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!

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!

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.

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'.

Stop The Violence.....Join The 'Save The Combos' Commission Today!

Everyone regards Carrie Underwood as some sort of battered and dipped, chicken-fried Southern goody two shoes--however, the maniacal lyrics embedded within the hit song "Before He Cheats" reveals her true deviant nature.

I couldn't care less that she "dug her key into the side of his pretty little souped-up 4-wheel drive." No, what I'm talking about is infinitely more maleficent.

People, the truth is Carrie Underwood advocates the senseless murder of innocent bite-sized snack food.

It's unconscionable.

I cringe in horror whenever she flippantly growls out the line "He's teaching her how to shoot a Combo."

Using delectable little morsels of processed cheese as target practice is just wrong. They don't deserve this kind of persecution for simply seeking refuge within the crispy confines of a cracker shell.

Shooting helpless Combo snacks.....is this the new redneck sport of choice? Will there be an officially declared Combos hunting season or will rampant shooting sprees force entire Combo families to cower in fear all year long?

I hope these barbarians at least eat the Combo bounty they so ruthlessly slaughter. The trigger-happy thugs should also make their clothing out of the cellophane Combos bags, you know, in the interest of upholding the highest in hunting ethics

Hanging a Combos trophy above the mantel as a braggy centerpiece will be a difficult proposition for even the most experienced taxidermist to handle since Combos come pre-stuffed and doused in artificial colors and preservatives.

I fear a future where unregulated Combo shooting--spurred on and encouraged by Miss Underwood--leads to the Combos population teetering on the brink of extinction.......I'm going to open up an official Combos sanctuary/wildlife preserve.

In my mouth.

I'm so undeniably altruistic.

Let's join together and stop all this Combo hating, shall we? We tend to oppress that which we don't understand.

I know that the coupling of Oompaloompa orange cheese that resembles a load of ear wax on the end of your Q-tip along with tubular crackers that flunked out of the Flat Cracker Academy may seem a little unorthodox but we should allow the Combos union to flourish in eternal snacky happiness.

Don't hate. Don't discriminate. Don't exterminate.

Coombos: They ain't Funnyuns or fried possum tail, but dangit, they're somebody's junk food baby.

Carrie Underwood and her extreme anti-Combos hate must be halted post haste. I'd rather that the bleach blonde tramp in her song be taught to shoot pork rinds--the bastard child of the snack food world.

Add Another Food Commandment To The Bible Diet

And it shall read thusly: THOU SHALT NOT EAT ANY FOOD WITH THE WORD "TURD" IN IT.

We'd fallen into a blandly stagnant Easter dinner tradition of green beans and honey ham, so I decided to mix it up a little this year.

I was standing in the middle of the grocery store entertaining alternative dining possibilities when I spotted the magical orange clearance sticker slapped onto the side of a frozen Turducken concoction.

I was greatly relieved as the runner-up option was rabbit which seemed inherently wrong to serve up on the hallowed day of the Great Easter Bunny.

A Turducken is a Cajun specialty most fowl. It features a partially de-boned turkey stuffed with a duck stuffed with a chicken stuffed with oyster stuffing and covered in a spicy, orangey blend of spices.

If you serve a side of bacon you can almost have an entire petting zoo of animals fighting their way through your intestinal tract.

Turduckens allow you to eliminate three species of beast in every single bite. And that is precisely why the world will never fear being conquered by a fleet of small poultry.

Maybe us Infidels have a hillbilly palate that can only appreciate the finer things in life like Funyuns and pickled pigs feet because the Turducken Taste Trial was a resounding flop.

So, lesson learned: We shall henceforth stay far, far away from any food item with 'TURD' featured prominently in the name.

If you call it a Turd, and it answers to the name, Turd, then it must taste like a Turd.

I've never actually tasted turd before but based on yesterday it could be that the "TURD" part in TURDUCKEN might indeed be a secret stuffing ingredient that those sneaky Cajun's don't want the general public to find out about.

