If My Mexi-Man Papi Had His Way We Would All Spell People As "PEE-PLE"

A few months ago my mom invited us Infidels out to see a live performance of the perenially perky UP WITH PEOPLE group.

Studies show that the International cast members who comprise UP WITH PEOPLE have been directly infused with large doses of sunshine, lollipops, and rainbows everything in addition to a spoonful of sugar thrown in for good measure-- it makes it all go down in the most delightful way.

When I was but a wee young Infidel lass, my mother always took me to the UP WITH PEOPLE concerts whenever they hit Houston. Some kids dream of running away to join the circus. Not me. I fantasized of one day getting some fancy veneers and joining the photogenic UP WITH PEOPLE crew. I yearned to be one of them-- blinding audiences worldwide with my dazzling white toothy smile and amazing jive-talking jazz hands.

Alas, by the time I hit 12 I realized that I wasn't at all cute, I couldn't sing, I couldn't dance, I couldn't stomp out a rhythm even if my very life depended on me stomping an emergency Morse code, I looked horrible in brightly colored cardigans and khakis, and I definitely wasn't perky.

I would have been better qualified for a humanity-hating production of DOWN WITH PEOPLE.

Anyway, aside from a few vague and disinteresting dialogue moments steeped in Utopian and "It Takes A Village" blah blah, the show was suprisingly good. The mini-Infidels really loved it and clamored to go get their pictures taken with as many UP WITH PEOPLE participants as they could.

I showed Papi the pictures when we got home. Despite the fact that UP WITH PEOPLE had many cast members originating from Mexico and the fact that they tour extensively there, Papi hadn't ever heard of them.

His quizzical response to the first picture I snapped-showing the group's name and logo-left me gasping for air from laughing so hard.

Papi said: "What exactly is U PEE WITH PEOPLE??!!??"

Here's a sampling of the UP WITH PEOPLE performers in action at last year's Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade:

Kohl's Will Sell You A Fine Jew......But Only At Retail Prices

On Saturday I spied with my little eye this sign posted on the side of a rolling clothes rack at Kohl's department store.
The message is clear: If you want a Not Fine Jew on clearance with an additional 25% off, you'll have to go to the Woody Allen bin over on the Barry Manilow aisle.
I, however, opted to pony up a purse-load of shekels to pay full price for a Fine Jew over in the Adam Sandler section. I saw Ben Stiller and Jon Stewart hanging out over there, too.
Of course, a true Jew would be aghast at the thought of compliantly paying retail without any haggling or dickering.
And now I can't stop singing Madonna's peppy pop anthem 'True Blue' as "True Jew, Baby, I Love You......"
The main point is: One should never cheap out when it comes to the quality of Matzoh Balls. Never.

*Poor Barry. I actually feel bad making fun of him since he has been alive forever and he wrote the very first song....it was the song that makes the whole world sing......the song of love and special things!*

The Smiling Infidel Gardening Club Prize Patrol Is On The Loose.........You May Already Be A Winner!

Now, I'm not one of those types that crawls around on the lawn-magnifying glass in hand-examining each blade of grass, but I do take some pride in the outward appearance of our humble little abode we've dubbed 'The Infidel Estate'.

Lately we've found ourselves on the receiving end of a flurry of correspondence from our cantankerous Homeowner's Association. I'm an undying optimist. Every time a new letter from our beloved H.O.A makes a grand appearance in our mailbox, my heart starts to flutter wildly. I always assume that it can only mean good things are headed our way after 12 years of living in this sub par neighborhood and that the H.O.A is finally going to award us the prize of prizes........the honor of honors.......the glory of glories.......YARD OF THE MONTH!

Alas, it usually states things like "we plan to notify our Attorney if your yard is not brought into compliance with our deed restrictions in a timely manner."

So just what constitutes Yard-Of-The-Month-Worthiness to the esteemed members of our H.O.A?

Well, judging from last month's winner, the H.O.A deems pickle-inspired landscaping as the most praiseworthy yard design our subdivision has to offer.
(Oh please, this lackluster yard would so not even make it as the Greenhouse Green Of The Month centerfold. Ever.)

