Crank Dat Infidel Girl!

I thought I'd post this schmaltz-tastic video to share with the world seeing as how I'm a bonafide honorary Jew and all.
Well, I am a Kosher Queen which is kind of like ABBA's "Dancing Queen" minus the ham.
Like I said, I am the Kosher Queen, well, for the most part and with the definite exception of my insatiable Pig-Out Porkfest days.......not to mention the fact that I occasionally flaunt some dangly bacon strip earrings that would make any decent Jewish American Princess shudder with revulsion. (Hey, at least I didn't buy the bacon strip pasties because I saw those in the same online shop)
And the fact that I've told some very, very, very naughty Matzoh Ball jokes in my time.
And then there's the snigger-worthy photoshop pic I created of "Jewbacca."
And my oldest son once thought that Michael Jackson's big 80's hit was actually an enthusiastic ode to Judaism. "I Wanna ROCK With Jews.....All Night."
And maybe I'd be disqualified from honorary Jew status if they knew it was me who yakked up half-digested halvah candy and gefilte fish at the synagogue right before Rhona Goldstein's bat mitzvah and then hoofed it out of there as fast as my fat little gentile legs could run, only returning when it was time to shake my Christian tookus to the sweet sounds of the Dirty Dancing soundtrack at the after party.
But anyways, I do know every single solitary word to Hannukah's Da Bomb, Aight, and I can spin a dreidel at warp speed, so really, all should be forgiven.


Here's CRANK DAT KOSHER BOY for your viewing pleasure! I hope it gets a place of honor on a Jewkbox somewhere.

What Not To Say When Meeting Someone For The First Time

I had a chance encounter with THIS super nice lady and fellow blogger on Saturday night. The conversation went as follows:

Smiley Sarah Extends Her Hand: "Hi, how are you doing? It's so nice to finally meet you."

Ridiculously Lame Elastic Holds Out Her Hand And Says: "Uhhhhhh, hi. I've got GAS all over my hands."
(It was true. I had just won a hard-fought battle with my petroleum-soaked gas cap at the filling station.)

Smiley Sarah Turns Complimentary: "I read your blog all the time!"

Insecure Elastic Looks Down At Her Feet And Mumbles: "Oh, really?"
(I'm kind of a rogue Mormon convert. I never know when a fellow Church member comments that they read my blog if it's a bad thing or a good thing.)

So there it is, people. I'm the Queen of Painfully Awkward Conversations.
Do you have too many friends and acquaintances? Are they burdening you and soaking up too much of your valuable free time? Do you just want to rid yourself of all human contact so you can live a hermitary life of extreme isolation?
Just call me---->elasticwaistbandlady<----and I'll show you my proven 12 point plan for alienating people by using the most modern tools available in the field of Non-Communication Communications.
I've carefully studied all the most famous unintelligible conversationalists in pop culture history to devise my unique system of driving all humanity as far away from you as possible.
The panel of experts include: That "Wah-Wah-Wah-Wah" teacher from Peanuts, Boomhauer from King Of The Hill, and the aptly named Mushmouth who rose to meteoric fame on the Fat Albert cartoon series.
I'm a prime example of what happens when the written word beats the tarnation out of the spoken word...........and leaves it struggling for breath on the side of the road.

Infidel Freak Secret Of The Week......Because I'm Too Lazy To Send It In To The Post Secret Site

Thanks to years of watching people find unexpected treasures in their very own home on the PBS program, Antiques Roadshow, I now fully expect to uncover some long-forgotten but insanely valuable artifact tucked away in between the rafters of my attic every time I have to trudge up the narrow, wooden attic ladder to get a box out of storage. I don't think the Men Without Hats cassette tape and my old Spelling Bee trophy I found up there last week is going to cut it as valuable artifact status.

I know that it's a totally unrealistic expectation given that the our house is only 11 years old.....and we're the original owners, but I can dare to hope that life-changing money will just fall into my lap every once in awhile, can't I?

Truth be told, the only item in my attic of marginal interest or value may be the wide assortment of insects. I wonder how much the Museum of Natural Science would pay me for a genuine albino roach carcass?

The Good, The Bad, And The Utterly Delicious!