Remember they are the ones that eat the deadly Poke Salad as discussed in my favorite grunting song, "Poke Salad Annie....The Gator's Got Yer Granny."

I wouldn't put anything past them.

I may be a unrefined Yankee living in the South but I can come up with fanciful recipes, too.

I want to start a TURDUNKIN trend....it'll feature a powdered sugar glazed turkey stuffed with real Dunkin Donuts stuffed with various fillings like Bavarian Cream and gooey raspberry jelly.

I'm taking orders now for your next holiday gathering.

The Smiling Infidel Explains The Unexplainable: S'MORES TORTILLA CHIPS EDITION

We Infidels will climb the highest Target shelves and swim across an ocean of fountain drink seas in search of new culinary adventures.
We'll journey to the very ends of the aisle just to seek out rare and exotic wonders.
We'll be as our pioneer ancestry--traveling the linoleum plains with all our immediate possessions stowed away in a cart as we pursue the newest in flavor explosions for you, our dear readers.
We'll even navigate the treacherous express lane frontier just to bring pure, unadulterated joy to your ailing tastebuds.
Our latest snack food-finding mission yielded a bounteous but unique crop.
BEHOLD: S'MORES TORTILLA CHIPS
(Note how they're "authentic-style." Yep, it's imperative that you stay far, far away from the black market tortilla chip impostors.)

If you can stomach eating stuff coated in brown dust then a bright future awaits you down at the Gorilla Fingers Grill. (Don't look that one up on urbandictionary.com)

Crunch & Munch: That's their Tortilla Chip Tasters Task Force code names.

Chip & Dip: These two are a rogue band of chip eaters--circumventing the Tasters Task Force and causing biting mayhem wherever they go.
I see we have a wily double agent in our midst.

Young Melody pulls the tried-and-true "damsel in distress" maneuver......

So she can willfully bump off the competition and hoard the bag of chips all to herself!

Sometimes great combinations come together through a series of miraculous events......while other times great combinations arise out of necessity--like when there's nothing left in your pantry to eat but some stale tortilla chips and a half bag of marshmallows, so you sprinkle some cocoa powder on top and call it dinner.
I'll let you decide which was the inspiration for this product.
Before you ostracize your fellow man for their unsightly brown-streaked fingers, I hope you'll remember this post and restrain your brown dust prejudices.
Eating the S'more chips is cruel enough punishment.

[The Smiling Infidel Theater-located in the lefty section of my brain-is currently putting on an amusing production explaining the origins of S'mores tortilla chips. Apparently a stereotypical Mexican was crossing the Texas border late at night while clutching a bag of tortilla chips. Well, he accidentally but fortuitously slams into a cowboy, thus dropping his chips all over the cowboy's campfire s'mores. The accusations go back and forth: "Listen, pardner, you jus done dropped your dang tortilla chips into my s'mores" with the Mexican rebutting with a: "No Senor, you drop your s'mores into MY tortilla chips." And then they both trepidatiously take a bite of their concoction....they find instant flavor combo Xanadu....and go into business with one another suckering stores like Target to carry their product. I love happy endings.]

I Was So Hungry Last Night I Could Have Eaten A Whale.....And So I Did!

I inadvertently stumbled upon a miracle of the evolutionary process as I prepared a tray of garlic bread slices for the oven.
From the thoroughly scientific research I did in my kitchen I've concluded that whales originally descended from bloated commas and whimsical paisley patterns.
Need to see some hard data that backs up the validity of my hypothesis? Just look at Photo Evidence #1 down below.
By shifting the bloated commas and bread paisley in a clockwise position, they wondrously transformed into a pod of baby Shamus!

Photo Evidence #2

Some lucky souls have witnessed the miracle of the Virgin Mary appearing before them on their tortillas while others have unexpectedly come face-to-face with the image of Elvis himself-and all his sideburned glory-embroiled upon their fried peanut butter & nanner sandwich.

Me? Well, my oven and I got to play host to a whole loaf of Orca-shaped bread.

The spirit of Free Willy lives on through the power of yeast!

Notice the perfect oval eye? All the better to see you with, my pretty!

