A little game called “Hey Hooka – How Much?”

hey hooker


Sometimes once you do something a few times it kind of loses its luster and tends not to be fun anymore – let me tell you about a little game that never happens with: Hey Hooka – how much? This isn’t Cranium people – you don’t just play it with anyone. It’s strategic and well-timed – like crop-dusting in the workplace. As is the case with most amazing inventions like Imodium AD and the shoe horn, this game popped into my head and I hit it out of the park one oppressively hot July day a few years back.


The first car I had with Air Conditioning

The first car I had with Air Conditioning

I was on the way to work and had the air conditioning cranked as far as it would go like Scotty giving it all she’s got with the Starship Enterprise. When I drive in hot weather (anything over 68 degrees) I have every vent in the car positioned towards my face with that delicious cold air blowing as hard as it can. On longer car rides, my face actually starts to get numb from the extended cold air rushing against it; my own personal form of botox. That’s also the reason that I have such soft cheeks that are as supple as a newborn’s buttocks. I know what you’re thinking and I don’t care; I will literally get gas every day if it rund out because of the constant ac usage and I don’t care if it goes to eight dollars a gallon. I will not ride in the car April through October without my air conditioning. Anyway, stop distracting me so that I can finish.




I had already sweat through one undershirt and dress shirt while walking the dog that morning and I was schvitzing like cottage cheese left outside at a picnic again. I was speeding as usual and cursing the hot weather when something caught my eye on the passenger side of the road…


I immediately threw that car into the far right lane and slowed to an ever-so-slight crawl as I rolled up on the crowded bus stop…I knew it was a huge risk to my health rolling down that passenger window in such extreme heat as it was close to a hundred degrees outside, but I chanced it once I saw her: one of my coworkers named Shalan. She was leaning against the bus stop pole in all her nine months pregnant glory; sweating like a Whore in church. If I had a sonogram machine in the car at that very moment, do you know what it would have showed? I’d have seen that tiny fetus wiping sweat off its little brow too as it was that hot!


This Hooker didn't take Shat from anyone!

This Hooker didn’t take Shat from anyone!

If there was absolutely one person in town more miserable than me at that moment, it was her. Like divine intervention the game took shape in my mind and before I knew it, I was shouting out the window: “Hey Hooka – How Much?” I was laughing hysterically as I rolled by like a snail looking at all the people looking around at who I could be yelling to. She was waving her arms and yelling something to me as I rolled up that window and waved back. As I sped away down the street giggling, I couldn’t help but pat myself on the back a little for creating such a great little game back there.


As I got to work, I immediately went to tell my friend Tsunami about how funny I am. Once I stopped laughing enough to repeat what happened, she wasn’t laughing and looked at me like I was crazy and said “You didn’t stop the car and offer her a ride? It’s a hundred degrees out and she’s waiting at a bus stop nine months pregnant!”


I thought for a moment “You know, it didn’t even occur to me to ask her – it all happened so fast…”


“You had time to slow the car down, pull over, roll down the window and then yell Hey Hooka – how much? Yet there wasn’t time to ask if she wanted a ride? Were you running late and couldn’t stop – What’s wrong with you?”



“No, I wasn’t late at all. I actually went to Dunkin Donuts after it happened and almost told the guy at the drive thru about it because I was still laughing to myself about it.”


Guess who arrived about forty minutes later and didn’t think it was funny either? Some people are just sensitive I guess. She was telling everyone like I was the bad guy here. It’s not like she was in labor and I passed her…then I can see her being mad.


I did make it up to her a few months later when I saw her on a different street corner and slammed on the brakes to offer her a ride. How was I to know that she was standing in front of her house that time, but it was the thought that counts…I am going to reserve judgement and glaze over the fact that every time I saw her outside of work she was, literally, on a street corner. A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.

out window


nyway – I broke that game out again this past weekend. It had been far too long since playing it and like the groundhog, this is a game that knows when to poke its head up out of its hole. I was dropping my wife off for her mommy’s night out dinner with friends when we saw our crazy friend Ann walking downtown. Immediately, I went into stealth mode and the game started. I was beeping the horn repeatedly while I opened the window and shouted: “Hey Hooka – How much?” Shockingly, there was no response from her at all. Like Glen Close in Fatal Attraction “I won’t be ignored” so I turned that car around and sped back towards her.