I used to have these struggles with nagging doubts and internal conflicts that manifested itself as little outward appendages of my conscience. On my right shoulder lay the voice of goodness and righteous clarity- while the left shoulder harbored the force of darkness who often whispered to me that it was okay to do naughty things like pretend I can't hear Papi when he's in the bathroom frantically yelling that there isn't any more toilet paper or silently wishing that the person giving the never-ending prayer in a church meeting would contract sudden laryngitis and finally sit down and shut up. Anyway, my turmoil has ceased since I had the Little Devil and Little Angel surgically removed from my shoulders....
and replaced them instead with the non-judgmental and perpetually smiling, Little Debbie.
What??!!? What's that you say Little Debbie? Speak up, I'm having a hard time hearing you. Oh, you think I should have another oatmeal cream sandwich cookie? How can I possibly say no to your cherubic self, Little Debbie?

*humor-blogs.com wrote the Little Debbie biography wherein they expose how she turned her inner demons into Devil's Food Snack Cakes*

Another Infidel Freak Secret Of The Week!

Sometimes we get a little restless here at La Casa De Infidel and we look for ways to improve our quality of life. Recently, we devised an amusing remedy to cure perpetual radio boredom by translating the lyrics of popular music into a customized "lolinfidel" speak accompanied by an occasional dramatic interpretation of said lyrics.

This week we've focused in on mocking discussing the possible hidden meaning behind everyone's favorite lite rock classic, 'Broken Wings' as performed by the original lite rock maestros, Mr. Mister. Frankly, there's precious few things in this life more tragic than Broken Wings. Although, some periods of time makes broken wings a lot more tragic than others.
Baby, I think tonight we can TAPE what was wrong and make it right.....
So TAPE these broken wings.....
And learn to fly again, learn to live so freeeeee.....
Oh, TAAAPPPPE these broken wings.........
(Notice I left out the stomach-churning line about the "flesh and blood that makes us whole" because I do have some sort of decency standards)

Disclaimer:
*This was an Infidel Freak Secret Of The Week dramatization done by professional winged maxi-pad handlers. Do not attempt this at home. Usage of actual broken/taped winged products may result in pain and discomfort much like listening to Winger's Greatest Hits. Wearing of the product shown above also causes unexpected pulling and tugging symptoms linked to involuntary bikini line baldness.*

The napkins are always sanitary at humor-blogs.com

The Three Saddlebag Cinch-Keteers.........Coming To A City Near you!

Here's a picture of Carrot and me playing a nice game of Monkey Millie In The Middle!
I'll never forget a particularly depressing time during my teen years that my mom and I had no place to go for Thanksgiving dinner. Feeling sorry for ourselves, we split an entire pumpkin pie topped with an entire tub of Cool Whip, as we pitifully flopped down in the living room to watch TV. We didn't have the luxury of cable, and the only programming available on Thanksgiving aside from a glut of cheesy infomercials was Good Morning Houston-a show we mocked often. So, we resignedly tuned into Good Morning Houston while devouring our pie as they ran an irritating exercise segment featuring their 50 year old perennially perky co-host who, despite her age, insisted on wearing one of those leotards that ride up the rear and look like dental floss stringing through your heiny. Little Miss Old Solid Gold led her neon Spandex Squadron in an exercise called 'The Saddlebag Cinch,' as she demonstrated how you loosen-tighten-and loosen again your butt cheeks to firm them up. Then she chirpily declared "You can do 'The Saddlebag Cinch' anywhere. While waiting in line at the grocery store, while driving around in your car, you can even do it while on TV. Look at me.......I'm doing it right now!"

That was too much. My mom and I spit pumpkin pie everywhere as we exploded in laughter. Every since then, I'll occasionally blurt out to my mom......."'The Saddlebag Cinch?' I'm doing it RIGHT NOW!"

While squished together like Siamese triplets with Millie and Carrot in the backseat of Tori's car, I casually mentioned to Millie, "Hey Millie! I'm doing 'The Saddlebag Cinch.'" I never expected her to even know what I was talking about until she started giggling and said, "'The Saddlebag Cinch?' I'm doing it right now TOO!!!!" You know what? She really was! I felt her muscles tighten up and that sent us all into an uncontrollable bout of snorting from laughing so hard. It was like that Chris DeBurgh song, "Lady In Pink, is saddlebag cinching with me........ Cheek-To-Cheek!"

