Wonderful Butter

"Butter." The word just flows off the tongue. I love butter. Growing up in my house, butter was always comfort food. Had a bad day? Nothing a little butter can't fix.

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In honor of my old friend butter, here's a little Haiku:

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Butter, you are delicious.

You make me happy.

Margarine, I don't get you.

"Heartbeat" Remastered?

OK, this can only end badly: Aspiring Rocker Kevin Costner...

It doesn't matter what the rest of the headline is-- "aspiring rocker" says it all. Did we learn nothing from the '80's? As if Don Johnson's Heartbeat, Bruce Willis's attempt at R.E.S.P.E.C.T., and Eddie Murphy's girl going Potty All the Time weren't painful enough, we now await a "rock" album from a man who acts with the energy of a sloth, begging the question: how bad is his singing going to be?

Kevin, you must be standing in a Field of Dreams. Not even Robin Hood could save you from this disaster. You may be on a street corner panhandling a Tin Cup if this goes as bad as I think it will. And when it's that bad, there's usually No Way Out. Give it up now!

Sons of Bitches, Bumpasses!

I have felt like screaming this, my favorite curse, from the classic movie A Christmas Story, a lot this week. I work at a church, and it's Holy Week so we're busy; I've been plagued with computer problems (hence the lack of new material on this blog); my checking account was down to $0.02 before payday; and I'm dreading turning the Big 3-0 on Tuesday. Then I come to find out that the director of A Christmas Story (Robert Clark) was killed this week. My first thought was 'Soap poisoning?' But no, it was a car accident. He's up with that big leg lamp in the sky. Rest in peace.

(Sorry for the short post with no graphic-- I'm on a borrowed computer and short on time.)