I pulled the car right in back of where she was walking and screamed again. “Hey Hooka – How much?” while beeping the horn twice as much this time on the off chance that she’s hard of hearing and I had just never noticed it before? All of a sudden she whipped her head around to call me an asshole and laughed hysterically when she realized who it was.  She then got into the car and said that the first time she didn’t respond because she couldn’t tell who was being yelled at so she ignored it thinking that it was just some asshole. She also said that it sounded like a Hispanic guy yelling to her which I found to be the funniest part. My voice is pretty distinctive as you may have heard so to be mistaken for any accent at all is ridiculous – nonetheless Hispanic. Needless to say we laughed hysterically as we dropped them off to talk about what an imbecile my wife is married to over dinner.


Please feel free to start playing this game and share it with your friends. Consider it my gift to the world and use it wisely. And to our crazy friend Ann – you are a great sport and officially post-worthy!





Rock you like a Hurricane!!!


Some people think that Sandy is a Bitch, but I’ve always thought she was pretty nice…

True Story, ABC news just announced that due to Hurricane Sandy’s impact on our region, roads are closed, trees are down and they’re anticipating extended power outages. The Governor is insisting that everyone impacted stay home and immediately log onto immodiumabuser.com to catch up on the posts you might have missed. Now I am not one to argue with ABC news, so get the site up and running before the lights go out!

If you think Hurricane Sandy is causing havoc and inconveniencing you now, think back to what Hurricane Gloria did to me when I was younger. Some emotional scares heal with time, but not for me – I still shudder at the thoughts of it. We have a long history of storms and hurricanes that impact us – such as Hurricane Irene last year.  That was a bitch of a storm and you might have had some damage and inconvenience, but that storm literally popped my son right out of my wife! I am not even kidding here– he popped right out …She was nine months pregnant and we were at the start of our ten day powerless existence from the hurricane’s wrath when her water broke. Of course I didn’t believe her since I never believe anything and always think people are kidding with me Why she would joke about going into labor during a hurricane while we were sitting in the dark because we had no power is anyone’s guess, but I really thought she might be kidding. When I finally did catch on that she wasn’t joking around, I was just grateful that she wasn’t sitting on the couch when that water broke…I don’t know exactly what’s all up in that mix but I certainly don’t want it on the couch.


If only I would have prepared the car in advance…

As we were trying to leave the house, I was putting garbage bags down on my seats so my wife could get into the car. She looked at me like I had two heads and tried to take them off the seats. “Oh no you don’t – I don’t know what’s leaking out of there so you’re not sitting on a cloth seat…that shit’ll stain!” This apparently wasn’t a time to indulge my OCD neurotic behavior, but come on – I’d have to trade the car in if the seat got ruined. I know that might sound mean, but come on – what am I gonna tell the valet parking guy? Don’t mind that stinky stain on the seat there… It’s not like you can bring it to the car wash and ask if afterbirth comes out easily. I’m not usually insecure about size, but I just knew that my Tide togo stick wasn’t that big. I sometimes have clients in my car and how would I explain that placenta-cocktail smell on the seat as I try to win their business? She was being unreasonable and wouldn’t sit on the garbage bags, so I tried to put the back seats down flat and lay cardboard over them if that was more comfortable. She was in no joking mood, ignored my protests and then she got in the front seat. I said a novena and did a quick glance to make sure my febreeze was still in the back seat – just in case.

The midwives don’t take you in until you’re in active labor so we were back and forth in the Hurricane as it progressed. On one trip, she almost lost it…”I’m gonna throw up, Oh my God, I’m gonna throw up.” “Not in this car Sister!” I jammed the wheeled all the way and slammed the brakes right onto some one’s front lawn and ran around her side of the car to let her out. She was like a volcano ready to erupt and I needed her out of my car pronto. No sooner had she opened her door when she exploded and started throwing up all over. The wind was blowing wildly, branches were snapping all around us, she was hunched over in this random front yard vomiting for all she was worth and then I remembered and asked: “Should I take a picture of this? Will this be funny later on?” Her head spun around and she just got out the word “NOOOOOOOOO!” before she started with more projectile vomiting….I felt like Max von Sydow in The Exorcist and had to step back and turn away before I got hit. It’s been over a year and you know what? She still doesn’t think it’s funny.


My wife actually has shorter hair now.

That might have been worthy of a chuckle or two when she calmed down if the woman that owned the house hadn’t been banging on the front window wondering what the hell we were doing out there…I tried to reassure her that we were not just some lunatics out in a hurricane “It’s OK, she’s in labor…She’s having a baby…” I tried to tell her as my poor wife expelled even more of her guts out but she couldn’t seem to hear me over the gale force winds whooshing by. It was like something out of a bad movie.