See the small indention where Shamu's mouth is? Who knew he kept his lips pursed like a whale version of Napoleon Dynamite? I wonder if his lips hurt "real bad" too?

Look at the curled-up position of the tail. Okay, that's enough looking at whale butt. Gosh, if this whale tail isn't safe from ogling, what hope does my own whale-sized butt have?

Also make note that this particular miniature killer whale species was marked for immediate extinction. Yeah, you can blame us Infidels for making them disappear and disappear quickly but it should also be said that death was imminent for this Shamu bread family.

Just take one long look at them, they're completely brown and crunchy. That's what they get for not putting on proper sunscreen.

Their blowholes laso have the remarkable capability to spout cascading streams of garlic-tinged butter.

That butter-peddling harlot Paula Deen probably goes on Whale Toast Watching Tours all the time......and she never closes her mouth either.

Ahhh, better than a butter I.V.

If you happen upon a pod of Shamu bread lurking quietly on bakery shelves, I would seriously advise against placing them in your aquarium.

Your mail-order sea horses will conquer and devour them.

Instead, buy a box of Goldfish crackers to feed your adopted Bag O' Orca.

How about inviting your oddly eccentric friends, Jonah and Captain Ahab over for a Whale Eating party??!??

The moment that reps from SeaWorld see this post they're going to start opening up food booths featuring outrageously over-priced slices of Shamu toast. You know I'm right.

I hope they deal me in for a profit percentage.

The dinner ended in tragedy. Despite my conservationalist spirit arising to encourage the Infidel Family to "Save The Whales" they continued on, ignoring my whale-saving pleas until there weren't any whales left to save.

Poor me, sitting here all leftover whale deprived.

Evidence That Generation X-ers Are Aging......

I spotted this fiber-enriched version of Pop Tarts at Target last week and realized that it just makes sense that as my peer group ages we're going to co-opt our happiest childhood comfort foods by pumping them full of health-altering additives.
We're repentant junk food junkies who've decided that if we can't stuff our faces full of non-nutritional, sugar-coated morsels of bliss anymore then neither can you.
We always were kind of narcissistic like that.

Fiber One Pop Tarts: So infused with bowel-cleansing nutrients they should probably be called POOP Tarts!

So, what familiar favorites are slated for health-benefit modification next?
Osteoporosis supplements in our Yoo-Hoo chocolate drink?
Anti-Aging serum added to Lucky Charms cereal? That's certainly ironic. Why not just indulge in Peter Pan peanut butter? It's the same difference.
Maybe a few Skin moisturizer vitamins thrown into the stretched and leathery Fruit Roll-Ups brand? They can add a tag line about how only fruit should get all dried out and dried up.
Appetite suppressant in Capri Sun juice pouches? That would make a nice commercial:
"Now Capri Sun Can Help You Lose Weight: Suck It Up Now So You Don't Have To Suck It In Later!"
How about reformulating those processed Slim Jim meat sticks with some male enhancement additives?
Of course they'd have to call it something else then.
I hereby re-christen the newly fortified Slim Jim's as Thick Dic.........uhhhh, I mean Micks. Yeah, Thick Micks. I like the sound of that.
I'm judging from the amount of Cialis/Viagra/Enzyte ads I hear on talk radio that stiffiness is a valuable commodity that's slowly ebbing away in our modern society.
Perhaps we should throw male enhancement stuff into Push-Up Pops and maybe Ding Dongs, too.
They already have a fantastic name custom for this kind of marketing gimmick.

Thanks Generation X geniuses. I knew you wouldn't be content to just let us grow old gracefully!

All I Want For Christmas Is Some Orangey Front Teeth.....

This is the most fantastic product ever made and marketed. Ever.
Guess what just knocked out an adult-sized Big Wheel on my Christmas list to take the number one spot?
Whoever buys this for me can fully expect a heapin' debt of gratitude along with a thank you note written entirely in orange Cheeto dust.

CH-CH-CH-CHEETO PET! (:31)

You Decide: Extreme Cheapness Or Extreme Eco-Conservationism?