You know, I'm a good person. I don't need any green thumb approval from a snit-picky band of bunchy-butt biddies who go around reeking of compost pile perfume. No, I refuse to play their cucumber shrub mind games!

Since I wasn't born with a silver trowel in my hand, I'll never be invited to join their snarling neighborhood pack of Miracle Gro sniffers. I knew that if I wanted the elusive award, I'd have to forge my own path to victory.

I wasn't content with a ho-hum Yard Of The Month sign-because really, any ambitious fool with a vat of chinch bugs and a gallon of bleach to decimate their neighbor's lawn can win that. I opted instead to create a shining beacon to my Yard Conquistador awesomeness........I'm the proud owner of this one-of-a-kind YARD OF THE MILLENNIUM sign! Yay!

In my excitement to display the signage hailing us as grand masters of the lawn&garden utopia world, I accidentally soiled myself.

It wasn't my fault. That special gardening soil I use in my award winning planters is tricky stuff.

We're compassionate Conquistadors. So it seemed only right that we should share our bounteous blessings with others. Me and the mini-Infidels piled into the truck and set forth on a mirthful mission to bring a small piece of prize-winning joie de vivre to the masses.

One look at this planter featuring a gigantic ant mound-teeming with fiery hot contestants from the Miss Fire Ants In Your Pants pageant-and we knew that we had found the grand prize winner of our Sexiest Fire Ants category. Congratulations!

Snoop Dogg is a knowledgeable authoritarian on the history, evolution, and crop value of the almighty weed. I'm just a lowly emissary of the prestigious Snoop Dogg Garden Society........ but I'm positive that he'd approve of these homeowners who chose to go with a Weed, Weed, And More Weed landscaping plan for their yard. They also took top honors for their enticing pot strategically placed a mere footsteps away from their front door; for easy pot access, no doubt.

Notice that Weird Al is featured on this sign with ebullient rays of light surrounding him as though he's an omnipotent presence? Weird Al offered his divine inspiration as he informed me of his desire to share the Whiter-Than-Sour Cream award with a worthy individual. Despite spending day-after-day in the blistering Houston sun, our lawn jockey winner has never burned. He remains a whiter shade of pale and for that we commend him and his homeowner handlers. Good Job!

(I found out later that a local tanning bed place offers special Lawn Jockey discounts. Apparently our supposedly squeaky clean whitey winner was a former client of this establishment. Scandalous!)

Who better to represent the Best Undead Lily prize than the world's foremost recognized Undead Lily, Lily Munster?

My lilies croaked off into an early death this year. Happily by the dawn of spring they'll resurrect themselves and rise forth, pushing up through the fertile soil to live amongst us once more. LILY ZOMBIES!!!!!!

I'm not insinuating that these homeowners are practicing some kind of ritualized chicken bone Lily Voodoo. It is rather odd though that nobody else around here can keep their lilies alive past June- and yet, these lilies are still thriving at the end of July. Hmmmmm. They're lucky that the H.O.A doesn't demand that they be burned on suspicion of gardening witchcraft.

Our celebrity spokesperson, Big Bird makes no secret of the fact that he likes to watch the chickadees shake their tail feathers down at the Bird Bath Cabaret whenever he's on a filming break from Sesame Street. He never tires of telling the naive, young swallows, "Hey baby, do you wanna know the real reason why they call me Big Bird?"

On hot summer days, this exquisite bird bath masterpiece-crafted of the finest concrete- becomes more like a Bird Jacuzzi, just ready to host a full-blown bird bath bonanza. (R.S.V.P to Robin or Jay)

What lucky person wouldn't want a sign telling the world that Presidential nominee, Barack Obama loves their bush??!!? We awarded this fetching congratulatory masterpiece to the owners of a most gorgeous Esperanza Bush-filled with an insane amount of vibrant yellow blooms. You see, Esperanza means "HOPE" in Spanish......and Senator Obama is all about spreading messages of "HOPE", right? He even wrote a best-selling book with "HOPE" featured prominently in the title. Well, this bush is hopeful hopefulness at its most hope-inducing. It's unfortunate that it doesn't have anything else to offer beyond physical beauty and a shallow promise of hope.