Now you know. Not only did I bond with my bloggy friends- I also did 'The Saddlebag Cinch' with them. 'The Saddlebag Cinch,' you say? Why, I'm doing it right now!!!!

A Lite Version Of The Smiling Infidel!

Sometimes, when me and my Infidel posse go to the store, we find that the automatic doors won't open no matter how hard we jump up and down on the rubber mats lining the entryway. I always tell my mini-Infidels that it means I'm way too skinny for the automated system to register that I'm standing on it, and that signifies a need for a quadruple banana split...STAT! Yeah, I'm just like the big, bad wolf standing outside the door, stomping vigorously on the mat while bellowing, "Let Me In! Let Me In! Or I'll Huff And I'll Puff..." Well, see, all that physical exertion does make me huff and puff. A lot.

My tribe of mini-Infidels insist that it doesn't, in fact, mean that I'm too divinely petite to trigger the automatic doors. They think it means that the store is actually closed. Such heathen liars! Heathen liars that ain't getting none of my banana split, might I add.

Songs In The Key Of Golly Gee!

Today's edition of Infidel Freak Secret Of The Week has special audio visual accoutrement provided in the sidebar located to your right and linkies down below. I've implemented its use for the benefit of all you young whippersnapper readers who won't have a freakin clue what song I'm referencing since it likely dates back to a time before time when the advent of MTV had not yet come to fruition. Read about a song you don't recognize? Clickety on the titles for your musical enlightenment.
First off, I'm snickering at the mere title of "Mungo Jerry's Greatest Hits!" Did they really have another chart topping success outside of their groovy 'saltshaker' song, 'In The Summertime?' The eldest of the mini-Infidel daughters vehemently dislike this song because of the sexist attitude displayed within. Most people treat it as a mindless summer anthem, but the lyric "If her Daddy's rich,take her out for a meal. If her Daddy's poor, just do what you feel," really raises the hackles on feminists and caste system abolitionists alike. The girls asked me about their own Daddy and what kind of treatment they could expect on a date. Well, we're not rich or poor. We're just your average stuck-in-the-middle, run-of-the-mill, middle class folk. Mungo Jerry didn't even bother to share his sage words of advise for us middle class people. Whatever shall we do without his prophetic guidance and counsel? I told my girls that we could play a rousing game of fill in the blank. So now, whenever we hear the song played on the radio, we sing it various ways. Including:
"If her Daddy's middle class, she'll have a moustache!" (we can't afford electrolysis:(
"If her Daddy's middle class, you can pass some gas!"
"If her Daddy's middle class, take her out to Dumass!"(<------a local taco place)

Want to know my innermost secret that's filled me with guilt and shame since childhood? It all stems from the country crossover song, "The Devil Went Down To Georgia." When that cocky young Johnny accepts the fiddle throwdown challenge from the Devil, I silently cheer for the Devil. Yes, it's true, I'm one of Satan's Cheerleaders. I can't help it, the Devil's sassy contribution to the fiddle faceoff is smoking hot and dare I say, downright sexy? Whereas, to my ears, Johnny really doesn't demonstrate a fiddle hoedown mastery on a level much above that of a paunchy Oak Ridge Boys cover band playing at a high school square dance. I prefer Devil Food cake over Angel Food cake too. My soul is doomed.

I'm a little musical conundrum. Yes, I am! Resting next to my dark and broody NIN and Korn CD's, Dan Fogelberg's smiling face provides a stark contrast. I adore him. Anyway, my mom harbored a strange fixation for Butter Rum candies; constantly lining our candy dish with them. For years, I sang along with Dan's "Leader Of The Band," wrongly crooning, "And the BUTTER RUMS in my instrument, and a song is in my soul." I always contemplated how messy it must be to play an instrument stuffed full of butter rum candies, but never did I think that I understood the lyrics wrong. Turns out, they read, "And the BLOOD runs through my instrument." Well, that's just downright icky. What? Does Dan know of some kind of Texas Chainsaw Massacre Marching Band? No, I'll always prefer to think of sweet little butter rum yummies nestled up inside their instrument of choice.