I bought these rolls for the paltry price of $1.00/dozen on the clearance bakery racks at the grocery store.

Yeah, they may be just one step away from entering a crusty state of Crouton-dom, but you can't beat the price tag.

That's one small step for stale bread items......one giant step for the Infidel Family budget.

Nothing is too good for my family.

Except paying retail price for bread products, apparently.

After polishing off the rolls, I couldn't bear to throw away the sturdy aluminum baking pans they came in.

I could have a little Greenpeace member living inside me, fighting to get out. Or maybe I was blindingly hypnotized by the shiny, shiny reflection beaming off the silvery surface........or it could be the temporary loss of oxygen flow to the brain when I about choked to death on a crumbly piece of dried-out roll...........but whatever the reason I promptly cleaned out the baking pans and stored them for future use.

These little beauties have served me well through a Donut Muffin baking frenzy. They also lovingly housed my traditional Thanksgiving rolls this year.

I almost feel like I can never throw them away now we've become so attached.

My mom got a cast iron skillet set and some antiques as her family inheritance.

My kids will likely receive some well-loved and well-worn aluminum muffin pans when I die.

They'll undoubtedly reminisce fondly about their wonderful mother and how she combined a legacy of cheapness, recycling, and family heirlooms all into one cherished gift.

It's a good thing I have 6 aluminum pans to share equally so that none of my six mini-Infidels will have to launch a court fight against each other.

A Turkey Mercedes: The Ultimate Thanksgiving Day Parade Vehicle

So, I got this e-mail trumpeting the succulent wonders of a Turkey Mercedes. It even gave explicit instructions on how I, elasticwaistbandlady, could manufacture my very own Turkey Mercedes just in time for Thanksgiving.
I've tried out lesser turkeys. I vividly remember eating Turkey Pinto and Turkey Yugo during the holidays of my impoverished youth.
You could never dance "The Bump" after eating Turkey Pinto for fear of sudden combustion.
Isn't it enough that your flaming Uncle Rick is at the dinner table? Do we really need the whole family ablaze too?
Anyway, I decided that it's high time that I move into the luxury turkey market by taking a Turkey Mercedes out for a little test drive.

In most cases, a smoking, overheated Mercedes would be a bad thing--but not a Turkey Mercedes. It just makes it smell delicious.

When you press the Turkey Mercedes beak-shaped horn it emits a distinctively throaty "Gobble, Gobble" sound.

And you can't pass another Turkey Mercedes on the road without your Turkey Mercedes launching into either a mating dance or an Alpha Turkey Squawk-A-Thon.

The best part of a Turkey Mercedes? You'll never have to buy gas for it. No, instead a Turkey Mercedes will GIVE you gas, and plenty of it, too because the fuel components run completely on corn-based products.

Although, admittedly, the emissions system is ploppy stank-fest of foul fowl matter.

Turkey turds--they ruin everything.

I'm hoping against hope that Pebbles will release Turkey Mercedes Boy, an updated follow-up to her big 80's hit Mercedes Boy, before the next big Turkey Day rolls around.

"Would You Like To Ride In My Turkey Mercedes Boy?"

PEBBLES- MERCEDES BOY

TURKEY MERCEDES: THIS THANKSGIVING'S STATUS SYMBOL OF CHOICE.

Please contact your local authorized Turkey Mercedes Dealer for more information. Or you could just go to this TURKEY MERCEDES site on Allrecipes where you can see for yourself what all the inner workings, secrets, and just what a Turkey Mercedes is really made of.

*From Mercedes Ruehl to Mercedes-Benz....... NO actual Mercedes were harmed in the making of this recipe. Please be a responsible Turkey Mercedes owner and have your Turkey Mercedes' oil changed every 3,000 miles or every time your mom asks if you've gained weight while you're scarfing down your holiday dinner. Whichever comes first. *

Our Plates And Our Guts Doth Overfilleth With The Bounty Of Free Open House Tidbits

Sing It With Me, Churchy People:
Saturday is a special day
It's the day we go out to the buffet
We clean all our plates and we lick all our spoons
And then we feel bloated on Sunday!

