The Smiling Infidel Word Of The Day: The Ides Of March Edition

I HATE Urban Dictionary!


Every fantastical word concoction we've come up with has already been covered over there and associated with vile unspeakable things.


Except ANOREXICAN. That one is all MINE.


Anyway, for the past couple years we've employed a catch-all phrase when something smells rotten in Denmark. 

By combining the lovely Irishness of the word malarkey with the majestic agricultural beauty of the profane bullsh*t we've unleashed a new hybrid known as BULLARKEY!

BULLARKEY can help you with all your ranting, raving, and appropriate Mormon-styled cussing needs.

BULLARKEY may even assist in you finding fame and fortune as you introduce it among your friends and families and see it spread like a wildfire that can only be triggered by a stack of New Slang Dictionaries set aflame by a professor wearing a coat with velvet elbow patches carelessly puffing away on his pipe.

Then one day you'll be immortalized as the founder, creator, and proprietor of one of the most widely used words in the English language.......BULLARKEY!

What The Smiling Infidel Is Listening To Right Now!

Okay, I've been enamored by the epic band TV On The Radio for several years now although I find their sound sort of hit or miss.

In other words they're the musical equivalent of "The Girl With The Curl."

When they're good, they're VERY good. But when they're bad, they're simply awful.

However, I've heard three new tracks from their upcoming CD entitled Nine Types Of Light and they are each and every one made of pure, unadulterated WIN!

The pre-released track "Caffeinated Consciousness" is available for FREE download right now and of course so is "Will Do."

"Will Do" is awesomeness especially because the main lyrics waxes on about "volcanic calderas" and I just learned all about calderas last semester in Geology.

Not too often do you find modern music referencing nerdy things like that.In your face Lady Gaga/Britney Spears/Ke$hA and all other talentless autotune hacks.

Anyway, if you're hankering for past greatness from TV On The Radio, I highly recommend "Crying" and the darkly broody-moody "DLZ."

The thing that amuses me the most about this group is that they feature a token white guy in their midst.

Most indie alternative bands have the requisite token black dude done up in certified hipster gear but not TV On The Radio. They do things differently.

I aspire to one day be the token geeky, white, fat hipster chick, too.

The Smiling Infidel Word Of The Day: Learning New Vocab The Infidel Way!

My Sexy-Mexi husband Papi has recently embarked on a triumphant weight loss regimen in which he's dropped a staggering 30 pounds in less than six weeks time.
He wants to lose another 10 so that he fits the average weight-height chart specifications of 150 pounds.
The problem with that is that the creators of these charts have a one-size-fits-all mentality and they don't take important things into account like abnormal head sizes, or extreme body hair, or gold teeth because I'm sure all that adds extra weight to a person.
Anyway, my Papi has a gargantuan head atop his very petite 5'6 body.
The more weight he loses the more prominent the disparity.
I told him that with his light brown skin he's starting to resemble a caramel candied apple on a stick.
My very righteous and spiritual Papi shot me his dainty middle finger in response.
I'm not scared of him because I now outweigh him. I can wrap my arms around him and pick him up.
Yesterday I swung Papi around the kitchen....much to his displeasure.
I told him that's part of the trials and tribulations he must suffer as punishment for marrying a woman who's bigger than him.
Before work today Papi continued lamenting that he hasn't lost any weight in 2 days when my fat self finally snapped and informed him that he's dangerously close to becoming an anorexican.
Yeah, an ANOREXICAN......a Mexican who's consumed with an unhealthy/unflattering weight loss obsession.
And that is your Infidel Word Of The Day. Go forth my peeps and try to use ANOREXICAN at least once in a sentence.
Then, when you've exhausted the possibilities to throw in a random ANOREXICAN or two, look into joining my new 80's Lingo Resurrection Society.
I'm doing my part. I introduced the kids at church to the lost word "boss." Now they use it instead of the more popular "beast." Dude, that's so BOSS!
My amazing dentist, Dr. Thomas Hernandez is trying his hardest to bring "NO DOY!" back from the edge of expression extinction. It's kind of like that song "He's Bringing No Doy Back......Hey!"
I firmly believe that with a few word nerds on our side that together we can reinstitute the lost glory of choice 80's grammar for a whole new generation.
Awesome? Yeah, like NO DOY!