When her tank was finally empty, I put her back in the car and then almost threw up from the smell as I got back in. Apparently, some of the vomit got on her feet when she was hunched over. I tried to hand her two Dunkin Donuts napkins and she almost punched me in the face. “What are two Effin Dunkin Donuts Napkins gonna do?” So much for me being considerate. I rolled all the windows down and had to drive like Ace Ventura with my head out the window in order to breathe. She asked me to roll up the windows because she was cold and I tried to pretend I couldn’t hear her at first. I did put the heat on for her because there was just no way that I could possibly drive with the windows closed and that smell trapped in there. It was like a cross between Cool Ranch Doritos and a decaying body. I know that I don’t come across well in some of these posts and I accept that. I am not good in a crisis and have been proven to be ineffective at the mere hint of a gagging throat, but my wife is a champ. Everything turned out well, our son was healthy, and my wife proved once again why she is such a superstar!

Some of you getting hit by Sandy right now might be inconvenienced because you’re without electricity and thinking no one could have it worse. Before you complain, think of my poor wife spewing her guts out on someone’s front lawn in gale force winds just mere minutes before giving birth to a beautiful baby boy. Did I forget to mention that she also labored and gave birth all naturally, without any drugs? Guess your storm experience isn’t so bad now, is it?



Should I change my name to Napkinabuser?

Before I go any further, if any of you so-called “green” people get on your pulpit and light up the comments section about me being wasteful or bad for the environment I’m gonna flip the fleck out. I’m not even kidding – I swear to God that I will print out “recycle this loser!!!” on every sheet of paper I can find and then proceed to throw the stack of them out my car window on the highway. Now that I got that out, let’s begin.


I can't stand all these "Green" people!


Today I took a stand against a growing epidemic and I hope you’ll join me as well. It’s gone on too long and I’m ready to start a revolution against the Napkin Dictators of the world. I am sick and tired of going to vehicular restaurants, or more specifically – the drive thru – and getting only one or two napkins with my order. It doesn’t matter which state it’s in or if it’s a Mc Donald’s, Wendy’s, or Dunkin Donuts Drive Thru – they will only give you one or two napkins no matter what you order. I asked for extra napkins today and the helpful associate handed me one additional napkin. “Really? That’s what extra napkins means to you?” I said and then I got a really dirty look and she handed me this stack without the pleasant smile that should have accompanied it:



Thank you smart ass – now that’s what I meant by extra napkins!


I went to the McDonald’s Drive Thru last weekend and got two combo meals, two drinks, and a McFlurry (No smartass, that wasn’t all just for me – And don’t interrupt me again!) but when I took everything out of the bag there was only one napkin. One napkin for all that – what is that? Can they be that regimented in their training and not be allowed to give out more than one napkin or is it just some sadist working the window waiting for me to soil my shirt? Forget about soup, Ronald McDonald is The Napkin Nazi!  


On my first date with my now wife, she was staring at me with this weird look on her face and finally asked “is something wrong?” “No, why?” I replied, having no idea what she was talking about. “Because you’re eating a single piece of pizza and you just used eleven napkins…And you’re eating it with a fork and knife.” I still didn’t get it – “What’s wrong with that?”  All these years later, she still doesn’t understand my little white serviette obsession…


I am a person that not only likes the napkins, I need them. I hoard them in my car, in my desk at work, in my laptop bag and just generally everywhere I go. It started as a precaution in case I shit my pants in the car again after the meal and just spiraled from there. I am clumsy and spill everything normally so it’s not like I don’t use all of the napkins I get anyway. I should actually get a holster for my Tide to Go Sticks because I use them more than I use my car keys. In terms of my Tide to Go sticks, I use my old college slogan: When in doubt, pull it out!


Me and my old college slogan...



So, I say to all the Drive Thru workers of the world – I’m on to you. I will not rest until every car gets their fair share of napkins! People, unite and stand with me to revolt against “The Man” trying to keeping us down (or dirty for that matter) because this is a travesty and it cannot go on – not on my watch anyway!



The Legend of Weeva the Diva

Get Well Soon Weeva!

My friend Weeva is recuperating from surgery, so I thought that I’d tell you a little about her so you can send lots of Imodium love her way. As a note to my other friends: Don’t go and get hospitalized so I’ll write about you too! This is a one-time only,  isolated occurrence!