The key to true happiness is to find joy and contentment no matter your circumstances or where you are in life.
My true happiness lies in the Holiday Open Houses that all the local stores host this time of year because nothing makes my Infidel soul soar higher than dainty little morsels of free food amidst a background of fall festivities.
We managed to hit four (FOUR!) Kroger Open Houses this weekend and even had enough spare time to make a quick appearance at our local Wal-Mart.

The mini-Infidels made the acquaintance of international superstar, The Pillsbury Dough Boy.
A word of warning: Do not poke The Pillsbury Dough Boy expecting his jolly trademark "Hee-Hee!" because he pokes back.
Coming To A Movie Theater Near You: The Pillsbury Dough Boy Pokes Back.....This Time, It's Personal!
I guess you have to build up a strong sense of self-defense when you know that people want to bake you alive in their ovens.
One day The Pillsbury Dough Boy might find that special little yeasty lady of his dreams and become The Pillsbury Dough Man.
I hope he never publishes a memoir about it.

Ever see a Goddess in a hair net before? No? Well, feast your eyes below!

It is She who rules over the mighty Steam Table Kingdom with a metal serving spoon in place of a royal scepter. She has an eye for fairness and equality as demonstrated by the perfect food proportions she scoops onto the waiting plates of her loyal subjects.

Buster's stuffing his face and getting stuffed with stuffing. Ironic, no?

Look at my little guy! He's on Round Three in the Open House Eating Ring and he shows no sign of slowing down or giving in to his food opponents. He's like a hungrier version of Rocky Balboa with a lucrative sponsorship from The Clean Plate Club of America.

Melody says: "I'll give you free cheese in exchange for free food. CHEESE!"

Stef works on her Hand-To-Mouth coordination skills using a tricky Lilliputian mini-spoon. She's well on her way to earning her Black Belt in the Competitive Food Eating ranks.

If I knew how to use Photoshop I'd erase my Elvis sideburns and double triple chin. Sorry about that.

(I told you I was fat and I don't like wearing makeup. Stop acting so surprised. And for heaven's sake, your eyes do NOT burn. Stop trying to poke them out of your head. I don't look that gruesome in this picture.)

What the World needs now.....is cake, sweet cake.......

The whole Universe revolved around the cake lady. Literally. My own mini-Infidels kept circling the table like they were in orbit.

The Shrimp Table attendant looked worried when we swooped down upon him. He briskly took off towards the safety of the butcher counter- allowing us to have our way with the bowl of shrimpy lovelies.

Do you have an upcoming Holiday Open House scheduled? Are you looking for a special guest appearance by the notorious Infidel Family to brighten up the party? We'd be happy to oblige!

Just contact our social engagements representative to make arrangements.

If that fails, just light up your giant spotlight with The Sign Of The Fork and shine it over the city to beckon us. We always heed the call of The Sign Of The Fork. Always.

Sometimes Dreams Do Come True.....

My favorite pizza consists of thin crust topped with Italian sausage, mushrooms, and black olives.
You should keep this pertinent information handy. You never know when you might get the prompting to send a pizza to a hungry woman in Houston.
Anyway, I've never once partaken of a Scratch-And-Dent styled pizza, but the instant that my Infidel eyes locked onto the magical Manager's Special sticker slapped on the side of the crumpled box, I knew it was fate that had led me to that darkened corner of the Kroger Deli after closing hours.
You see, in my possession was a coupon for $2.00 off on this exact brand of pizza.
So, the original price was $8.99. It was marked down to $5.20 because of the squished pizza packaging. And then I furthered the savings with a $2.00 coupon!
We all ate lunch today for $3.20.
Yesssssss!!!!!!
Not even a neighborhood Pizza Pimp can beat that kind of bargain pricing.
The midnight cashier looked concerned as I cradled the pizza to my chest and lovingly cooed about how happy I was that we'd finally found each other at just the right moment.....the moment that made all my cheap eats dreams come true.
The early bird gets the worm. However, the late-night Infidel scores the deeply discounted pizza!