Terrific Tunes Tuesday (Foster The People-HOUDINI)

FOSTER THE PEOPLE just released this song last week.........
Upon hearing it I immediately ponied up the .99 cents to add it to my extensive iPod music collection......
It actually makes me want to get up and exercise.........
I love this song so much I would commit polyandry to marry it.......
I plan on putting this song on indefinite replay because it transports me to a magical world.......
A world where autotune nightmares like Ke$ha are punished for their musical crimes with a nice vocal cord clamp........

All I Need Is A (MATH) Miracle!

A isn't just for Algebra. It also stands for Agonzing, Annoying, Apocalyptic, and Aggravating. It's doubtful that there will be any A for Awesome showing up on my transcript this semester.
Have mercy, 18 years has served to completely obliterate the miniscule amount of equation-solving knowledge left in my brain.
Mathmagician, Mathologist, Mathlete......these are all words that will never be used to describe me.

My Brother Is The Non-Caped Ketchup Cleaning Crusader!

I'm always in awe of the legendary innovativeness of my family.
It's as though we sprang from the sacred hoo-hoo of The Mother of Invention herself!
Anyway, my 22 year-old brother may have lost his job due to to a newer kind of sport I'll dub "EXTREME PROBLEM SOLVING."
See, he's afflicted with a chromosomal disorder similar to Down's Syndrome but he's high functioning enough to secure placement in a work skills program at school.
Alas, Amelia Bedelia Syndrome may also play a part in this sad, sad tale of well-meaningness gone horribly awry.
Anyway, the manager of the restaurant at my brother's latest job site instructed him to go out to the patio and clean all the ketchup bottles.
Always the dutiful employee, my brother did exactly as he was told.
The problem? Well, the problem is that he cleaned the ketchup bottles by meticulously licking each and every one until they shone brilliantly; something only a potent spit varnish will accomplish.
I'm the mother of picky pickers and a sister to a real live ketchup licker.
Awesome!
The teacher in charge called my mom to notify her of my brother's kitty kat-bath-meet-ketchup-bottle cleaning technique in what had to rank as the most awkward conversation ever.
Puzzled, my mom just kept repeating, "But he doesn't even like ketchup."
How many licks to the center of a Tootsie Roll Pop? The world may never know.
How many licks to clean a ketchup bottle? Ask my brother who is now presumably the newest ketchup-licking champion of the world.
I can't wait for a fast and furious match-up between him and the CATSUP-licking champion of the world because that'll undoubtedly be a feat of condiment epicness that Pay Per View will add to their lineup.
Advice For Ketchup Bottle Cleaning Day:
A cleaning rag that's handy is dandy.......... but to licker is quicker!

I Should Be Crowned Queen Of The Dirty Santa Game

Dirty Santa=White Elephant

Got it? Good!
Anyway I wrapped up my awesome gift for the exchange in the most festive glittery silver Happy Chanukah paper before adding dangling blue balls ornaments to the ginormous bow.
Party patrons WANTED it. The gift got stolen and re-stolen and for a moment the gathering nearly turned into a Mormon Mosh Pit of Madness as frenzied fingers grappled for the present.
Not really, but it was highly sought after and now I'll show you photographic evidence of why:

This be the picture affixed to the top of the plain white box that obscured the hidden wonders tucked neatly within.
I'm sending this pic to my man Mitt so he can use it in his 2.0 Presidential Campaign Relaunch.
Big Pimpin' Mitt 2012.....ooohhhhh yeeeaaahhhh!

 

And here be the Big Pimpin' Booty!
The only parameters of the game stipulated that the gift must not exceed 10 bucks and it should be goofy but still practical.
Well, what MO wouldn't want to serve up their guests out of a set of authentic Tupac Shakur shooter glasses? The marijuana leaf motif is super classy!
Tupac was the victim of an unknown shooter and now he's immortalized on shooter glasses.
Dang, I love me some irony!

Stuff From 2010 I Hope Never Happens Again: Part 1

While gathered together with my family at the dinner table for our traditional Christmas Day dinner I glimpsed my mother gazing at me wonderingly.
I honestly thought she was going to uncharacteristically burst forth with a display of maternal emotion to gather me in her motherly arms while smothering me with love and exclamations of how profoundly grateful she is for me, her one and only daughter.
I smiled widely at her in anticipation.
And then,  my mother extended a single finger to tenderly touch the side of my face before recoiling in horror and blurting out "Holy crap what is that? Are those SIDEBURNS?!!!?? You really need to take care of that, Fifi* because you look absolutely ridiculous like you're trying to channel Elvis or something."
Everyone seated at the table laughed. I felt really self-conscious and put my turtleneck shirt up over my face so that only my eyes remained unobscured.......like a Ninja Elvis.
It's obvious this blog should be renamed The Smiling Sideburn.
I'll look into that today.

