no inkling that there even existed a magical world of crepes nor did she have the knowledge of how crepes function as a pancake-like vessel bringing a hidden treasure of tasty fillings right to your plate. In fact, so hopelessly crepe-incompetent was Sunbum that she kept pronouncing crepe as "creep."

So, a few moments after picking up the Crepe Cafe menu and making the obligatory offensive Gay Paree jokes, Sunbum began reading over the menu and making Mmmmmmmmmm noises and commenting about how Italian creeps looked really good to her and how bad she really wanted an Italian creep.
Shocking as the moment was I had to pull it together and inform Sunbum that as her mother I would neither condone nor support her dream of having an Italian creep. I reminded her that as enticingly hot as an Italian creep may appear on the outside that the inside stuffed full of excessive body hair and gold chains was sure to disappoint-and isn't what's on the inside that really counts? It worked. Sunbum conceded that maybe a powdered-sugar strawberry crepe was more suited to her tastes. (Should I also worry that my daughter has a thing for fruity creeps?)

Thank heavens. I really would hate to have to send out wedding announcements regarding the nuptials of my oldest daughter, Sunbum Soprano.


Look, to the best of my knowledge, humor-blogs is not a Mafia-affiliated organization and they don't employ narcs. However, they do still know when you click on this linkie for me because your click moves me up to the deee-luxe apartment in the sky instead of moving me down to sleep with the fishes. CLICKETY! Gracias.

Wow, I Didn't Know You Could Get That In A Giant Economy Pack!

This post is sashaying about flirtatiously right on my self-imposed boundary lines of decency. However, I can no longer quell the constant internal dialogue that strikes up within me whenever I bear witness to the pervasive fugliness on display in this yard. If you're easily offended, this is an opportune time to go catch up on your Smurf latch-hook pillow project you've been working on for the past 25 years.


Behold The Wicked Light Fixtures Lighting Up The Forbidden Path:And Here's The Up Close And Personal And In Yo Face Zoom Version:

Upon further scrutiny with my steely Infidel eyes, all I could think was hoooooollllyyyy crrrraaaapppp, when did the adult novelty stores add a lawn & garden department?

Look, I'm all for dual-function products to optimize efficiency and practicality but these yard lights are careening down a very slippery slope. There's some dark crevices where a light just shouldn't be shone into unless you're a practicing physician. I don't even want to think about the crossover potentials of this kind of perversion. What's next, pulsing, vibrating flashlights for your annual family camp-out? And the very worst part is that while these lawn lights with their solar-charged batteries may be eco-friendly and all, but do we really, honestly want to live in a world where people brazenly flaunt their personal toys right out in the front yard during broad daylight like this?

I think I heard the homewoner somewhere behind the beveled-glass front door crooning the main chorus to You Light Up My Life as I stealthily snapped this picture. Putting the "bedroom" in "bedroom community." Shazam!

I've been a bad, bad girl. I know. I'm ashamed. I need to be punished. You should get out the velevet whi.........oh wait, what you should really do is click right here on this banner for me. It's a secret petition to stop the manufacturers of ugly yard lights. CLICKETY! Gracias.

This Cake Could Potentially Save Your Life!

So, this weekend I donned my very festive beach-themed apron and magically transformed into The Smiling Infidel Gourmet!

I baked up a delectable treat that's not only the embodiment of chocolate bliss but can also help immunize your entire family against the dastardly Avian Flu. Seriously. Just read this article. Yeah, life-saving cake that you don't even need a prescription or an overseas Internet drug dealer for.

Here's all the ingredients assembled together. You might want to add a hair net to your list because life-saving or not, most people don't care to munch on hair strands embedded amongst the cakey morsels.

