Middle of the road/Man it stank/Let's run over Lionel Richie with a tank
I don’t like wasabe, and I blame my wife. I don’t know where we were or on what the offending…what the hell is wasabe? Is it a condiment? A seasoning? A vile smear of goo from an Osaka gutter? I don’t know what it is and I don’t remember what we were eating, but the exchange was predictable:
Me: What is that?
She: Avocado?
Me: No. Maybe?
She: Don’t California rolls have avocado?
Me: Is this a California roll?
She: No, but that doesn’t mean that green stuff isn’t avocado.
Me (now blinded by the light of guacamole): Ooh! Avocado!
It wasn’t avocado. It was nasty ass snot colored napalm in a ramekin that makes me never, ever want wasabe again. A California roll sounds good, though.
Damn, I’m bored. The smoker’s thawed, and the grills are thawed, although the cover on my Weber disintegrated when I had the stupid audacity to look at it funny while it was still frozen. Off-brand grill covers, like off-brand peanut butter or off-brand shoes or an off-brand President, suck. Oh, the price seems right and they look like the real stuff and they might fit nice, but they suck.
Generic peanut butter is 80% sand recycled from the floor of Tijuana body shops. A lot of people don’t know that. The other 20%, you ask? Peanuts, stupid.
Those Eastland brand sandals that looked like Birkenstocks? They’re made from stink elm, old corn tortillas and wishes that never came true. Nice try, James Cash Penney, but you can’t pull that crap on Deadheads and get away with it. Deadheads were the first people to say, "you gonna eat that?"
President Bush looked a lot like your standard frat boy Republican when he was elected, but what have we learned? He’s beyond off-brand. Standard frat boy Republicans are, on average, smarter than a dirt clod, and they do more damage to themselves than to others. This off-brand guy they bought...honestly, why didn't you save the receipt?
And my off-brand grill cover sucked. The Brinkmann brand cover didn’t just survive winter, it made winter its bitch. I shall celebrate the cover’s triumph over Mr. Hundred Below by barbecuing something on the grill it so lovingly protected through these icy months. Just as soon as it stops raining. Damn, I’m bored.