Weeva and I used to work together and we always had a blast. She’s twice as old as me but three times as crazy as and ten times more fun than almost anyone else I have ever worked with. The rearview mirror in her car is about three inches shorter than the Hubble Telescope but can see just as far. She has been known to rock a neck brace for no apparent reason, created her own hands free cell phone with duct tape on her steering wheel, and she’s a Dunkin Junkie that goes there multiple times a day for her fix.

At least she isn't texting while she drives...

When I say multiple times a day, I mean it. She lives in the building across the street and is in there more than some of the employees. She reads her morning paper there and one time a homeless guy took pity on her because he thought she was homeless too when he saw her there in a paint-splattered baseball hat and sweatpants.

If you think remembering the correct lyrics to REM’s “It’s The End of the World As We Know It” is tough – try remembering Weeva’s coffee order. She gets this humungous jug filled with half coffee, a quarter espresso, one part wolf tears, two parts parsnip, a half ounce of Columbian sugar cane, two hits of patchouli extract and a drop of kerosene. That isn’t the exact combo she orders, but it’s fairly close.

I am not a coffee drinker (need I remind you of my stomach and the reason this site is called Immodiumabuser? Me drinking coffee is like someone pulling the pin off a grenade!) so I’d get tea or Diet Pepsi. One time I went and forgot my note with her secret formula scratched on it and was about to turn around and go back when I randomly thought to ask the cashier. “On the off chance, do you know how to make the weird mixture for the crazy lady I work with…?” “You mean Weeva? Of course I know what she gets” and then she made it correctly. That was when I realized exactly how much time she spends in there.

Should be required reading for any movie lover!

Our local movie theatre was showing The Graduate and having a talk and signing with the writer Mark Harris, who was there to present his brilliant book Pictures at a Revolution: Five Movies and the Birth of a New Hollywood after the screening. It was a great book (If you’re a movie lover – this is a must read!) about the back stories of the five Best Picture nominees from the 1968 Academy Awards (of which The Graduate was one) and we both love The Graduate, so it was a no brainer. Mid-way through the question and answer section, a look of realization comes over her and Weeva nudge me and says (A little bit too loudly) “Oh my God, these people here probably think I’m your Ms. Robinson!” Picture me crying with laughter.

I'm all for trying a new look Weeva, but this is ridiculous!


One day she came in with a new short do and everyone was complimenting, but I knew. The next day, her hair was three times as long and more compliments. It made me realize that I work with the most polite people in the world or the most oblivious. After Weeva walked by, I looked over and said to Christine “You know that she’s wearing a weave, right? “What makes you think that?” she replied. “Are you kidding, her hair was shorter than mine yesterday and today it’s hanging past her ass…that’s not a sign?” “Really? Are you sure?”

My favorite Weeva story happened one day while they were renovating our building. They got us pink and blue hardhats embossed with the company logo for our client appointments during the construction and no one loved their pink hardhat more than Weeva. All of the Spanish guys on the crew used to always point and giggle as she pranced around because she rocked that plastic lid like a mini Donald Trump surveying the land.

As I was sitting at my desk in my god-awful cubicle, Weeva walked up and was standing next to me as I turned around. She had on slacks and a blazer and we were chatting as Renee walked up and said “Weeva, what’s that hanging out of the back of your pants?” Weeva turned to look and there it was – half a roll of toilet paper overflowing out the back of her pants and hanging well past her knees. She ran to the restroom grabbing at the mounds of paper and it actually took a few tries before she got it all out – while we were rolling on the floor hysterical laughing.

She came out of the bathroom laughing harder than any of us were and she was mortified, but not from us seeing it. “Oh my god, I haven’t been in the bathroom for over two hours – how long has that been like that? I had a client appointment and I went to Dunkin Donuts like that! No wonder all the guys on the construction team were laughing and pointing – this time it wasn’t the hardhat!” I can still see all that paper flying by me like a tail as she ran off…

This is similar to how much paper was hanging out the back.

Weeva – you rock it like no one else can and your weave always look good! Keep it up! If Scheherazade had 1,000 tales, you are my Supreme Princess of a thousand hairpieces, get better soon and remember CYA! Always cover your ass – you never know what’s hanging out of it!

Girl Scoutstitutes: Brownies of the night – It’s not Samoa-sed to be like this!!!

I’m concerned here people! In much the same way that vegans are everywhere trying to scare the dickens out of me by pushing their crazy lifestyle, another enemy has started gaining momentum: Girl Scoutstitutes – the cookie pusher in a beret.