It took 20 years and the enlisted aid of an Internet lyrics page to decipher what the heck Chrissy Hynde is belting out in her strangely pitched voice. You know that song, "Back On The Chain Gang?" There's a verse that goes, "Brings me to my knees when I see what they've done to you." I've sung it as "Bring me some MAYONNAISE when I see what they've done to you," for two whole freakin decades! I mean, I like mayonnaise as much as the next gal, but I thought professing a love for the creamy condiment in the middle of a serious song seemed misguided.

And finally, an original lite rock favorite from the original lite rock artist . Not even "I'd Really Love To See You Tonight," could escape my befuddled lyric interpretation skills. When England Dan tells his lady love, "I'm not talkin bout movin in, and I don't want to change your life," I instead heard it as "I'm not talkin bout the LINENS." I just naturally assumed that maybe they had a big blowout fight over the messy linen closet like the one I witnessed my mom and stepdad having. As I got older, I then wondered if possibly an angry spat erupted from one of them messing up freshly laundered sheets with menses or clumpy chest hair. Maybe 'Linen' was code for coming home snockered and three sheets to the wind? Clearly, all the musicians above could benefit from a stint at The Eliza Doolittle School Of Enunciation.

Now your big chance has arrived to gain sympathy amongst those of us suffering from immense music dorkiness too. Share your own favorite misheard song lyric or stroy right here, right now!

Infidel Freak Secret Of The Week Super Extravaganza!

Think of today as a never ending Infidel Freak Secret Party! An Infidel Freak Secret Party to end all Infidel Freak Secret Parties! Three Infidel Freak Secrets like a personal Infidel Freak Secret menage a trois. More Infidel Freak Secrets than you could stuff into a special Infidel Freak Secret Party Gift Bag! All Infidel Freak Secrets all the time! Woooooooooo Hoooooooo!
This may come as a complete and total shock to you, but I'm not always a lady of upstanding behaviour and genteel manners. Sometimes I feel like I have the weight of the world on my shoulders and then when I look at my gargantuan bra with its harness-like straps, it pretty much confirms those feelings. What started as a bad habit has turned into a habitual routine. I like to plop my ample bosom onto tables or desks whenever I'm seated and working on a project because it's comfortable and temporarily alleviates my heavy burdens. I always think to myself, "Whew, that's really a load off my chest....literally" This horrifies my daughters to no end so I make a conscious effort to never plop my bosom on any surface out in public. We have a little chant around the Infidel dinner table, "Mommy, Mommy, if you're able, take your ELBOWS off the table." That's a gentle reminder that Emily Post would surely frown upon such barbarian meal time antics. Well, now my girls recite "Mommy, Mommy, if you're able, take your BOOBIES off the table." Even at a regular weight, this has been my curse to bear, and it's hereditary. Mock now, oh youthful Infidel daughters, but one day soon, you shall see the truth and the light. Oh yes, you shall see.
Infidel chickens should never watch frightening movies because it scares the chicken feed out of us. If you're looking for a good flick to take your Coulrophobic Anonymous group to, this ain't it. Stephen King weaves a masterful tale of a killer clown who likes to roam the sewer systems and feast on the flesh of young children. Super! I both read the book and watched the movie at 15. Consequently, I now refuse to park my vehicle anywhere near an open curbside sewer. We almost didn't buy our current house because we have a sewer manhole located directly on our driveway. I told Papi that he'll feel really sorry when Pennywise the clown pops up out of that thing someday because we settled for the first cheap house that came along. Occasionally, I have to get out of my truck in the middle of the night while working to pick up a paper or whatever, and I'll go to extraordinary lengths to avoid coming anywhere close to the sewer. I make sure to keep one wary eye on the opening at all times, just waiting for a sinister hand to come bursting out of the shadow. My parents generation worried about giant man-eating crocodiles lurking around in the sewer, but our fears loom much larger. Giant man-eating crocodiles........those were the good old days.
And lastly, 'The Story Of Ping' has delighted and graced the Infidel generations for well, ummmm, generations. My Grandma read it way back in the day! Anyway, it tells the story of a wayward duckling who lives with his mother and his father and two sisters and three brothers and eleven aunts and seven uncles and forty-two cousins on a boat with two wise eyes on the Yangtze River. As per tradition, their master calls the ducks back to the boat every night after their day of roaming the Yangtze. The last duck to cross the little bridge to the boat gets a WHACK! on his back with a little whip thingie. Ping gets the WHACK! treatment one day when he narrowly escapes becoming a duck dinner and returns to the boat late. I have six kids. Sometimes they tend to dawdle and procrastinate when I call them to get ready so we can leave the house in a reasonable amount of time, so I took a life lesson from the example of Ping. The last Infidel out the door gets a WHACK! on the back. The last Infidel to line up after playing at the park and ignoring my repeated calls for them gets a WHACK! on the back. The Infidel who takes the last ice cream cone I was saving for myself gets a WHACK! on the back.(kidding) And so on and so forth. Now, I only have to mutter the words, "Remember Ping!" and they scramble to line up and avoid coming in last. Parenting at its finest. Throw away your Dr. Spock book and pick up Ping instead.