Shamelessly Working The System To Your Advantage: Buffet Edition

I am the Queen of all I survey. Well at least I am down at the local all-you-care-to-eat buffet.

Just so you know, I had nothing to do with voting down the cherished "all-you-can-eat" buffet phrase down in favor of the current and more politically correct, all-you-care-to-eat. That took place long before my ascension to the Royal Buffet Throne. I would never have tolerated such mealy-mouthed buffet lingo insolence from insubordinates that still follow that whole archaic "Democracy" thing. Thank the Golden Corral Goddesses above for allowing me the blessing of a plastic sneeze guard to separate myself from those lesser-beings.

Anyway, you don't become the Ruler Supreme of a Buffet Monarchy without learning a few valuable face stuffing tricks along the way.

As my magnificent crew of mini-Infidel rapidly age, they're finding themselves mired within a frightening land outside the relative comfort of Kid's Menu pricing. I've had to employ trickier and trickier techniques to keep them fed in the luxuriant manner they've become so accustomed to.

By royal decree, there shan't ever be generic brand Macaroni And Cheese served to Her Buffet Majesty's precious offspring. After all I am raising future heirs to the Royal Buffet throne. Only Kraft original makes it past the food testers and onto our dinner table.

So, here's our top secret smorgasbord strategy laid out so that even the most casual of buffet patrons can follow it. Think of this as a sort of Buffet For Dummies instructional post.

Most buffet pricing changes abruptly at 4:00 P.M. They signal the transition between lunch and dinner by hauling away the petrified weenies that've been loitering around the buffet steam table all day (Sorry, Gramps) and swap them out for some freshly grilled steak and other carnivorous yummies.

Buffet King Papi and I synchronize our watches for exactly 3:50 P.M. before gathering up our brood to make a sweeping entrance into the restaurant. That way, we can stroll to the register a mere moments before the dinner pricing kicks in.

It's a real adrenaline rush.

We're literally living out that lame adage of getting steak on a hamburger budget.

Another tip is to ask the grill guy to slice open your steak before claiming it as your own and bathing it in steak sauce.
On a recent goodwill sojourn to visit my loyal subjects over in Buffetland, my well done steak looked chargrilled on the outside like this:

But after slicing off a chunk, it was revealed that the interior was more reminiscent of a nice honkin piece of steak tar tare.
I'd like to give Golden Corral the benefit of the doubt. Maybe they were simply trying out a new entree choice by combining recipes?
Steak Char Char on the outside with a nice raw Steak Tar Tar on the inside.

You know how most Chinese Buffets plop down gigantic golden Buddhas in their entryway to guard against potential Kung Pao thieves? Well, I hope to one day position a line of Buffet Queen Elastic statues in the atrium area of my favorite buffet places. My specifications call for wide, outstretched arms that will welcome the masses of hungry people searching for a great pants seam-ripping dining experience.

Elastic: Buffet Queen And Patron Saint Of Buffets

Meanwhile Down At The S&M Bakery........

The bakers busied themselves slathering the counter full of cooling cakes with their potent icing blend concocted from the purest whip-whippiness while listening to the customized in-store S&M Bakery music programming featuring:
Whip It- Devo
Let It Whip- Dazz Band
Beat It- Michael Jackson
Whip Appeal- Babyface
Chains Of Love- Erasure
Leather And Lace- Stevie Nicks/Don Henley
Southern Nights- Glen Campbell (Only the sickest freaks listen to Glen Campbell)

Okay, I'm a Bakery poseur. I've never actually ventured inside an S&M Bakery, although I hear their special "Kiss My Bundt" cakey treats are 100 percent yum.

I snapped this picture inside the supposedly wholesome Kroger's Bakery last week while deciding on a cake for my son Buster's 11th birthday.