Granted, they don’t look at you with disgust because you have the scant odor of Mc Nuggets on your breath, but let me tell you – there are some tough little bitches in those troops.  In the same way that a junkie tries to get you hooked on the dust – these little intimidators are ruthless with the tactics they’ll use to shove those damn Tagalongs down my throat. I actually blame a certain Girl Scout’s mother (who shall remain nameless) for at least ten pounds of my recent weight gain. Don’t you dare tell me about self-control and that no one is forcing me to eat them: this is reaching epidemic proportions across the the country and it’s time we take back the streets! We need to stop these cookie monsters and their peer pressure immediately!  

Maybe it’s always been like this, but it seems to me that lately they’re resorting to guerilla tactics and using any means necessary to peddle those damn cookies? I’m afraid to leave the house on weekends. I went to pick up lunch on Saturday and right there in the strip mall parking lot was a makeshift cookie counter set up. There were about six mothers and ten girls waving flags and they were actually chanting. I couldn’t hear until we drove near them that they were chanting “be patriotic and buy Girl Scout Cookies.” Once again, I was shamed into submission and now they’re using a red scare to make you buy them! For God sakes, I was forced into it or otherwise now I’d be labeled a communist! I like a chilled Thin Mint as much as the next fat guy, but what the hell is patriotic about buying cookies? They’re not a branch of the USO are they? Where’s my right to choose?

Try going to a supermarket and see if you can make it past the barricade at the front door without buying some. Then they try to hit you on the way out – and look at you with a suspicious eye when you say you bought them on the way in. Why we succumb to the pressure and dig through the bags to prove it to this coven of witched is beyond me, but we do. My friend was heading into the market (they’re not always super by the way) with her boyfriend and they were approached too. They explained that they had purchased them from a parent at work when the little psycho went on the attack like a dragon and spit out with fire “You should be supporting your local chapter!” If that was me that she said it to, I would have gone all Jackie Chan on her. I am not afraid to cut a bitch. Sure they have you outnumbered and you don’t realize how tough they actually are until you throw them out of the way so you can meet the First Lady.

 True story, I did throw some Girl Scouts out of the way so I could meet Laura Bush when she was First Lady at a meet and greet. It was a mixture of me being really excited, them looking bored and not appreciating the moment quite the way I thought they should be, and quite frankly, they were in my way so I tossed them. Meeting the First Lady, any sitting First Lady for that matter, is a privilege and an honor and is to be treated as such. Those little gum snappers were acting like it was just another day. I’m not expecting Justin Beiber-like pandemonium, but come on…It’s not one of my proudest moments…OK, who am I kidding? Yes it is – I got to meet the First Lady – screw those Girl Scouts!  

This is what happened to the last guy that wouldn't buy cookies from the Girl Scouts!


Also, let’s just address the elephant in the room now. I’m not trying to be weird or offensive, but how are Girl Scouts really that different from prostitutes? No emotions here, let’s just look at the evidence. I’m not saying that your little girl is going straight from the troop to the pole, but here are the facts: They both stand outside storefronts to sell their “stuff.” They both stroll up to random cars with a smile and a “product to sell” and then walk away with cold hard cash in hand. The Girl Scouts have a cookie named Thank U Berry Munch – Do I even need to explain that one? Most importantly of all, they both charge you money to eat their cookies! Ok, that last part was just wrong in oh so many ways and I apologize for that, but is anyone else as disturbed by the Girl Scouts as I am?

I need to say that if you are a Troop Leader or the parent of one of these Girl Scouts that I’m talking about – don’t light up the comment board below with how your kid is different. You’re what we call an enabler. You make your relatives and the people at work feel bad and guilt them into buying them. You post your Facebook status as “It’s that time” and the first thought I have is that it’s that time all right – to avoid you!  You may be reading this and thinking that I am definitely not talking about you, because you’re different, but I am talking right to you sister! Stop pushing those delectable morsels at me! I’ll buy them just the same, but stop the insanity and the mind games. And then, after you agree to buy the cookies, they try and guilt you into getting more to send to the troops. I am all for supporting the troops and think they are making unbelievable sacrifices so that I can rant about Imodium and little cookie trollops safely, but come on. If I was half-way across the world being bombed and shot at every hour and then you sent me a box of cookies – I’d be pissed. That had better be a joke and underneath them in the box would be some Jack Daniels or I’d be beating the shit out of you!!!

Four Star Generals aren't even this decorated...


