My wife amazes me. Every now and then she will make a sojourn into MY world, entering the shop like a seasoned Drill Sargent from Ft. Polk Louisiana, she will walk from one end of my shop to the other. With the eye of an Eagle and precision migratory homing skills, she dissects my shop. Pointing out obvious discrepancies, “Is this new?” … “Where did that come from?” … Is this bus stuff?”
The interrogation continues and I do my best to dummy up, all the while desperately hugging my Krispy Kreme Donut box secretly filled with LED lights. At sixty-seven years of age I have become a smuggler in my own country, such a sad lot in life, especially for a veteran. So the saga continues … We go back into the house and turn on the tube.
Testosterone is what I am after. Ice Road Truckers, American Loggers, Gold Rush, NASCAR, I want to implode something in Minneapolis or some other place back east. Maybe a football game … Just about anything.
The absolute last thing I don’t want to watch is Paula Deen explain how she found this old dead turkey on some backwoods, dirt road in Southern Alabama. How she, soaked it in a secret sauce for the last nine hours, and then explains in a deep southern drawl that would make a Back-water Craw-Daddy cringe in fear .. “when we’re done girls it will taste just scrumptious!”
Stop torturing me woman!
When was the last time you heard anyone, male or female, for that matter say something like: “I just love the rich hearty beefy flavor” or “Today we are going to deliver a juicy turkey, and savory dressing, and you will get a spicy crantastic WOW from my sauce.”
Face it, people just don’t talk that way in America. And one more thing stop BS’ing me Paula, we all know it’s gonna taste “just like Chicken.”
Click on the bird and crank it up!