Moses proclaims that the Sixth Weird Thing shall also be the 11th Commandment. So sayeth the Pug.
I realize how excruciating it's been to not only deal with my weirdness on a per post and comment basis, but also to endure THREE friggin' installments of the six weird things that I'm willing to publicly admit.
I don't think it took Moses this damned long to haul the Ten Commandments down from the UFO (Personally I have yet to encounter a burning bush. Although in my more promiscuous days I may have caused a few. But perhaps I will tonight at the New Year's Eve party. A burning bush sounds intriguing. It could negate the need for Warming K-Y Lotion. But I'd better bring condoms just in case it's the contagious kind.).
The burning bush. Once revered as the "Angel's Intercom", it is now banned in most municipalities.
I wonder if Nostradamus had to deal with pressure to churn out more of his quatrains (predictions). Come to think of it, he probably had it much easier than yours truly. He could make up all sorts of vague and crazy nonsense, and be cold in the ground before anybody accused him of being a bullshitter, or of phoning it in.
Nostradamus posing for a rare portrait, for which he accurately predicted he would receive a 25% off coupon. Though closely resembling Henry VIII, he only had ONE wife, by virtue of his ability to "see" arguments in advance and avoid them.
I don't have that luxury. My only hope is redemption after my passing, in the form of apologies from those of you who helped to expedite it.
So without further ado, I now present for (dis)pleasure and (dis)approval, the sixth and final weird thing.
6) I have issues with food.
That's it. Oh, is this one too boring? What DID you want to see? Duct-taped hamster stuffing? Masturbating to "The View"? Trenchcoated debauchery in public? Well too f*cking bad. The deal was that I only had to provide six. Those would have been numbers 7, 8 and 9.
K9's admission of his fear of buffets (thank God it wasn't "emissions into buffets", BTW) reminded me that I also have irrational behaviors when it comes to food. As I've "matured" (no snickering ... oh, and like all of YOU are SO mature! ... yeah, right ... whatEV ...), I've mellowed out somewhat in this area. And after I've "had a few", I can even be relaxed enough to eat spilled crab dip off the floor of a taxi cab.
But in general I am very cautious about my food consumption. I prefer to eat food that's either been prepared and cooked by yours truly, or by someone that I trust (hygenically). I avoid restaurants unless they are high-quality, and only eat fast-food when I'm desperate. I have no stomach for buffets (including Jimmy and Warren), due to the swells of unwashed masses that tend to hover over them.
I worked with a guy who was even worse. If anyone even touched his plate, he wouldn't finish it. Of course, the second he stepped away for a moment, we would take advantage of a "loophole" and use his utensils to scratch ourselves inappropriately under our clothing. Yet, amazingly, the dude never got sick. I guess we collectively provided him with a wide range of immunities that made him immortal. This is why I encourage you all to do the same for your friends.
And don't even get me started on "potlucks". I find that I have to constantly pick my nose until it bleeds profusely around my coworkers just to ensure that they always plan one of these office afflictions for a day that I'm out of town. On those rare occasions where I am blindsided by a potluck, my worst fears are always confirmed. These Betty Crockheads whip up the most disgusting crap. Entrees that would make the Scots retch. A homemade pizza with SALAMI as a topping? WTF were you smoking, Chef Pierre? Banana and mayo sandwiches? Do I f*cking LOOK like Elvis?
Haggis: the Scottish version of the Chimichanga.
I know that you mean well by purchasing expensive and exotic cheeses and incorporating them into a homemade dip or appetizer. But you see, the problem is that I haven't slept with you yet, so the "familiarity threshold" has not been reached. I therefore can not blindly trust that you are seeking to fondly reward my sexual prowess with FRESH ingredients and CAREFUL preparation.
For all I know, the "exotic" cheese started its life as a slice of American that unfortunately slid and hid under the refridgerator for quite some time until its miraculous discovery on "Potluck Eve".
Is it any wonder why I commiserate with Howard Hughes? The man wasn't nuts. He just had one too many potlucks imposed on him. Employees were always trying to suck up with these blasted get-togethers, and unfortunately for Howard, he had no choice but to isolate himself from germs and society. It's sad, really.
Howard Hughes goes airborne in order to avoid potlucks. Tragically, one awaited him back at the airport.
Well, that does it for me on the weirdness front. I now feel like I have exorcised six demons from my soul. No longer am I a human pinata of anguish and torment. Thanks to all of you. Happy New Year, brothers and sisters!
*** Optional homework assignment: write a quatrain and either post it or place it in my comments. ***
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