I never before knew that something called "whippy" could constitute an actual icing flavor. At least it wasn't combined with a nutty topping. Yeah, Whippy Nuts Crunch sounds like a delicacy you'd only find sold by street vendors at a parade in San Francisco. Maybe whippy is a delightful blend of horse whips, whipped cream, and the House Majority Whip.

I'm going to invent a new online glossary devoted to whippy stuff. I'll call it WHIPAPEDIA.

At this point, Kroger's is but one step away from becoming your erotic bachelor/bachelorette party cake headquarters.

Fear of the unknown and inexplicable urged me to wisely opt for the tried-and-true buttercreme topping.

The Smiling Infidel's adventurous palate stops here.

We Came, We Saw, We Cooked It Up And Then We ATE It Up!

"The entire world may crumble down around us...........but we shall rise up and deflect the descending debris with our swollen, well-fed bellies."
-Elasticwaistbandlady 2008

"Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die."
-The Big Book Of Overused Expressions So Old They Fart Dust

For all the concerned people that wondered if we Infidels have enough to eat in the face of such calamitous conditions, the answer is.....YES!!!! Heck Yes! A whole YES World Tour filled with YES men and YES groupies! (even though I really only like that "Owner Of A Lonely Heart" song)

There's something you should understand: Food is/was/always will be my primary source of concern when it comes to preparing for conditions that may threaten the link between the Infidel family and our outside food sources.

I toiled away in the kitchen all day on Friday, like a proper Molly Mormon, in anticipation of Hurricane Ike. Yes, I was even barefoot.

Here's my sunny Sunbum loading caramel icing onto the hot rolls we scored at the 99 Cents Only Store.

What better way to send out an "S.O.S" than by making some hot, sloppy S.O.S. for dinner?

S.O.S= Sheet On A Shingle
Let's hear ABBA sing a song about that!
Actually, I could use some of that pasty sheet to hold down my roof shingles. They didn't fare so well in the face of 85 MPH winds.

I often cook big pots of chili and then look for cryptic hidden messages that brew up in the spicy tomato sauce.
It's like reading tea leaves or lazily gazing at the sky while pointing out giant peg-legged elephants you see hidden amongst fluffy white clouds.
In this pot I found one yellowish, demonic-looking eyeball and an arrow sign.
I need to find a chili pot message interpreter to tell me what this all means, S.T.A.T!

And on the first day of the storm, The Smiling Infidel created a pan of cornbread........and it was declared delicious by all who feasted upon it.

The mini-Infidels scoffed at me because when I heard that Houston would be shutting down in anticipation of the storm, I frantically called over to Mr. Gatti's and ordered four large pizzas with my $7.00 coupon.
Pizza makes for mucho bueno emergency food storage. Some like it hot. Some like it cold. Some like it in the pot nine days old.
That last group is a bunch of pizza-torturing weirdos. Stay far, far away from them.
The funny thing is that my Visiting Teacher stopped by with some homemade goodies to tide us over and then guess where her next stop was?
Go on. Guess.
Yes. She was going to stock up on pizzas to feed her houseful of teenage boys.
She's from New Zealand, but even New Zealanders know what to do in the event of a Hurricane/Cyclone. CALL FOR PIZZA!

We may have been out of work, but that don't mean we can't still make us some bread!

I cooked more stuff but I'm tired of uploading pictures.
Here's my Papi sprawled out on the Infidel Bed of Love featuring Semi/Sort Of/Used-To-Be White sheets.
He's undoubtedly inhaling the scentalicious aromas of all the many things I whipped up throughout the day, and dreaming that he somehow lucked out and won The Stepford Wives Sweepstakes!

*We're STILL Without Any Electricity. I Post-Dated This Yesterday For Today. Think Of It As An Emergency Infidel Blog Post Storage!*

The Infidel Family Actually Leaves The House To Go Somewhere: A Pictorial

Yes, the Infidel World Tour rolled through town last Friday. We made sure to hit all our favorite stops because I wouldn't want any of the cashiers at the fantastical 99 Cents Only Store to think that we've fallen out of love with them. Never take your 99 Cents Only store for granted, people.