This is likely the only time in history you'll ever witness Obama declaring his love for a Bush in Texas. :)

If you weren't one of the lucky winners this year, don't despair. We plan on making this an annual event. I don't have enough money to start up a philanthropic society but at least I'm doing a little something to give back to our local community. I wonder if I can claim posterboard and markers as a tax write-off since it was used for charitable purposes?

Hey, I Don't Mean To Alarm You But There Appears To Be An Alligator On Your Breast!

Yeah, my mom bought into the all the preppy reptilian hype back in the 80's. I had quite a few toothy alligators dancing across my chestage as an adolescent.....and then as a teen the man-eating alligator emblem was displaced by a fearsome band of snobby Polo ponies. Nowadays the only thing hovering over the breast area of my shirts are the stains from the meatball sandwich I ate for lunch.
Honestly, I can't really fault my mother for choosing the trendy look for my wardrobe. As I recall, the only other fashion options in 1984 involved Valley Girl mini-skirts, parachute pants, checkered Vans, zippered leather jackets, fugly stirrup leggings, OP beach wear, and Garanimals. None of the above options would ever look normal on the pudgy, white bread-suburbanite me .

After an extended hibernation, Lacoste is back on the scene.
Look at how excited one Houston neighborhood is to welcome in a new era of all things Lacoste. They LOVE Lacoste and they're not afraid to show it. They even named their street Lacoste Love Ct.
You too can be a resident of Lacoste Love Ct. but only if you solemnly swear to uphold the strict tenets of their Home Owner's Association Policy. The H.O.A. states that all residents must wear Izod Lacoste apparel at all times. Residents must also decorate their yard space with alligator fountains and all topiary bushes must be cut into the shape of alligators. I think they're working on a fundraiser to isolate their street from the rest of the neighborhood by building a moat and stocking it with real alligators.
I hope they realize that they'll never be able to get another pizza delivered to their home again.

I really like the NO OUTLET notice situated above the street sign.
It's as though the occupants of Lacoste Love Ct. are saying LACOSTE LOVE OR DIE, BABY. THERE'S NO WAY OUT!

I Am Outraged At The Gender Inequality This Sign Propagates

Look, I'm not entirely sure if this shop runs a legitimate place of business or if it's actually a clever storefront cover-up meant to conceal a seedy male escort operation. One thing's for certain, though, you must keep your precious mums away from this floral den of iniquity!

They've obviously narrowed down their target female demographic to British, Australian, and Canadian expatriates because they're really the only "mums" around here; everyone else is Mama or just plain Mom. I guess there's good news in all this if you're a love-lorn woman named Rose.....apparently, they'll do you for cheap.

So, I guess we all know exactly what the PLUS in Flowers PLUS is supposed to be mean. This place offers a full-service, one-stop, git-r-done shopping experience. It's definitely more deflower shop than flower shop.

Ladies, Wouldn't It Just Be Easier To Buy A Branding Stick With Your Initials On It To Mark Your Man?

We spotted this super macho Ford truck today...CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP....... deep in the heeeeeaaaaart of Texas!

Manly Chrome Package: Check
Masculine Toolbox Installed: Check
Testosterone-Tinged Bumper Sticker Referencing Beer, Strip Clubs, Or The Confederate Flag: NOOOOO!
Here's a close-up of the bumper sticker. Yes, he loves his wife so much that he slapped this tacky declaration of redneck amore right across his dirty bumper. Is this ironic irony at work here or some sort of gummy adhesive sarcasm?
Or maybe I have it wrong and there's an alternate bumper sticker explanation. Perhaps it was specially manufactured by the W.H.A.P (Whipped Husbands Acting Penitent) Society which his wife is the President and founder of. Maybe the poor guy tried to intimate to the world that he, and he alone remains the sole alpha leader of the house and then he dared hang a pair of those detestably swingy Truck Nutz from his trailer hitch just to prove it. Maybe his wife gave him the bumper sticker slapdown as a punishment when she confiscated his Bumper Balls. Maybe he's just waiting for her to kick the bucket so he can change the W to an F and make that sticker read, 'I Heart Fife.' Fife as in Mayberry's own Barney Fife. What, isn't it manly to secretly heart Barney Fife?