I hope you enjoyed the Infidel Freak Secret Of The Week Extravaganza. Please leave a comment below and drive safely home. Remember, The Smiling Infidel is your convenient one stop shop for all things Infidel and Freak Secrety.

'The Cha-Cha Slide'.......One Of The Greatest Love Songs Of All Time!

An Ancient Infidel Proverb: "He Who Live In Small House With Many Young Grasshoppers Must Cover Mating Ritual Sounds By Playing Loud Music."

And so, that leads us to today's story. Papi and I believe in absolute discretion when it comes to matters of amore. I mean, sure, we do have six kids to symbolize our love and to show that we have, in fact, 'done it,' but you'll never find us groping each other during Sacrament meeting or flaunting inappropriately racy behaviour out in public. Occasionally, we will engage in a mutual KISS outside the confines of our home. That would be Prince's version of KISS. Papi told me that I don't have to watch 'Dynasty,' to have an attitude.

Our love is big, but alas, our house is small. Papi and I have taken to loudly playing music off computer playlists during our conjugal moments in order to disguise any mysterious sounds that would inevitably raise questions among our many mini-Infidels. While fitting, no, Donna Summer's moany, breathy, 'Love To Love You, Baby,' did not gain entrance into any of the coveted Infidel playlists.

Well, during one such occasion, I absent-mindedly clicked the play button without checking the list first. The retro sounds of 'We Are Family' filled the room, and Papi and I were good to go. A few minutes later, though, DJ Casper and his unforgettable 'Cha-Cha Slide' began barking out aerobic dance commands to a thumping beat. Do you know how disconcerting it is to try to love up your man while another man continues telling you "Slide to the left, slide to the right, now clap?" Nasty DJ Casper kept asking, "How low can you go?" And I was like, "That's none of your freakin business, DJ Casper!" It's so hard not to fall into his hypnotic spell and obey his every word. It seriously took every ounce of strength to refrain from doing the 'Charlie Brown' and the 'Cha-Cha' when DJ Casper told me to. I knew then that I had clicked our kid's songlist and that the finest in children's entertainment was providing the backdrop music for our afternoon delight.

Our listening fun didn't end with just the 'Cha-Cha Slide'......... oh no! 'Cha-Cha Slide' was promptly followed up by The Wiggles 'Hot Potato.' I mean, I regard my Papi as super hot, but not exactly a Hot Potato. A state of nakedness already brings out feelings of awkwardness and low self-esteem in me, I really didn't need Raffi calling me 'Baby Beluga' over and over again to enforce those feelings. Oh well, at least we didn't have 'The Hokey-Pokey' saved to the playlist. Putting your right arm in, and your left leg in, and then your whole self in, and shakin it all about, might have proved a very painful experience.

I'm In Mint Condition

Yes, I do indeed have a mint condition. So, all of you already know about my bendy chip compulsion. You know that my sandwiches must be sliced diagonally into cute little triangles. But I bet you didn't know about my special proclivity pertaining to individually wrapped peppermints, did you?