*Fifi is my mom's nickname for me since the horrible home perm experiment that went tragically awry in the mid 80's

BUSTED!

After a couple months of sparring with my somewhat pretentious English Professor my moment(s) of extreme vindication finally arrived.
He is and was the most conflicted liberal I've ever met.
Professor I-Know-More-Than-You continuously espoused his firm belief that President Obama would ascend to soaring Presidential heights in order to solve all of the world's ills. A Presidential Messiah, if you will.
This would be acceptable in a Government class. However, his breathy exaltations proved annoying when in the context of an English course.
Yet, he and his wife are also extreme Catholic pro-life activists who protested outside of Houston's new Planned Parenthood headquarters where Nancy Pelosi was on hand for the festivities.
He labeled my essay decrying the Obama administration repeal of the Mexico City Act which will funnel taxpayer money into the funding of abortion on an international scale as "bombastic" and "incendiary."
Conflicted, for sure.
Anyway, in a futile attempt to tug at our heartstrings and manipulate our emotions into compassion for struggling students on the campus he always tried to tell us the worst hard luck stories he could muster up.....he could have saved his breath.
Our class was comprised of students working several jobs, going to school and juggling family responsibilities.
We all know that attending college is a choice in which some sacrifices must be made. Therefore, his stories about his students in other classes teetering on the brink of starvation because of their tuition expense or working so hard they found themselves in near fatal car accidents just made most of us roll our eyes.
If those stories are true I think Professor Know-It-All was getting played for a fool by some calculating kids who knew they could milk him for vending machine money and/or an assignment extension.
So, one class period he fires up his propaganda machine and starts telling us the gut-wrenching story of one particularly unfortunate student of his who has been bounced around from foster home to foster home her entire life because her hippie mom abandoned her. She eventually goes to live with her grandma who arranges a much-anticipated reunion with the girl's mom who does show up but lets it slip within the girl's earshot that she only came because the grandma paid her to.
Sound familiar?
It should, because it's the main plot line of the classic book "The Great Gilly Hopkins."
Never one to restrain my thoughts I blurted out to Professor Know-It-All "Hey, by any chance is this girl named Gilly Hopkins?"
I won. I actually transformed a relatively shameless man into a state of embarrassed sheepishness as he strained to immediately change the subject to something else.
Awesome.
I'm positive Professor Know-It-All had previously enraptured countless classes with his harrowing tale of human misery that turned out to be completely fictional.
The moral of the story is to teach your kids not to be beholden to any one person and elevate them to an impossibly high status because for the most part people lie.
People do lie, but I hereby solemnly swear that this post is the honest truth. :)

A Veritable Potpourri Of Pet Store Poppycock

Anyway, Poppycock is the official Infidel Word Of The Day. As such, I hope and yearn (bet you thought I was going to say pray, didn't you? Poppycock Prayers are blasphemous!) that you will henceforth find every opportunity you can to drop the word poppycock.
Anyway, we went to Petco today because our gorgeous pettable (Yeah, we pet our fish, and? At least we didn't name them Mrs. Paul and Gorton) Siamese fighting fish Phoenix and Poseidon have decided that they have such a sophisticated palate that they can't possibly dine on the .99 cent package of fish food I scored at the .99 Cents Only store. Snobs. Don't they know there are fish starving in Africa that would love to have their aquarium kibble?
Anyway, we spied with our Infidel eyes a garishly pink hamster cage. I asked aloud "Why? Why? Why?" Sunbum said "It's obviously a hamster-led stance for breast cancer awareness."

Anyway, we then spotted a box for a ferret habitat called "Ferretville." Sadly, it did NOT come with a lost shaker of salt, a sponge cake, or a woman to blame. The lettering on the box was in an unfortunate font style rendering the name to look like this: FEPPETVILLE. Sunbum blurted out "Hey, it's FEPPETVILLE where they make evil abomination hybrids out of a Muppet and a ferret!" "I think that Jimmy Muppet would probably cover a bitchin' song version of FEPPETVILLE. "Wasted away again in FEPPETVILLE.....searching for my lost baggy of dung....some people say that there's a weasel to blame....but I know, it's my own damn fault."