Whatever. One day when I'm too lazy to show my Papi how much I love him through works and deeds and action I'll show just throw an 'I Heart Papi' sticker onto my truck bumper. That should take care of it.

We Saw David Cassidy In Someone's Front Yard!

Well, to be more precise we actually spotted yard signs heralding the extracurricular activities of two local students named David and Cassidy.

I wonder if they have a dad named Ron? Perhaps both children are the resulting products of their father waggling his eyebrows suggestively at their mother while seductively crooning, "Hey, baby, why don't you Do Ron Ron Ron, Da Do Ron Ron?"

Yep, the only thing missing to make this family complete is an Irish Setter named Bonaduce. With both the canine and human counterpart, Danny Bonaduce, featuring all-over wild and woolly red fur, they're nearly impossible to tell apart.

*This post is dedicated to Nancy Face who still loves David Cassidy 4-ever!*

What A Bunch Of Freakin Posers!

My mom had this annoyingly competitive friend she left behind in our podunk Indiana town as we joined the Yankee mass exodus to Texas in 1984. My mom used to receive frequent letters from her detailing the very model of perfection and hallowed goodness her two children embodied. My mom's friend delighted in filling page after page with announcements like how the fruit of her loins had just won the Lifetime Golly Gee You're Neat-O Achievement Award and would we please consider sending a monetary donation to ensure that her kids can make their annual summer pilgrimage with the church down to Mexico to show the poor, impoverished little brown children how to change their pathetic lives by becoming super Neat-O mini-replicas of her own fantastical offspring? Yeah.

My poor mom didn't have much ammunition to combat her with, either. I mean, having a slacker daughter who's on the high school bowling team doesn't exactly lend itself to bragging rights. I was also a proud member of Amnesty International- Well, only because I thought brooding guys in black T-shirts that listened to The Smiths and Charlatans UK were teh awesome. They really should have been credited with the title, 'Godfathers Of EMO' and established Robert Smith as their patron saint.

So, one day while driving through the next neighborhood over from us, we both had an epiphany. There, standing before us, like a giant, looming beacon screaming out "Hey, It Smells Like Team Spirit!", we saw it-- a yard filled with signs, and all of them with my name emblazoned upon them. My mom had me pose smack in the middle of the glory field. A few staged pictures later and she could now tell her friend that I was not only a cheerleader, but also the captain of the track team, a member of National Honor Society, and on the Country Club's elite swim team........and then silently pray that her friend would never get a sudden yearning to come visit us. In keeping with my family's shameless traditions, I made my children pose for Easter pictures at our neighbor's house last week because their grass is greener and their azaleas are in bloom. Meanwhile my yard is in some sort of crunchy brown haze and everything but my trusty, no-fail dianthus are on a blooming strike. Yeah, I'm going to pass my neighbor's yard off as my own this year to long-distance friends and family who don't know any better. I gave up lying for the Lent season, but by the time these cards go out, Lent will be over. Keep on moving, there's no sin to see here. Nope, none at all........

(Okay, the Lent thing is a lie. We're not even Catholic.)

*Clicking on humor-blogs.com for me will release all the guilt and stress you've been feeling lately*

The Post Where I Show Off My Infidel Political Spirit!

Barack Obama is headed to Texas to fight it out with rival Hillary Clinton in an attempt to win the lion's share of Lone Star State delegates and voters.

Meanwhile, there's some veeerrryyy interesting footage taken by Fox News yesterday morning at one of two newly opened Obama Campaign offices here in Houston. Watch the clip for yourself and make sure you're not doing anything physically demanding at around :18 seconds in. When your eyes spot what's hanging on the wall right behind the smiling staff, they'll widen with surprise and just may start bleeding uncontrollably.

(I understand that Senator Obama has no control over all his campaign people, but really, this is very poor judgment. Surely they knew that camera crews were on their way over.)