Ummmmm, I know it's magnificent, but please stop staring at my sexy red spatula. kthx.
This is the part where you throw everything haphazardly into a shiny metal bowl. Throwing everything around haphazardly- that's where my secret kitchen talent lay.
For this next step you need to have a beefy, steroid-induced bodybuilder on stand-by to break the nearly impenetrable seal on the sauerkraut jar using sheer brute force. Otherwise, you'll be standing there in your kitchen moaning and grunting and panting while trying to loosen up the sauerkraut lid while your husband sits in the next room wondering if you checked out that Joy Of Erotic Cooking cookbook from the library.

You now have the sauerkraut precisely where you want it. The sauerkraut is a prisoner of your cutting board with nowhere to run to and nowhere to hide as you show off your mad knife-wielding skills and hack it into oblivion. You are the master and commander of the kitchen blade. That'll show those mofos over at Benihana Grill for refusing to hire you!
Whenever I use my mixer I like to sing that classic 80's song by The Cars, Shake It Up, only I change the words to "Mix it up, oooh, ooh, mix it up...." This is a very crucial instruction. If you don't encourage and play cheerleader for your mixer, your cake will turn out crappy. Notice that I'm using Libby's brand sauerkraut for my masterpiece. Yeah, Bush's Best sauerkraut just wasn't good enough. Sorry, Bush's. If one day I decide to make a canned baked beans cake, you're in!
Be extremely cautious as you transfer the batter over to the greased-up Bundt cake pan. If you get any batter on you the Police will automatically arrive at your doorstep and haul you away to a battered women's shelter.
Behold........the majestic awesomeness of my SARS-fighting secret weapon, Chocolate Sauerkraut Cake! I like the way it looks covered up in powdered sugar. It gives it a bit of "Walking In A Winter Wonderland" whimsy, don't you think? The mini-Infidels took this to their Homeschool Book Club and nobody could guess the secret ingredient. Nobody! Oh, that sauerkraut is really a genius master of disguise, fooling and deceiving all who get close to it. I'm going to put some on my next IRS audit.

We're not through with the Sauerkraut celebration just yet. The Smiling Infidel Gourmet will soon delve into the exotic wonder of The Passion For Sauerkraut cookbook to bring you the tantalizing recipe for Sauerkraut Custard Pie which is sure to also ward off sickness while delighting your taste buds!

My Bologna Has A First Name....... And So Does My Feminine Hygiene Product!

From skimpy personalized thongs to giant bean bag chairs, I've seen all kinds of cheesy crap stamped with the gloriousness that is my name. Sadly, after searching for many years, I've still yet to find even one line of feminine hygiene products bearing my moniker- scribbling 'MELISSA' on the front of the package with a black Sharpie marker isn't quite the same. I frequently entertained swirling thoughts of legally changing my name to Tampax or Kotex until the fateful morning I stumbled across this display at our local 99 Cents Only Store. Oh wow, the Julie's of the world really have all the luck, don't they? I'm experiencing serious monogram envy.Now Julie can join the ranks of important females with iconic names like Sara Lee, Betty Crocker, Aunt Jemima, Little Debbie, and Wendy's. I can only imagine the profound befuddlement of the poor men who reside in homes dominated by estrogen as to why their ladies keep talking about someone or something named Julie. Anyway, I've secretly placed a hidden Infidel microphone in just such a home. Let's listen in, shall we?

"I wore white pants today and Julie really let me down. I should sue Julie for the dry cleaning bill."

"I'm riding the Julie Express again for the fourth day in a row."

"Just because Julie has wings doesn't mean that Julie can fly. Kindly walk your Julie to the can instead of throwing Julie across the room"

"That stanky Julie's been all up in my business today."

"I'm so glad that Julie was with me when Aunt Flo came to visit. Aunt Flo can be a real pain in the azz but Julie absorbs everything she can dish out with no complaints!"

"No, I'm sorry, not tonight, honey. I've already got Julie between my legs."

At certain times of the month my world revolves around you, Julie. Also, I can honestly say that you've boldly gone where no Julie has ever gone before. Congratulations, Julie!

Don't you forget about me. I'll be alone, dancing you know it, baby. Don't you forget about me....don't, don't, don't. Don't you...... forget about me. Please click. Gracias!