Anyway, and then we ran into a lady from church where we then proceeded to talk about our guinea pigs and their "furry butt chaps" that we have to trim on a regular basis.
Anyway, the cashier was an effeminate black dude and he kept loudly singing songs about Jesus at the register. We were his backup....temporarily. It was a long line and we got bored so we started singing "We got the fish flakes in our hands. We got the fish fllaaaakkkes in our hands....."
Anyway, we left before buying/adopting/taking any more pets to add to our ever-growing menagerie so I consider the trip a total success.

The Smiling Infidel Is Your Guide To Deviant Geology



It's of vital importance to learn something new each and every day. Today, the mini-Infidels learned of a magical body of water situated between Peru and Bolivia and bearing a majestically regal name......LAKE TITICACA! Reportedly the names Lake Boobycrap and Lake Tatapoo were already taken. Interesting to note that this could possibly be the place where Lola and Tony danced their last at the Titi.....Titicaca......stupid 70's censors changing Titicaca to Copacabana.



I recently became intimately acquainted with several variations of schist. I touched schist with my bare hands in the Geology lab and I was like "Oh SCHIST.....I got schist all over my hands!" I then told my lab partner that I thought he was the "SCHIST." Not surprisingly I had to study a lot of schist for my test. Schist, I can't wait for this semester to be over. This schist's too hard.....even though I am full of schist most of the time.

This be SHALE. Sentences uttered by me during the course of the class rock practical:

• "Oh SHALE no!"
• "What the SHALE?"
• "Yeah? Well you can just go to SHALE!"

Nobody is clamoring to be my Geology lab partner. I'm not really sure what the SHALE is going on with that. :(



This is a diagram of an AQUITARD. It's politically incorrect to say this but........ you know Clay? Yeah, it's true, Clay is a total aquitard! Remember shale? Shale is one of the biggest aquitards around! "You Might Be An Aquitard.........." That's going to be my signature routine when I hit the Geology standup comedy circuit. Will you be there to see me and cheer for me? No? Pssssshhhhhh, you're such a freakin' AQUITARD!

*****I'm the oldest student by far in this class filled with impressionable youngins. We have to use hydrochloric acid a lot in Geology. I told my teenage lab partner that now he can tell his friends that he was looking at cleavage, dropping acid, and rocking out at school. His horrified expression was priceless.*****

*L@@K* Romeo & Juliet Suicidal Sweethearts Special! *Must Own JEEP And Lack Any Desire To Live*

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Jeepers! I hate it when The Living Dead use their maggoty decomposing fingers to troll the Craigslist ad section.
Obviously, they don't need their burial plots anymore and so these zombie fiends are willing to dig deep to pass the savings on down to you, the non-zombie consumer!
Zombies in a Jeep 4x4 just may be the sign of an impending zombie apocalypse so pace yourself because soon there's going to be more awesome grave site deals than you can shake a half-eaten brain at!Undead Peeps In Jeeps......coming soon to a city near you!!!!

The Great Elasticwaistbandlady And Her Super Magical Blog Disappearing Act......

Hey, I'm here. Last month I was over there. It feels as though I've moved everywhere. But now I've relocated from there to here and I'm here now.

It's been a whirlwind 14 years since the Infidel family has packed up the crap collection we call belongings in order to move out of our hillbilly house.

Ye Olde Infidel Ghetto Estate..........that was our very first home purchase and we were probably suckered at every turn.

What can I say? I was an inexperienced 22 year old with raging nesting instincts and a low tolerance for neighbors living one sliver of sheetrock away from me.

Ask me sometime about the lady next door when we were doing time in Condominium Prison. She blared OOMPAH! OOMPAH! polka music all day everyday until the shared mirrored living room wall between us shook with the mighty force of a million tubas exploding in unison. That was fun. She was both our home purchase inspiration and the polka wind beneath our wings.

Ye Olde Ghetto Manor saw a lot of action and served as a backdrop for neverending Infidel memories.

Three of my six kids were born right there in the bathtub. We didn't use that tidbit as a selling point to potential buyers, though because I'm sure they may not appreciate the mental images of a fat squatting, grunting woman squeezing babies out into this world in the same place where they want to cherish their fabled "Calgon, Take Me Away"  moments.