Sooooooo, I'm proposing a new business venture for anyone willing to put up some capital. We can start manufacturing the finest in fuzzy, red Che berets for immediate distribution.

Turning tragedy into triumph. That's the American entrepreneurial spirit!

UPDATE: My Good Friend Arugula Has More About This Story HERE.

Why You Should Never, Ever Order A Pizza With "Everything" On It

I admire small business owners immensely and I understand that it takes a great deal of strategic marketing to set yourself apart from the pack. I would venture to say that pizza places are as plentiful as the stubbly hairs on my chin and that an owner's biggest obstacle lay in establishing a niche and appealing to a wider variety of consumers than the next pizzeria down the street.

That being said, I think Paul's Pizza Shop may be going about the "setting ourselves apart" ideal in entirely the wrong way.

I can only speculate that they're trying to rival the popular Meat Lover's and Cheese Lover's pizzas sold at the Pizza Hut franchise restaurants by marketing their own brand of Poop Lover's Pizza. Obviously they're pretty proud of their abominable new pizza creation the way their sign trumpets that it'll bring "Poop Love And Joy To All." I wonder if the Poop Lover's Pizza qualifies for inclusion on their Vegetarian menu? Will they host exclusive Poop Pizza tasting events for the most discriminate pizza gourmet snobs? Are they setting a new trend and in the future we can expect to see U.S.D.A Grade A Poop listed as toppings at other pizzerias? Has it happened already? I say, "Beware the crumbled 'sausage'!"

I'm no business analyst but I'm fairly certain that the poop fetishist market is pretty minuscule and ultimately not a very palatable group to direct attention towards in hopes of future business growth.

If You Should Ever Happen To Dine At An Establishment Owned By Humor-Blogs.Com, Ask For A Complete List Of Ingredients First.

Huked On Fonix Wirked Fo Mee

Okay. I jumped out of my truck this morning in the darkened twilight hours just to capture the magnetic signage marvel slapped onto the tailgate of a pickup in my neighborhood. They spelled computer as 'KOMPUTER?' Seriously? I'm not sure I want a technician poking around at something he can't even spell. If he was trying for alliterative cuteness, why didn't he name his business KNOX KOMPUTER KOMPANY rather than Service? They could have abbreviated it to K.K.K. Maybe I have it all wrong and KOMPUTER is something totally different from COMPUTER. In which case, I want one for Christmas. I don't want to be left out.
File this one in the E For Eelliterate category.

From The 'Its A Dirty Job But Someones Gotta Do It' Files.....

One must always remember to wash ones hands rather vigorously with the strongest anti-bacterial soap available after meeting the acquaintance of a real, live Dick Carrier. That is all.

A Sure Sign Of Amelia Bedelia Syndrome.....

Do not be deceived by the misleading sign, people. I stood outside this McDonald's for an eternity, waiting and pacing to and fro in the painted crosswalk for a watch that never came. :( It was all a lie-- a cruel hoax designed to lure in the watch-less masses. Is it time for a Big Mac Attack? Don't ask me. I wouldn't know since I don't have a McDonald's watch.

I'm Trying To Keep This Post Clean

How can such a massive glut of similar businesses survive in an overly saturated market? Why, by offering a niche service, that's how. You can't toss a soiled garment around Houston without hitting some sort of dry cleaning establishment. So it's interesting to note the following places and the specialty menu they're focusing on in order to cinch up market share and a tidy sum in the process. Emphasis on tidy....don't nobody want dirty money in this line of work.

The Board Of Directors at Pilgrim Cleaners strive to achieve a puritanical world free of the scourge of dirty Pilgrims. They offer first-rate services to all dirty Pilgrims, and even hired congenial John Wayne lookalikes for their flagship locations to give a big, warm "Howdy Pilgrim!" welcome. From giving a pure-as-the-driven-snow collar the stiffy treatment down to keeping your scarlet letter bright and shiny, Pilgrim Cleaners is there for you!

