Sometimes Yaks Kick

I think my dad is inadvertently training our three Pomeranians to become voracious attack dogs that rip off large chunks of flesh from their human victims. It all started with Limburger Cheese. Dad bought some. Do you know what Limburger Cheese is? I didn't know what it was, only that it was supposed to have a rather ..... strong ..... smell and, as such, was not a very popular cheese. But, in the spirit of culinary adventure, and because I love cheese on principle and in general, I tried some when dad was eating it. I sniffed it first. It wasn't pleasant. It smelled, but I couldn't decide what it smelled like. As I put it into my mouth I tried to get used to and past the olfactory overload, but I couldn't. I did try. But I didn't like it. There was just something about it that was, nasty and rank. I found out what. Turns out the bacteria used to make Limburger Cheese is the same bacteria in human skin that causes body odor. Yeah.... that's why it smells bad. BO has taken physical form in Limburger Cheese. That explains why I don't like it. But ... Dad likes it. He loves it, in fact. And, apparently, so do the dogs. He was feeding them little bits of it periodically as he was eating it and they were gobbling it down and leaning forward for more. They do have a good sense of smell, I'm sure they could tell they were eating something that smelt like humans. They're developing a taste for us. I'm almost scared to go to sleep. I might wake up missing body parts. Then again, the dogs like me. I think. Maybe they'll go after someone else to get a fix. But there's something more worrisome here. Dad likes the cheese. That means he's developing a taste for humans. He's a future cannibal. If you ever get stranded on an island with a group of strangers, you better hope he's not one of them. In fact, you should probably ask anyone you plan to spend time alone with if they like Limburger Cheese. Just as a precautionary measure, you understand.

But let's speak of Ice Cream now, shall we? Ice cream is made of yummy yummy cold sugarey goodness. No one would want to be a cannibal if they had ice cream. In fact, I'm pretty sure even zombies would choose ice cream over brains. Ice Cream is that Awesome. I believe I've spoken before of my love for the frozen confection, yes? Yes. Well, last Sunday I was able to indulge my ice cream fantasy in an all you can eat ice cream event known as the Martha OBrien Ice Cream Crankin. Sponsored by Purity Dairies, local teams create ice cream flavors that are then judged by a panel of "ice cream experts". The winning flavor gets mass produced by the dairy and sold in stores the following spring. But here's the best part, after parting with a $13 entrance fee (it is supposed to be a charity fund raiser after all), the public gets to go around and sample as many flavors of ice cream as their stomachs can hold. I had grand aspirations of tasting every flavor available. I didn't succeed. I wish my stomach was bigger or my dairy tolerance was greater. I know I ate at least two pints worth of ice cream. Near the end, I was partially doubled over like a hunchback from stomach pain. I ate so much that I approached the vomit threshold. I had to stop though. I didn't want to cross that threshold and end up in the fetal position on the ground. Before I gave up my goal of being a human pinata stuffed with ice cream I tried some wonderful flavors though. Here are the standouts:

Triple Ginger - ice cream made with ground ginger, fresh ginger, and candied ginger
Mexican Tequila Vanilla - vanilla ice cream flavored with tequila and real vanilla beans
Wildflower Honey - made with tennessee wildflower honey
Very Lemon - tart just sweet enough ice cream with real lemon flavor
Peanut Butter and Jelly - peanut butter ice cream with a jelly and graham cracker swirl
Nerdy Grapalicious - Grape Ice Cream with Nerds

It got me thinking of what Ice Cream flavors I'd make if I were ever to give up running around like a mad woman trying to stuff as much ice cream as possible into my mouth (not likely). I think I'd make the following:

Captain Morgan's Hot Buttered Rum
Elvis's Nanners and Nuts - Banana Ice Cream with a Peanut Butter Swirl and Honey Roasted Peanuts
Thyme for Ice Cream - Thyme flavored Ice Cream
Sesame Crunch - Sesame Ice Cream with Sesame Crunch Candy bits
Mojito - Lime Mint Ice Cream
Summer Fun - Cotton Candy Ice Cream with Nerds, Pop Rocks, and Sprinkles

Hours after I got home I was having minor ice cream cramps. It felt like I really was having ice creams baby. Like the shirt says:



Also

Dear world,

Send me a man who would to wear these John Fluevog John Wayne Spotted Pony shoes:



Thank you

Looking at a man's car is like looking at a man naked, only more pleasant

My insurance company thinks I was a child whore. Oh yeah. They think I ignored my Mormon moral upbringing and Got. It. ON. while in my early pubescent years. They're pretty serious about it too. They sent me an official letter and everything. They didn't outright call me a pedophilic prostitute, but they did tell me that I could get a discount on insurance for my teen driver. Ummm......what? I'm only 30. ( 25 if we're going by what I look like, and 5 if we're going by how I sometimes act) The only way a teen driver could eligibly be added to my insurance is if I had spewed out a slimy pink human shaped creature from my not fully developed womb while in my early teen years myself. I'd also have had to have sex. And given the fact that I was a textbook specimen of geeky chub fest in my formative years, the requisite activity for me spawning anything other than pimples seems more unlikely than immaculate conception. I guess it's kind of nice to know my insurance company thinks that I (yes, I Rolly Polly Ada Potada) could have attracted an equally nerdy social outcast to mate with. Or, rather, I would try to take it as a compliment if they weren't calling my ability to form intelligent decisions into question by implying I was stupid enough to have sex with a boy barely out of junior high school. Way to go insurance company. Way to go.

Of course, if my parents and church leaders had wanted to really make sure I'd never get "in trouble" by becoming "with child" at a tender young age they could always have made me wear a chastity belt. And before you scoff and declare that an impossibility in this oh so enlightened day and age, know that there are modern day manufacturers of chastity belts. Small artisan crafters who keep alive the ancient traditions. Well, perhaps not so traditional as most of the current wearers of modern style chastity belts are male. Yes, male. Don't question me here. In fact, you should probably stop thinking about it. Really. Also, I know there is a debate as to when and if chastity belts even existed or were mostly just a figment of the Victorian Eras fascination with promoting the idea of Medieval Brutality. But, let's just accept their credibility for the sake of this discussion, shall we? So...... We were discussing the what ifs of my child self having to wear an anti intercourse contraption. Thanks to Wikipedia I have an example of just such a device for you.



How's that for effective, eh? Nothing is going to be put in there. Noooothhhiiinnnggg....... No matter how much a woman or her prospective partner might want it to, "It" ain't gonna happen. No guy no matter how young or stupid no matter how drunk or daring is going to chance that. It even discourages self service. It's more effective than if you just encased the whole happy area in metal and filled it in with cement. Word. And don't get me started on what metal would do to skin, even with a layer of fabric between them, in the cold winter or hot summer months. I'm pretty sure it's too painful to even think about.

Speaking of painful, I think the women of my family are going to end up in jail for killing someone someday. For Serious. I went back to Kentucky to visit my mother and her side of the family, the whole extended Barnett clan. Somehow, not sure how really, we started talking about mace. My mother, who is the gentlest calmest least violent and most passive woman I know, burst out with "You know, I'd like to have some mace" Just matter of fact. Like she was saying she needed to buy some new laundry detergent. Not that I think it's a bad idea. I don't. It's just.... from my mother?!? It's like a bizzaro alternate universe, like the world suddenly decided to spin in the opposite direction. Of course, if my mom were ever to be put into a position in which to use mace she's probably be so shocked and flustered that she'd forget she even had it or she'd take it out but forget how to use it. I can picture someone laughing at her if she tried to mace them. As I'm picturing this and digesting this startling bit of information, my brother mentions tasers and the different kinds of tasers and how they work. My cousin cheerfully chimes in that she'd actually like to have a taser. She's so sweet and nice and laughs so easily, I'm just trying to picture her smiling and laughing as someone flops and flails around at her feet wires protruding from their seizure ridden body. The thing is, I can picture my cousin tasing someone. But this girl is also someone who, by her own admission, is clumsy. I can also picture her accidentally tasing herself. Then, to beat all, my brother mentions that they (whoever they are) are coming out with a police grade riot stick with taser attached. It's basically a rod that you pull out, flip like a new years eve party favor to extend it, and on the tip of the stick is a functioning taser that electrocutes on contact. It's more effective at breaking bones than a steel baseball bat, and it can shock someone into submission in an instant. :D Can you tell that I was enamored of it? Yeah, I wanted one. And I said so. Now, if I were to get a hold of one of these babies I might actually use it, which would be a bad thing because I'd probably really use it. There might not be much of a body left for the coroner to cart away. I have a lot of suppressed rage. So....um, If you never hear from me or my female relatives again we've either killed ourselves or someone else. We probably shouldn't be sold any self defense devices. Shop owners take note.