We endured and managed to live through many hurricanes, cooking disasters, a nosy neighbor who we only referred to as "Crazy Redhead Woman," our garden torture chamber where countless innocent azaleas and pansies were sent to die, heat and air conditioning failures, everyone's favorite guessing game "Spit, Plumbing, or Leaky Roof?" along with endless rounds of "Name That Carpet Stain!" and witnessing my very own ghetto repairman husband in action.

Papi is the most innovative fix-it dude you'll ever meet. I called him the Good Enough Guy because he fixed stuff with a random assortment of other unrelated stuff just so we wouldn't have to spend money at Home Depot. Was it perfect? No. It was Good Enough.

After another bits and pieces job I'd slap Papi on the back and triumphantly crow "It's not good, but it's good enough!"

Being a home owner was a valuable experience--a valuable experience that I never in this lifetime want to replicate.

The constantly ascending taxes, HOA fees and their condescending warning letters over minor infractions, escalating utilities, perpetual maintenance and repair bills, watching our property values plummet as they prepare our street to become a major thoroughfare that will connect heavyily-trafficked roadways.......

So, yes, we auditioned and joined the real life nationwide cast of RENT! now playing in cities and towns across America.

If that wasn't crazy enough I've added 11 credit hours to my schedule this semester.

At least I'm studying in the pristine comfort of a working A/C and a mega-flush toilet which lessens the misery somewhat.

I honestly think our landlords smuggled this toilet in from another dimension called Toiletopia.......or  perhaps they bargained with a black-market potty crime syndicate because this piece of porcelain is miraculous. It thumbs its flush handle nose at all those lame energy saver commodes that forces you to flush multiple times thereby defeating the purpose.

"Oh yes, they call me The Streak........"

Well friend, maybe you should fix that by investing in a super-swirl wonder flush like I got. Nobody will call me "The Streak" now!

It's as though I own a small piece of Niagara Falls right here in my humble Texas bathroom.....and that makes me blissfully happy.

And This Is Why You Shouldn't Shop On An Empty Stomach And An Empty Mind

So, me and Sunbum, the oldest Infidel daughter, hit up the grocery store one late and lonely Saturday night.

Heed our warning: Fatigue and Hunger can make for a dangerous shopping excursion combo.

Everything in the store either made us drool uncontrollably or laugh hysterically.

I'm sure the other patrons were absolutely thrilled to share the narrow aisles with our picture-happy selves.

I'm sure of it!

This super special Texas "Boomerang", that suspiciously looks like a Frisbee, will always come back to you--well, provided that you recruit someone for catch and return duty. I guess one could say that Texas discourages people from playing with themselves.

A Smiling Infidel EXCLUSIVE! We spotted a rare albino Yeti lying in hibernation on the shelves. Sunbum played Yeti-Human Goodwill Ambassador and gave that Yeti a big ol' bear hug.....and you saw it here first way before the tabloids have a chance to run the story along with another "Obama Is Secretly A Reptilian" headline.

I was walking around the refrigerated section minding my own business when BOOM! a little pea salad invaded my life. You just never can predict when and where a random pea salad will happen to you. 

And your life will never be the same as every immature pea/pee joke enters your mind causing you to linger in front of the coolers laughing and spraying spittle on your sacred pea salad container. (Hey, look at me! I'm singing "I got the whole pea salad in my hands....I got the whole pea salad in my hands")

Oh, Sweet Sue, wondrous mistress of canned meat. We had never before encountered such a mystery grocery specimen as an entire chicken stuffed into the confines of one diminutive can. Naturally, I just had to spread the gospel of canned whole chicken with all our fellow grocery store patrons. I was on a mission with a Sweet Sue proselytizing quota to meet. My final victim was an unsuspecting lady in the parking lot who exclaimed "Really?!!!??? That's so weird" when informed that she too could be the proud owner of a canned chicken that by now I'd lovingly dubbed "Lucille." (Want to see what Sweet Sue looks like on the inside? I warn you, it's pretty as in pretty disgusting. HERE'S the link. There's also a Facebook Fan page of which I'm a proud member.)

Tortilla Heaven.......We're going there someday to frolic with the Churro Angels under a Fajita Sky.

Just primping and preening for our Tortilla Heaven publicity photo packet. We'd make the perfect Tortilla Heaven spokesinfidels, don't you think?