The Green Party Came To The Infidel House This Weekend!

Despite my previous reluctance, we embraced that Green Party and spent the whole weekend delighted by the frivolity of it all. Special thanks to Lauren and Nancy Face, the most dynamic mother-daughter blogging duo to ever come out of Arizona, for sending us this fantastical package that contained everything we needed to start our own Green Party chapter. (Frumpy Ralph Nader not included)
It's obvious that the Faces wanted to make sure us Infidels will have enough green on-hand to stay pinch-free come St. Patrick's Day. We really appreciate that. It's also obvious that they desire for us to freshen up our breath and rid ourselves of the shameful stench of B.O. via the scented soapiness of Irish Spring and minty fresh candies and gum. We really appreciate that, too. A more perfect green-themed party package could never be found......unless it's a package stuffed full of greenbacks!

Thanks, Ladies!

You look like you need a dose of green. Help me to help you. Clickety on this nice green banner and I get to ascend the ranks at humor-blogs.com and you get a little green action and satisfaction. You do know what they say about green, don't you?

Should I Show You My Moon Or My Pie.......Oh Heck, I'll Show You Both!

Let's talk about inevitability, shall we? It's inevitable that the moment you sneak a quick nose pick in public you'll suddenly see someone you know staring back at you with a look of disgust. It's inevitable that you'll lean over at a Church Potluck Supper to remark something like, "Who brought that dish over there? It looks like the actual bowl of green, greasy gopher guts from that song," to the very person who cooked up the offensive food. It's also inevitable that my mini-Infidels will tell me of their impending projects at the last possible minute.
Fortunately, I've come to rely on the power of The Mighty Moon Pie to solve all my problems. So when Infidel Daughter The Second needed to pull together a lesson for her Activity Day meeting at Church, we opted to make the flower pot cuties above. We followed the recipe precisely. Disappointingly, as much as we poked and stabbed the lollipop sticks into the sandwich cookies like crazed junkies with needles, they refused to stay. Then divine providence struck. I turned to my old emergency stand-by, The Mighty Moon Pie and was able to pull together these blossoming beauties lickety-split. (Yeah. I said lickety-split. And?)

You see there is no problem too big or too small that can't be solved using the wonders of The Mighty Moon Pie. Need a little padding in the cups of a saggy bra? Stuff a couple of rounded Moon Pies in there to give the appearance of a naturally curvaceous bosom.....the cleavage heat will ensure a tasty little marshmallow-creme treat for later, too! Yes, there's at least 101 uses for a faithful sidekick like the moon pie. Behold:

One time, back in the day, I was getting ready to go to the club, but I couldn't find my giant gold hoop earrings. Two hollowed-out banana moon pies later, and I was ghetto fabulousness personified! As an added bonus, the allure of the banana scent had every man going ape-sheet over me, too.

There's no racial tension in the world of The Mighty Moon Pie. We could learn a lot from a moon pie. Ebony and ivory, living together in perfect harmony, side by side on my cutting board.

When 8 year-old Caterpillar bitterly complained that Polly Pocket never got to go on vacation, I fashioned Polly her very own Polly Pocket Temptation Island complete with a palm tree. I did not include a margarita machine or Peter Pocket, though. The last thing I want is tiny illegitimate Pocket babies with all their magnetic accessories littering the floor of my house. I got enough kids to worry about around here.

The moon pie's waxy layers makes it a perfect choice as a substitute coaster when you realize you didn't buy enough for your family get-together; not that your redneck relatives will actually utilize them when plopping their generic cola cans down on your furniture. As you can see, they're also easily personalized.

Yes, The Mighty Moon Pie is indeed a national treasure of staggering proportions and should be revered as such. Recently discovered documents reveal that Islamic terrorists plan to invade our country in order to wrest away control of the original moon pie factory in Tennessee. They want to butcher our beloved moon pies into half-moon pies as pictured above, just to break down our morale and satisfy their own maniacally egotistical ways........we musn't let them win!