*Not responsible for any Pilgrim buckle damage that may occur*

Want to make your water fowl a little less, well.......... foul? Bring them on in to Swan's Cleaners. This place and their super bubbly swan-scrubbing action means Tunnel Of Love operators can run their romantic attraction without the fear of stanky swan pollution spoiling up the ambiance. They're also the secret weapon behind Swan Lake which used to be called Mucky Duck Lake.

*After just finishing Eclipse, I want to run Bella Swan through a wash and rinse at Swan's Cleaners. Bella gets done passionately making out with her vampire and then feels up a werewolf not even one hour later? Dirty Girly!*

And finally, we don't have to hold our breaths and maintain a 'wait-and-see' period after elections anymore. Will your selected candidate do as they promise and 'clean house?' I wouldn't bet on it. Luckily, we have an easy solution all wrapped up in a one-stop shop. At Country Cleaners, you can sanitize the land that you love while wringing out the asshats and hanging them up to dry at the same time. They also do shoe repairs and alterations while you wait for your country to get cleansed.

I often over hear people lament about getting 'taken to the cleaners.' Huh. I guess I'll just have to wait for an Infidel Cleaners to open up in this area so I can experience it firsthand.

Even The Neighborhood Watch People Avert Their Eyes And Blush From Embarrassment.....

Ever wonder where speed bumps come from? Wonder no more!
Oh, those randy little roads and all their naughty humping and bumping activities. Their indiscretions make the daily commute for the average motorist a bit more jarring.

Well, as me and Infidel Daughter The Second traveled through this neighborhood, we couldn't help giggling and pointing at all the road hump warnings. It's very important that people shield their kids from seeing the pavement in a possible compromising position-I completely understand that, but this was sign overkill. Every corner? Is that really necessary? Are we supposed to marvel at the road's boast of humping at 20 mph? That just seems ostentatiously braggy to me.

Naturally, when talking about things that you do naturally, it led to us singing an improvised version of The Black Eyed Peas 'My Humps.'
My Humps, My Humps
My Lovely Concrete Humps.....Check It Out.

At long last, I finally understood the deeper meaning of the 'My Humps' lyrics as each speed bump jostled me and shook around all that junk--all that junk inside my trunk.

*Infidel Daughter The Second Knows What The Word Hump Basically Means Thanks To Our Perpetually Excited Chocolate Labrador, Reagan.*

I Want All Of You To Become Rabid Fans Of The Smiling Infidel And I've Got A Cost Efficient Plan To Do It Too!

Are you tired of scouring high and low for some decent Rabies prices? Do all your friends have Rabies and you're tired of feeling like the odd one out? Well, today's your lucky day! Just fly down to Houston, Texas in the good old U S of A, because we've got your cheap Rabies hook-up right here. For less than the cost of Meatloaf's Bat Out Of Hell CD, you too can experience the exhilarating thrill that only the Rabies Virus can bring. Yay! No longer will you have to suffer through watching Old Yeller, wondering when you'll get your turn. No longer will you have to drink the super foamy whipped frappucino at Starbucks so you can feign frothing at the mouth. No longer will you have to blame bi-polar disorder for your random acts of Bat Sheet Craziness. No, my friends, your time for reduced rate glazey-eyed madness has finally arrived!

Don't Say It.....Spray It!

Sometimes I really question the fortitude of our youth. Do they have what it takes to make it in today's world and thrive? We all know that the key to life long success lies in completing your tasks and projects at hand, no matter how difficult.

So, I looked onto these local neighborhood STOP signs with great concern. The one on the left bears graffiti, spelling out an ode to Mr. 2 Legit 2 Quit himself, M.C. Hammer. Yes, the sign reads 'STOP! Hammertime!' The second sign, around the corner from the first, contains the uplifting message brought to the masses by Journey back in the 80's.....'Don't STOP Believing!' Wise words, indeed.