I thought the gang of little gagging & magging Dots on the box was funny. Look at their horrified expressions. One would think that they posed for the Dots artist right after returning from the terrifying new film "Nightmare On Dots Street" where the Dots buffet scene sent them over the edge.

A box featuring a gaggle of clearly grossed-out characters is certainly an interesting marketing strategy. Here's my best Dots impression.

This is quite possibly the best named product on store shelves. I can just envision a young J.J Walker, of Dy-No-Mite! fame, bellowing out My-T-Fine! as he slurps up a heapin' helpin' of pudding.

How many people looking for love cruise the grocery store aisles in search of Mr./Ms. Right? Now they can tell folks they picked up a My-T-Fine and sweet little sumthin' sumthin' at the store last Friday night. Oooohhhh baby, you lookin' My-T-Fine!

Join us Infidels next time as we share even more scintillating Texas-styled store-ies with you!

All Hail The Mighty And Powerful Smiling Infidel!

Apparently, Dr. Laura is retiring from talk radio life effective at the close of 2010.
She cites multiple reasons including the fact that she desires to continue giving advice in an unrestrained manner devoid of corporate repercussions......I don't believe that for a second.
It's glaringly obvious that she read my criticism of her and her increasing brusqueness just a few scant weeks ago.
Yeah, losing big sponsors like Motel 6 and Advance Auto Parts hurts but doesn't begin to compare to the stinging pain of being chastened by The Smiling Infidel.
Oh, the omnipotent power I wield with this lowly blog is frightening.
Who should the next target be?
My first vote would be two different shows/channels on XM Satellite Radio.
The Rosie O'Donnell show is indescribably bad. She actually interviewed a trio of brothers who became YouTube mini-sensations after filming the repulsive removal of a candle stick-looking chunk of ear wax from the one brother's ear.
Scintillating talk show fodder, right?
Second to go would have to be the Cosmo channel, a radio counterpart to the insipid Cosmopolitan magazine.
I've only listened twice and found that five minutes was the maximum amount of time I could withstand their endless Valley Girl drivel.
Two ladies in their late 20's and early 30's employed as professional commentators really should refrain from peppering each and every sentence with an inane multitude of "uhhhh's", "like, like, like's", and "whatever's."
They seemed particularly thrilled with their own brand of genius by using the analogy that finding the right man is like two puzzle pieces fitting together perfectly.
Yeah, brilliant. I've never heard that one before. It was really worth repeating ad nauseum and throwing in like, like, like to the infinite power as though that would somehow render their point significant in some way. 
Hopefully, someone slips them something into their Cosmo glass the next time they go out--something like a pill-shaped Cleverness Infusion or maybe a potent Get A Freakin' Clue vitamin supplement.
Now that the irresponsible Jet Blue airline steward and Hissy Fit Queen, Steven Slater is being inundated with TV reality show offers it's become quite clear that anyone can have their own broadcast medium these days......but that certainly doesn't mean that they should.
R.I.P Discriminating Taste And Broadcast Standards

And Now For The Further Adventures Of That Hapless Homemaker: Ima Crockstar

Today's episode of Ima Crockstar brings you the true life happenings straight outta Ima's ghetto kitchen where there's always something cooking........and that something is usually from the clearance rack.

By the way, I've offically adopted Ima Crockstar as my new alias. I may use it in the future as a potential bowling league name. And it could prove useful as a nom de plume for when I prank cooking blogs with shockingly crass crockpot jokes.

Hey, it's preferable to Ima Crocstar which would infer that I endorse stuffing feet into the unsightly plastic sweat lodges known as Crocs.

Anyway, Ima Crockstar may be my alter-ego but we share one distinct commonality: we're both cheap women and cutthroat grocery shoppers.

As such, it's disheartening to stock up on the favorite fruits and vegetables of the mini-Infidels only to have them, for example, arbitrarily decide that the previous week's celery feeding frenzy is a thing of the past thus leaving the newer celery supply to rot in the fridge. This happens with frustrating regularity.

So, here's what I did: I created a new Infidel specialty I dubbed "ROTTEN FRUIT COBBLER." When life gives you fetid fruit,  turn it into a miracle of crockpot cooking.

First order of business was to scour my refrigerator. Don't report me, but my fridge shelters exotic bacterial strains as well as illegally harboring dangerous fruit fugitives.