Don't forget to clickety HERE for me! Gracias!

Super Stupid Tuesday!

Texans will finally be able to voice their political opinion today when the polls open up at 7:00 A.M. Sadly, not one of my preferred Presidential candidates mustered up enough support to make it to this stage of the game. The only silver lining for staunch conservatives like me is that we'll finally escape the political ad crapfest that's been polluting local talk radio airwaves for months, now.
(Thanks to Lakeland Local for the photo. It's under a Creative Commons License. Do not copy.)
The very worst thing about Texas in a political year is the way the candidates adopt the most corn-pone accent this side of Dueling Banjos. They put on a big production prancing and swaggering around while throwing out abundant 'Hey Y'all's' and 'Howdy's' everytime they speak. Gather them up and as a collective they'd all qualify as final round contestants of every Southerner's favorite reality show, 'Who Wants To Be The Biggest Hick?'

The lady running for the County District Attorney position wins the worst offender prize. Implausibly, her ad campaign people came up with this tag line for her to draawwwllll out at the end of her radio ad spots: "Vote for me because you can't play politics with justice." Sounds like a decent slogan, right? Well, not really when paired up with the ad disclaimer that immediately follows it which states: "Paid for by the Republican Party of Crackertopia County." Right. You can't play politics with justice but you can allow political parties to pay for your candidacy. Contradictory contradiction, much?

Her ads have also included the endorsements from crime victims whose cases she helped prosecute. One dramatic lady declares, "She's a tough little gal like a Bulldog in a Chihuahua's body." Wait, what? Are you saying that the District Attorney hopeful is really a yappy and annoying dog who craves Taco Bell? What if she had curly hair and jumped through flaming hula hoops as a hobby, would she then be a Bulldog in a Poodle's body? What if she had a fugly flat nose and lazy eye, would they revise the ad to announce that she's like a Bulldog in a Pug's body? I mean breaking it down doggy style only tells me that she might have a place alongside Snoop Dogg and Tha Dogg Pound instead of the County Courthouse.

A message to the rest of you political incumbent hopefuls........ just because you run an ad where your pocket lobbyist declares you to be "The Greatest Person In The History Of Ever" doesn't mean I'm going to vote for you. I actually read and I know what your voting track record is and how you betrayed Crackertopia County time and again. I also don't really care that the Frequent Burrito Eaters Club has endorsed your candidacy or that your mom tells everyone that you always wear clean underwear and therefore they should vote for you. I vote based on what you, as a representative, have accomplished for your constituents. I'm just keeping it real, yo.

*Don't forget to vote for ME on Super Tuesday by clicking here on Humor-Blogs.com. A vote for me is a vote for comedic superiority. Let's send a message to those pundits over there who continue wallowing in humor mediocrity by sending me to the top of the ranks.*

We Got Flashed By An Inanimate Streaker At Cici's Pizza!

The Infidel family made a rare public appearance yesterday as we dined out amidst the glitz and glamour of the vinyl booths and serving line heating lamps at Cici's Pizza Buffet. Yes, so there we were eating away again in Diarrheaville, searching for our lost shaker of cheese when Melody suddenly screamed out in a horrified voice "That napkin holder is NAKED!!!!"
We've taught our mini-infidels the moral value of embracing the ideals of modesty and now we're finally seeing the blossoming fruits of our parental diligence. Young Melody wants everyone and everything to be properly clothed......even the napkin dispenser.
When I flipped the dispenser over to reveal that it was stuffed full of napkins on the other side and therefore could only be half-naughty and possibly suffering a split personality disorder, Melody decided to give the wayward napkin holder an encouraging squeeze. I guess that makes Melody some sort of tree-hugger because napkins do come from trees, and she is trying to save them, right?

Moral Of Today's Blog Post: Love The Napkin Sinner, Not The Napkin Sin.

*I Made A Loincloth Out Of Napkins To Cover The Nakedness Of Humor-Blogs.Com*