But then the signage stops abruptly, right there, without any further instructions or details leaving me, the casual passerby, to wonder what became of these fine young graffiti artists, determined to maketh their mark upon this world. Surely, two paltry signs can't contain the extent of their vast creativity. I mean, there's so much more they left unfinished. What about:
1. Don't STOP Thinking About Tomorrow- Fleetwood Mac
2. Don't STOP The Dance- Bryan Ferry
3. STOP Me If You Think That You've Heard This One Before-The Smiths
4. STOP In The Name Of Love- The Supremes
5. STOP Dragging My Heart Around- Tom Petty
6. STOP! Dimentica!-By The Italian Singer, Tiziano Ferro
7. I'll STOP The World And Melt With You- Modern English
8. STOP That Train- Bob Marley
They could even get lazy and just slap an exclamation mark onto the sign making it 'STOP!' as a homage to the smash hit by Erasure.

One day, I hope my proud graffiti artists learn about the satisfaction that comes from a job well done and they'll re-commit themselves to finishing this great work.

As a funny side note, we here at La Casa De Infidel delight in singing Journey's 'Don't Stop Believing' while we're struggling with the call of nature and looking for a suitable toilet. We sing it "Don't Stop Believing.... HOLD ON TO POOP FEELING!" Sometimes my mini-Infidels will take us by surprise and retort with a comeback tailor-made by the fine folks from REO Speedwagon. "I CAN'T FIGHT THIS FEELING ANYMORE!"

FUDGE-O-RAMA!

I love me some fudge. You may even say I'm a fudge connoisseur-sampling and casting eyes of lust towards the tantalizing candy store displays with sweet heavenly fudge stacked into neat little tiers, just ripe for the picking. My vast fudge experience has brought me into contact with many flavors and varieties, so I can say without hesitation that the fudge I found below is my least favorite kind. I shudder to think of the advertising for her.......'Phyllis Fudge! Now With More Pieces Of Real Phyllis In Ever Fudgy Bite!'
So, does Phyllis Fudge call her bicycle a FUDGEsicle? When she does her taxes and claims her new nose hair trimmer as a business expense, does the IRS agent roll his eyes and disgustedly say,"'She's always trying to FUDGE on her taxes." Does she tell her kids that Judy Blume's book, 'SuperFUDGE' was written for her? When she eats nuts, does she exclaim loudly, "New and Improved Phyllis Fudge......Now With Nuts!!!!!"? I wonder if she follows the stereotype and bakes FUDGE to give out at Christmas while people whisper amongst themselves, "There goes that FUDGE woman giving out FUDGE again." Maybe she could start her own company. 'FUDGE'S FUDGE.'

With an awesome name like that, she needs to get out of the real estate game and record a hot track to transform her into a Pop Princess. Maybe something like Fergie's 'Fergalicious' except she could call it 'FUDGEalicious.' Mmmmmm, FUDGE. Can you see it now? FUDGE Live And In Concert With Cake. Suh-weet!

You Can Take The Girl Outta The Beach, But You Can't Take The Beach Outta The Girl. True Dat, Beach!

Whatever happened to that perky little surfer girl we all grew to know and love? Did she suffer a horrible fate from a tragic hair dye overdose? Admit it, it's more than a little schizo to go from bubbly blond on the movie screen to bouncy brunette on your TV show. In my mind, I like to envision that one day Gidget happens upon a group of pre-EMO girls laying about all glazy-eyed on the beach, toking it up, and listening to the Rolling Stone's 'Sympathy For The Devil.' Annoyed by her endless sparkly chatter, and spontaneous singing of the Beach Boy's Greatest Hits, they punish Gidget with the worst bikini strap snapping Malibu has ever seen. It was the 'SNAP!' heard round the world. Huh, apparently, not everybody wishes they could be California Girls.

Nobody else could surf like the amazing Gidget. Where else can you freakin stand still on top of a surfboard while a sunny ocean backdrop scene plays behind you to give the appearance that you're actually in the water? Yeah, I could get my fat arse up surfing too with a few cinematic tricks and gravitational miracles. Ain't nobody going to mistake me for a Little Surfer Girl, though. Go on a Surfin Safari with Gidget? Sure, let me get my gun. So, Paula Cole wonders, 'Where Have All The Cowboys Gone?', but I'm insatiably curious as to 'Where Have All The Gidgets Gone?' Did she marry that lame duck, Moondoggie, and spawn a whole gaggle of preening and useless beach bums? Did she make a pact to sell her soul in exchange for becoming an immortal beach bunny? What? And then, while cruising through H-Town last week, all of my Gidget questions gained an immediate answer.