I know volunteering in a non-profit and I totally understand the fundraising aspect of being part of an organization like that – every one of those organizations needs to fund itself. But my Cookie Queens, why is it that you are only selling them at a certain time of year? You’re not causing demand or creating a desire that you can’t always fulfill like they do with the Mc Rib’s limited availability. (It always comes back to the Mc Rib doesn’t it?) If the cookies are being sold to fundraise, then sell them in stores and sell them year-round. You’ll make more money if they’re readily available and you won’t piss people off.  

While I’m up on that soap box again, if anyone can explain to me why the pumpkin muffin (the absolute most deliciousest of any treat in the world) is only available for a limited window in the Fall – please explain it to me. Same principle applies, you’re not causing demand here; You’re pissing me off! They’re not fresh and pulled from the farm right to the counter – they’re made from a packaged powder mix that is probably older than my dog. I’m not complaining at all because that packet produces one of the great pleasures of my life, but come on. Make that shit available all year and stop the nonsense! I need my pumpkin muffin like I need air to breathe. It happens to me every year, but on that day when the drive through attendant tells me they’re no longer available, it just gets me right here (points to chest) and always takes me by surprise.  Then I have to deliver the same argument to the poor window attendant and get into the same fight all over again. I can’t keep doing it, it just hurts too much.

Think Dunkin Donuts is safe? Nah, the girl Scouts got them too. I went to get my bagel on Saturday morning and, low and behold, there’s a cookie fortress set up at the drive thru window. I have never prayed for a flash flood rainstorm like I did right then. They weren’t set up so that they were in the way of your car, but so that they were right next to your driver’s side window as you pulled out of the drive-thru. Very strategic – I’m sure there are drills run and a lot of off-season training done to hone these strategies.

Of course, the Dunkin dimwit at the window had toasted my bagel when I asked him not to. (Another epidemic sweeping the nation at an alarmingly high rate – if someone says don’t toast my bagel, then don’t toast it – how hard is that for people to not toast my bagel and when I say that I want a little butter – I ONLY WANT A LITTLE BUTTER! It’s not a suggestion, it’s a preference. If I say that I want so little butter on my bagel that I will literally start to choke on it because it is that dry, than why are you putting so much butter on there??? Why are they taunting me?) I had to pull up next to the cookie fortress to wait for my replacement bagel and as I put it into park, I pretended not to see all twelve of those tiny kids coming at me like a flock of locusts – one of them even in a cookie costume – when I heard it. “How many boxes can I get you!” Not “Hi, would you like to buy some cookies?” No, it was like here’s my fist where’s your wallet? There was no questioning in her voice whether or not I would buy, it was a statement that I couldn’t say no to – how many are you getting! I didn’t even get to respond because I saw all the kids and their mothers looking down to read the magnetic placard that I have on my driver’s side door:

I really forget it’s on there sometimes and these mothers were giving me the hard core stink eye, so if course, I was shamed into buying more cookies. AGAIN. They were looking at me like I was the scumbag and there was something wrong with me when they were the ones pimpin their little girls to run up to men in cars to get their money. Lizzie Grubman had the right idea when she took control of the situation in a crowd with her car. It wasn’t in the papers, but I’m sure Girl Scouts were somehow involved there too…

I’m not trying to cause a cookie holy war, but enough is enough. This “cookie season” is also the same time as Lent and I don’t think that’s a coincidence. I’m not getting all religious and I’m no saint by any means, but how is it possible that these devilish treats are only around during the time when we are undergoing our spiritual “spring cleaning” and supposed to be fasting or giving up something. For those unfamiliar with Lent, it’s when you see all the fast food advertisements for fish sandwich specials and when you think it’s funny to say to a coworker with ashes on their forehead “I didn’t know you were a smoker.” Ok, I say that to them too, but back to my point: it cannot be a coincidence that these servants of the dark side are only peddling their wares during this period. I don’t have concrete proof, but just wanted to throw that out there to start the discussion…       

I’d like to say that I have boycotted Girl Scout cookies this season and rose above the peer pressure and demands of these terrorists, but I’m not that strong. There’s too many of them and at one restaurant parking lot they had 50’s costumes on chanting into a microphone with a speaker. I’m too weak for all this and have succumbed to the charms of the Thin Mints yet again, like Young Frankenstein to that violin. This time, I have bought too many, ate too many, and then ate some more, but I stand before you with a vow: Next year I will be stronger or I will run one of those little bitches down in a parking lot trying.