Then, I quickly divided up the unattractive offerings into separate piles: Slimy, Fermented Enough To Make Fruity Moonshine, First Community Fruit Fly Colony, Like Nothing The Food Pyramid Has Ever Seen, and the scariest of them all, Sub-Human Fruit. I quickly disposed of that last category into a waiting trash bag.

One misplaced lightning strike and Sub-Human Fruit would become animated and frankly, the last thing I need in my tiny kitchen is competition for space from some ghastly Frankenfruit.

Basically, I ended up with peaches, nectarines, bananas, and a few rogue mangoes to serve as sacrificial crockpot offerings. Ima Crockstar and I are both excessively lazy. We didn't even bother peeling the peaches or nectarines, preferring instead to just savagely squish everything with our bare hands.

In keeping with the emerging tropical theme, a can of pineapple tidbits was thrown into the crockpot mishmash along with some concentrated orange juice, brown sugar, cinnamon and a little bit of Bisquick baking mix.

Then I just made a simple Bisquick/milk/cinnamon/hot melted butter concoction to top it all off. (Unsure of exact measurements? Yeah, me too. I'm a recipe guesstimator. Try THIS site. It's chock full of Bisquick cobbler crockpot recipes.)

In a word? The ending results were divine.

Ima Crockstar once again swooped into the Infidel kitchen and saved the day along with saving money and saving produce from the trash heap. I should order one size XL cape with a crockpot logo across it for my superhero friend/alter-ego.

Does your produce look like it starred in a horror movie called It Came From Satan's Fruit Stand? Don't fret. Think of me and Ima Crockstar and try our patented ROTTEN FRUIT COBBLER deliciousness!

I'm Really Too Old For This Kind Of Nonsense

Hey, guess what fun madcap adventure I had last night?
Absolutely exhausted, I collapsed onto my bed with a big gnarly wad of minty fresh Eclipse gum still wedged into my mouth.
Hey, guess what fun madcap adventures I had this morning?
I got to dutifully scrape gum off my pillowcase. And my nightstand. And in between my fingers where the gum fused together in a webbed pattern rendering me into the likeness of a severely malformed platypus. There was also remnants of chewed and fragmented gum strewn across the fleshy wasteland of my lower neck area.
Apparently, minty fresh Eclipse gum is a nomadic wanderer with a nocturnal streak. It just wasn't content to take up permanent habitation in my cavernous Infidel mouth.
So, if I followed that wise old proverb and let the gum go but it still chose to stay fairly close to me does that mean the gum truly loves me?
I wonder if the Double Mint twins ever had these problems?

Do You Have A Special Chocolate-Addicted Alcoholic In Your Life?

Well, here's some exciting news......now there's a beverage that conveniently combines two vices into one wine bottle for maximum gift-giving ease!
I have to admit that ChocoVine has intrigued me since I saw it stocked at our local HEB grocery store last fall.

"Nobody else could understand the secretive forbidden love shared between the coquettish cocoa bean and its sultry wine grape paramour........a torrid romance like theirs hadn't been seen in the commercial world since that slutty peanut butter hussy started sneaking around late at night with a wayward chocolate bar thus resulting in an offspring they named Reese's."

Far be it for me to get all judgmental about the shocking copulation of commodities but:
I predict a sharp increase in workplace consumption of "chocolate milk."
I prognosticate a future where police officers will have a head-scratching mystery before them. Are the days of giving out tickets for underage drinking over? Why have teenagers suddenly become so addicted to "chocolate milk?"
I foresee a spike in revenue for street corner beggars as potential donors sigh and comment about how sweet it is that the hobo has changed his drunken ways to embrace the dairy wholesomeness of "chocolate milk."
Should you spend your last dollar on chocolate or alcohol? Thanks to ChocoVine you'll never have to make this tough choice again.
Thanks ChocoVine! You're clearly ushering in an age of enlightenment never before seen in human history.

Is It Possible To Be An Anti-Woman Woman?

I used to thoroughly enjoy listening to Dr. Laura's call-in radio show but now I've opted to sever all ties to her and her increasingly unhelpful advice.

See, I'm an unabashedly conservative chick who believes in small government, a flat tax, and personal responsibility. As such, Dr. Laura and her espousal of traditional values initially appealed to me.

However, Ive grown weary of women automatically being the culprit for their man going astray. She's adamant that all wives must somehow be abdicating their spousal duties by not putting out enough which in turn leads a husband to go looking for outside action. Or maybe the wife is too fat which is also, in her not-so-humble opinion, an egregious violation of the marital contract.