Gidget Goes Houstonian! Instead of 'Beach Blanket Gidget,' she now stars in 'Red Realtor Jacket Gidget,' along with it's sequel 'Straight Up 6% Gidget!' Yes, Gidgets alive and well! If you consider selling real estate in an over saturated housing market trapped in a downward spiral, alive and well.

I wonder if she shows houses in her old, termite-damaged Woody with surfer boy Jack Johnson cranked up on the antiquated stereo system? Listening to Jack Johnson loses you any coolness points you may have once had, Gidget. Does she still wear her teeny-weeny, ruffled bikini underneath her modest realtor uniform so that she can peel it off and go running to the beach at a moment's notice? Oh wait, we live an hour away from the oil contaminated, grungy waters of the Gulf Of Mexico. Maybe she doesn't mind swimming with the debris and brown submarines floating in Houston's famed bayou system? The only Surf that Gidget will find around Houston sits on a shelf at the local grocery store's cleaning aisle. Surf laundry detergent doesn't come with a surfing board. No. Instead, it's usually used in conjunction with an ironing board.

Oh Gidget, California Dreaming on such a Houston day.

Welcome To The Infidel Time Machine:Destination 1980's! Don't Forget Your Leg Warmers And Jelly Shoes

I constantly snap pictures that catch my interest in one way or another. I used to participate in the blogging community's collaborative Wordless Wednesday effort, but I just don't have time for it these days. I hate to see a fun picture go to waste, so today I bring you a retro 80's feel as I inexplicably undergo the task of matching all the photos seen here with an 80's theme counterpart. Oh great Goddess of Nachos, how I worship thee and your lovely processed cheese goodness. The Valero gas station attendant knows me and the full extent of my nacho addiction. She's allowing herself to slip into the role of co-dependency as she gifts me with fresh jalapenos whenever I stop by.

As I fall helpless under the nachos enchanting spell, I always think of this song: Starpoint-Object Of My DesireThe sight of this gargantuan, Pepto-Bismol pink gorilla amused my daughter, Monkey, and I this week. I couldn't help but feel sorry for this inflatable beast, though. I mean, how demeaning and demoralizing to have to wear such an itsy-bitsy, teenie-weenie, yellow polka dot bikini. What, are they trying to pimp her out to become the next Bride Of King Kong? Or maybe to win the Miss Gorilla Fingers International beauty pageant?

I hereby dedicate this little simian ditty to her: Peter Gabriel-Shock The MonkeyThis obviously inflammatory banner really caught my ire. Who do these people think they are discriminating like that with their storage business? There's laws against this sort of prejudice, you know. I mean, it's all fine and good for the elite letters of R & E, to revel in their own exclusive little club, but what about the rest of the alphabet? Will they always be on the outside looking in? Is there no room at the inn for 24 more letters? Such heartless and cruel alphabet abuse makes this Infidel profoundly sad.

It also makes these guys sad because they'll never receive an invitation to play at the R&E gigs since their kind obviously isn't welcome: ABC-Look Of Love
I'm sort of a pizza connoisseur, and I'm not afraid to top my pizza with strangely new and exciting things. Sadly, I can think of nothing more disgusting than a pizza laden with taco corners. What's next, discarded sandwich crust pizza? No, it's just plain wrong to recycle your crispy little taco corners in this way.

I think that I should recruit this man to come and speak about the perils of ingesting Taco Corner Pizza. He's all about 'Puttin On The Ritz,' but I'm thinking that I'm okay with crumbled Ritz crackers on my pizza as opposed to someone else's germy taco leftovers:Taco-Puttin On The RitzAnd finally, we find ourselves stuck at the Adhesives Inc. company. I guess it's a sticky job, but someones gotta do it. I wonder if any former employees have told the boss to take his job and 'stick it' where the sun don't shine?

I'm sure I already know what they play at the company picnic every year, their theme song, of course: Huey Lewis-Stuck With You