What's wrong with this innocent picture of the Dumass Taco candy dish? I'll tell you. The prestigious swirled peppermints should not have to fraternize with the inferior mint knockoffs lounging around in the middle of the dish as though they belong in the same neighborhood as the affluent swirled peppermint. That's just wrong. Look at the plainly dull white center of the knockoff mints. They're so freakin boring, I get a narcoleptic attack just looking at them. I've always felt an unexplainable attraction towards swirlies my entire life. Whether that entail dunking my brother's head into the toilet for an old-fashioned swirlie, or fruit swirlies in my yogurt, the Infidel consensus is that SWIRLIES ROCK! I'm an American, and I'm using my God-given freedom and right to refuse to partake of just any old peppermint. No, the mint must bear the Infidel preferred swirly stamp of perfection, or I don't want none of it. Peppermint Patty got my back on this matter too, dawg. When I hit it big, my appearance conditions will include a demand for me and my entire entourage to have unlimited swirled peppermints provided for us along with all the TV's in my dressing room playing non-stop 'Breakin 2:Electric Boogaloo' , movie marathons. It's a deal breaker for me.

I may spit a lot when I talk, but at least it's spittle candy coated in minty fresh goodness. Mmmmm.

Oh, That Explains It!

Back in the day, I thought Jonathan Frakes was the hottest Star Trek man to ever walk the face of the Earth. Then he ruined it for me by marrying that hussy, Laura, from 'General Hospital.' I remained convinced that if they held a "Most Bootylicious Crew Member" contest aboard the Star Ship Enterprise, Commander Riker would shake his groove thang and take top prize. Secretly, I wished that he would incite mutiny on the deck by forming an alliance with Worf. Together, they'd stage a coup wherein bald Captain Jean Luc Picard would have to walk the plank so my man Riker could assume the leadership position. I mean, come on, how many times could Riker be expected to laugh at Captain Picard's lame joke of, "Number Two, I order you to take a Number One!"?

Anyway, the striking similarities between Frylock and Jonathan Frakes boggle the mind. And maybe even breaks a few copyright restrictions. Truly, everything I ever needed to know in life, I learned from Star Trek.

Love Is A Many Splendored Thing

I have a startling confession to make......
I've developed an insatiable crush on an animated french fry container.

It wasn't always this way. In days gone by, discovering wiry strands of goatee hair or a pair of eyeballs peering out at me from the cardboard folds of a greasy french fry box, would have sent me into nauseated fits of hysteria. But, no more.

The Infidel family remains ensconced in a time of prehistoric TV that passed the world by, eons ago. We only count one small archaic set among our earthly possessions. No cable. No satellite. No TIVO. No plasma. Not even a fancy remote control. Nothing. However, once I saw the Aqua Teen Hunger Force clips on youtube, I knew that my fetish and interest for all things weird, was piqued. The episode that hooked me involved Frylock drawing a 'treasure map' for Master Shake to dig holes where 'X' marked the spot. Secretly, all the X's marked where Frylock wanted his new azalea bushes planted. Such a clever ploy. Such a devilishly handsome and witty character.

So, yes, I like a talking, floating, limbless, apocalyptic french fry warrior. And he doesn't even have to supersize, or dab on any of that fancy catsup stuff for me, because I love Frylock just the way he is. I fantasize about him suavely whispering in my ear, "Oh yeah, baby, who's yo FRY DADDY, now?" I wonder if I could get Papi to wear a Frylock costume in the boudoir? Hmmmmmmm.

A Slice O' Life!

I try my best everyday to show that I'm a humble spirit with a contrite heart. A mere mortal who revels with delight in the simpler things that life has to offer. However, when it comes to sandwiches, I'm a bonafide snob. You see, I find sandwiches carelessly sliced straight down the middle, boring, and not very aesthetically pleasing. No, I MUST always obey my nagging compulsion to delicately maneuver the knife diagonally when cutting a sandwich. I secretly enjoy the extreme makeover aspect of transforming ho-hum squares into perfectly delicious little triangles. Yes, I understand that a sandwich triangle isn't equilateral and takes on more of an isosceles slant, but it's still sweet sandwich shape Xanadu to me. Aight? All you hyper-critical math geeks better back it up. Hear me??!!??