That's always been her mantra so I just tune out her woman-bashing diatribe when she's on an especially shrill holier-than-thou streak.

Lately though, Dr. Laura is on a roll consistently dispensing eyebrow-furrowing, nose-wrinkling, Whatchoo Talkin' Bout' Willis? counsel to some of her callers.

Case in point was the lady who's been a stay-at-home mom of four kids for the past 20 years. Her oldest is a college student who lives at home while the youngest is 8. Like a lot of familes across the nation, her husband doesn't earn the kind of money he used to and they find themselves struggling even after making big lifestyle cutbacks. She has the opportunity to work part-time while her kids are in school. This seems like a win-win solution to me.

Dr. Laura practically shrieked at this woman telling her "You're going to divert time and energy away from a family that needs you" and "You're undermining your husband. Working will make him feel like less of a man, like he can't provide for his family." She wasn't finished as she concluded her advice with a "You'll come home bitchy and stressed from work and take it out on your family."

Wow. Dr. Laura worked establishing her career the entire time her kid was in school. Hypocrite much? This lady wants to alleviate some of the burden on her husband's shoulders in a way that still allows her to care for her kids. Furthermore, she doesn't have babies or toddlers. I speak from personal experience that this recession is a good time to rally the family and let them know that cooperation is vital and everyone needs to help one another.

I work a couple days a week. Unlike a lot of their peers, my kids know how to do laundry, help their siblings with schoolwork, and get dinner ready. It's not a tragedy that somehow diminishes the quality of their childhood. It's working as a cohesive unit to preserve the family. Duh, Dr. Laura.

Another caller really resonated with me. She's a 30-something mom of 6 kids. I know, right, who's flippin' crazy enough to crank out 6 kids?!!? Anyway, her baby is starting Kindergarten and she wants to go back to school to finish her degree but she stipulated that it would only be during the hours her kids are at school. The lady tearfully said that everyone in her family has advanced degrees and the pursuit of education is important to her. She blurted out that she felt as though something was missing in her life.

Dr. Laura went into hysterical mode as though this woman said she wanted to trade in all her mom jeans for an Abercrombie & Fitch wardrobe and a wild campus co-ed lifestyle.

Dr. Laura's argument was the same as the previous caller I mentioned. She vociferously browbeat this poor lady telling her that her family would fall apart if she took a couple college courses because it would require way too much time and effort. Dr. Laura also said that she should take comfort in her kids and not go looking for outside accomplishments and validation. She then recommended that the caller "get some hobbies" and "read books" to occupy her time while her kids are at school.

Discouraging knowledge? Seriously? This is a major WTF? moment. This lady may need a degree in the future should the unthinkable happen. Aside from that, she wants something edifying outside of being a mommy and wife. As a career woman you'd think that Dr. Laura would understand.

Irritated and murmuring out loud, I hoped that these ladies would stand up and champion themselves against this counterproductive advice. But they didn't. Both women just meekly agreed with every word Dr. Laura bestowed upon them as though it was their personal gospel.

Why would a successful female like Dr. Laura openly discourage fellow females from achieving their own personal successes?

Naturally, she cites "Family First" at every opportunity but the slogan is as hollow as a waxy chocolate bunny from the dollar store when applied to the aforementioned situations where the family would surely benefit from the matriarch enriching her own life and in turn the lives of her family.

It's an easy formula. Trickle Down Mothering, dammit!

Trickle Down Mothering. I'm a genius. Just give me the talk radio contract to sign already.

Are You In Search Of Some Scorching Hot Buns? It's Gonna Cost You!

Hot Cross Buns......Hot Cross Buns.....One-A-Penny.......Two-A-Penny.......One-Hundred-Twenty-Nine-Pennies. Hope you own a roomy and spacious coin purse built for Abraham Lincoln and 128 of his little coppery clones.


Although, the unexpected inflationary surge in the bun market is but a small price to pay for an avowed addict to revel in some sweet, sweet hot cross buntopia.

After all, this plastic package of pleasure boasts a whopping XXXXXX rating. Yeah, it scoffs at all those paltry triple-XXX hot buns. A threesome of hot buns? No way! This is a party just waiting to be opened by an adventurous sixsome!

Me and my six-pack. Hey, you see me sweet-rollin', you hatin'.