Our first tour destination landed us smack in the middle of the Public Library where we observed the most unholiest of unholy children's section decorations. Minnie Mouse is either angling for a role in a Disney remake of King Kong or she's interested in getting this big fella back to her place so she can finally procure that luxurious gorilla fur coat she's always dreamed about.

I'm not sure what rigorous event they put these prunes through to call them "Champion" but I do know that according to the box you are forbidden from eating them anytime other than breakfast. Oh, and the prunes also have pits. I'm praying that doesn't mean armpits.

Spanish Telenovela-styled drama at the 99 Cents Only Store! We love our hot and spicy Abuelita mucho mucho-and so naturally we were greatly distressed to find that Abuelita's new boyfriend, Don Gustavo has taken over her company. Oh sure, he may look like the epitome of elderly sweetness behind his adorable little spectacles, but inside brews a company-stealing monster who wooed Abuelita and then snatched her business out right from under her. Poor Abuelita.

(Yes, I make up melodramatic back stories for my Mexican cinnamon chocolate beverage products, don't you?)

The 99 Cents Only store envisions a brave new world where all fast food is made out of marshmallows.........

and people will drink their juice out of grotesque bug carcasses.

Here's comes Peter Cottontail....hopping down the bunny trail......well, the "bunny trail" is actually code for Aisle 8 at the 99 Cents Only Store. Yes, now you too can celebrate a one-of-a-kind Easter in July with these delicious treats.....because food poisoning is timeless.

Sunbum's Addiction.

These almond cookies are seriously delicious.

Beware the zombie starfish tub toy!!!! Any film called Starfish Zombies would spawn a zillion sequels due to the starfishes unique ability to regenerate itself.

Racially insensitive socks. Seriously, these win the prize for the most WTF? socks ever in recorded history. And what is the significance of the little For Sale sign? Is this unwrinkled Raisinette/Milk Dud/prune with legs a real estate agent? Maybe he's pimping himself out and he's actually the one for sale? So many questions that only a professional sock interpreter can answer.

Pirate's Booty Potato Chips: The Best Kind Of Booty Call! Yeah, I groped me some Pirate Booty at World Market!

Kung-Fu Fido Fortune Cookies For Dogs, as seen on the shelves of World Market. Our resident crotch-sniffing wonder dog, Reagan doesn't need a cookie apprising him of his fortune because I tell him every day, "I See A Sausage Factory Looming In Your Future If You Don't Stop Scratching Up My Windows." See? I could totally be a canine fortune cookie writer.

I have an unhealthy obsession with edible drinking cups. It began somewhere in my childhood when I saw Willy Wonka crunch into this tulip-shaped teacup he plucked from a bush. Anyway, Willy Wonka had to contend with a crispy cup that sounded like it was made from a stale rice wafer. I'm opting for these made out of Belgian chocolate.

The stockers at World Market must have a lot of fun when they decide where to shelve merchandise. What else can explain the cans of Spotted Dick juxtaposed next to the Wing Nut containers? If you combine a Spotted Dick with a pair of Winged Nuts you'll get the oddest dragon-ish mythological creature ever created.....probably the blindest and the dumbest, too.

I scoped out these Poker Pretzels for bloggy friend and Mistress Of The Poker Table, Alice. Pretzel diamonds can also be a girl's best friend.

And finally I'd like to conclude the Infidel World Tour by showing the "obvious much?" label on this nutty bag of Naked Nuts. Okay, it's a sack of peanuts manufactured by a company called Naked Nuts and yet they still had to post a disclaimer on the back stating: Manufactured in a facility that uses Peanuts and other nuts.

You know what I loved the most? The very stoic cashier-who's checked us out nearly every time we venture to the 99 Cents Only store-never cracks so much as a smile at us. Well, while he was ringing us out I was busy taking pictures of the Naked Nuts on the conveyor belt. Suddenly my mini-Infidels started whining, "Mooooom, he's done. You need to come pay now." And so naturally I told them, "Not now. I'm busy playing with these here Naked Nuts."

We actually scored an LOL-moment from the Cashier. Yesssssss!