Now, let's just say that you were to offer me a sandwich that you lazily chopped in half with nary a fleeting moment of consideration to my sandwich cutting needs. I'd still accept it and silently forgive you for your sandwich slicing sins. Then, I'd devour your sandwich offering with a smile of gratitude, unless it's egg salad or liverwurst on rye, but I'd secretly loathe the bland rectangular shape of it. You see, a sandwich is a sandwich is a sandwich. I don't care if you hack it up into little pieces like the Texas Chainsaw Sandwich Massacre, I'd still eat it. But, given a choice, dainty sandwich triangles reign supreme. It's my very own personal Sandwich Bermuda Triangle where the sandwiches enter and always disappear, never to be heard from again. If I'm lucky. *Burp, Belch, Hiccup*

Hear the song that's playing? It's "Particle Man" by the venerable goofball group that wields a mean accordion, They Might Be Giants. Why did I choose it? Well, Particle Man hates Triangle Man and foolishly enough, tries to take him on. Particle Man loses. Triangle Man emerges victorious. Yeeeeeesssss!

Personally, I Love It When The Chips Are Down

I'm afflicted with the fever for the flavor of a bendy chip. You know what I mean, the coveted folded over potato chip that you ransack the entire bag in pursuit of; casting away the less meaningful regular slices that are only second class potato chip citizens in your view. There is no known cure for this addiction and sadly, try as you may, it's virtually impossible to eat just one.

Buying a new bag of potato chips used to bring tense conflict into our household as we all rivaled each other in fierce competition to be the bendy chip victor. Many a battle cry of, "Your bendy chip is belonging to me," could be heard echoing throughout our kitchen in the days before we reached a final and solvent bendy chip truce.

Looking to keep the peace with the woman who cooks and cleans for them, Papi and my young offspring have elected to sacrifice their share in the bendy chip game to keep me happy. Smart move. Lay's makes a superb Kettle Cooked potato chip product that yields many more bendy spoils than your average bag of ruffled ridge chips. The jalapeno flavor is our favorite because we're spicy like that. I always end up eating way more than a normal sized portion because my kids excitedly pull out all the bendy chips and pile them on a plate just for me! They explore the outer reaches of the bag in search of bendy chip treasures untold just like little mini-Indiana Jones' and "The Chip Bag Of Doom." They squeal with unadulterated glee when they pull out their greasy fingers clutching the rare bendy chip marvel to end all bendy chip marvels........ the Siamese Twin and sometimes Siamese Triplet chip. One slice of folded crunchy goodness wrapped snugly around another one. The crunch that dreams are made of. Even when I'm totally stuffed, it's an offer I just can't refuse. Besides, I hate to see my children's disappointed little faces if I reject the chips that withstood their rigorous screening process.

Any guests that come to our house should know right now that when I pour the chips out into our ginormous authentic Tupperware serving bowl, the bendy ones are automatically plucked out and devoured on the spot. Bendy chip search and recovery is futile in the Infidel home. If loving bendy chips is wrong, then I don't wanna be right.

I Wonder If Bralessness Is Also Next To Godliness?

And now, it's time for the first ever Infidel Freak Secret Of The Week.

The weather has turned bitterly cold in Houston. I mean, really teeth- chattering, hug a stranger for body heat, sitting on your hands to warm them up, kind of cold. I secretly revel in it though simply because it gives me the opportunity to layer my clothes. I pile on the sweatshirts en masse until I'm a grotesque shapeless blob like Jabba The Hutt. Except, I would never chain a bikini clad Carrie Fisher to me. I might hypothetically, chain a smokin hot, bikini clad Greg Wiggle to me, though. I say "hypothetically" for legal purposes. Yes, I'm sagging, dragging, and lagging, but my many garments cover it up nicely. So nicely in fact that I haven't worn a brassiere in TWO days. Yes, TWO days. Freedom shouldn't only be relegated to human rights causes, you know. I'm simply following my own little pursuit of happiness, and in bralessness I have found it.

It's Show And Tell time, boys and girls. Share your freak secret of the week right here, right now.