Free to HolyJuan fans! The Power of Soup
Two years ago, I thought that I should write a children’s book, get published and make a shitload of money. So I got together with my illustrator friend Meshell and she showed me her portfolio for inspiration. In her large collection of drawings was an illustration that caught my eye. A woman with a large spoon tucked in her apron. She hugged a large bowl of soup with the words, “Get well soon” floating on the surface.
So I wrote a story based on that illustration called, “The Power of Soup.” My biggest critic, Miss Sally, liked it. I shared it with Meshell and she liked it and said that, if I asked her nicely, she would illustrate the rest of it. I said I would give her the first opportunity, once I secured a publisher.
Together, Meshell and I bought “How to Get Published” books and I sent my properly formatted copies of “The Power of Soup” out to several publishers. I even bought the website, www.thepowerofsoup.com, just to be sure.
Six rejection form letters later, I’m done with the half-dream. Instead, let me share it with you, the people who care for and love me.
So here, my friends, is my story, The Power of Soup. See if you tear up when you read it, like I did when I wrote it.
The Power of Soup
In a very small house with two very small windows, lived a woman. She lived alone, but she was never lonely.
If you were to look through the very small windows, you would see a very small bed, a very small chair, a very small table, a very small lamp, a very small painting and a very big stove.
The woman loved to cook. She had a very big kettle to sit on the very big stove. She had a very big spoon to stir whatever was in the very big kettle. The woman could cook about anything, but she especially loved to cook soup.
Pea soup, bean soup, potato soup, vegetable soup, rhubarb and turnip soup, dandelion soup, and her very special soup which she called Soup Soup.
People would come from the villages near and far to the woman’s house and bring whatever ingredients they had so that she could make her delicious soup for them.
Miss Dryer came to the woman’s door, “I have carrots.”
“Then we will make carrot soup.”
Mr. Hearty came to the door. “I have potatoes.”
“Then we will make potato soup.”
The Simon twins came to the door, “We have turnips and leeks.”
“Then we will make turnip and leek soup.”
Somehow, though only one or two ingredients were added, the woman was able to stir and stir and stir and stir and soon that one ingredient would taste like many!
Everyone loved the woman’s soup.
One day, a little dark haired girl with sad eyes came to the woman’s door. She wore handmade clothes that were more patches than cloth.
“Can you please make me some soup?”
“What have you brought with you to make the soup?” asked the woman, knowing the answer.
“I have nothing. My mother is sick and father is away in the city. I have nothing to make soup.”
The woman said, “Come inside. I think you have something to add to the soup.”
The woman added water to the very large kettle. She lit the very big stove and began to stir.
“Now, little girl, you have nothing in your hands and you have nothing in your pockets, but you have something in your heart. All you need is to speak to the soup and tell it what your heart is saying.”
The little girl stood on a little chair and was just able to look over the edge of the kettle.
She spoke in but a whisper, “I love you Mommy. Get well soon.”
The woman then began to stir and stir and stir and stir.
And as she stirred and stirred the soup began to churn and bubble. Broth began to form and carrots and peas and beans and leeks and hundreds of herbs and vegetables and flavors mixed and melded in the pot. With a final stir, letters formed of pasta bubbled to the surface.
First…
“I love you Mommy.”
…and they sank. Then…
“Get well soon.”
As the sun began to dip in the afternoon and create its own colorful soup in the sky, shadows of a smaller person and a bigger person together carried a very big kettle towards the village.
The next morning, the woman arrived back to her very small house with two very small windows. She carried with her a much emptier pot, a small bouquet of flowers and a very big smile.
As she walked in the door she said to herself, "I think I'll make some soup today."
So I wrote a story based on that illustration called, “The Power of Soup.” My biggest critic, Miss Sally, liked it. I shared it with Meshell and she liked it and said that, if I asked her nicely, she would illustrate the rest of it. I said I would give her the first opportunity, once I secured a publisher.
Together, Meshell and I bought “How to Get Published” books and I sent my properly formatted copies of “The Power of Soup” out to several publishers. I even bought the website, www.thepowerofsoup.com, just to be sure.
Six rejection form letters later, I’m done with the half-dream. Instead, let me share it with you, the people who care for and love me.
So here, my friends, is my story, The Power of Soup. See if you tear up when you read it, like I did when I wrote it.
The Power of Soup
In a very small house with two very small windows, lived a woman. She lived alone, but she was never lonely.
If you were to look through the very small windows, you would see a very small bed, a very small chair, a very small table, a very small lamp, a very small painting and a very big stove.
The woman loved to cook. She had a very big kettle to sit on the very big stove. She had a very big spoon to stir whatever was in the very big kettle. The woman could cook about anything, but she especially loved to cook soup.
Pea soup, bean soup, potato soup, vegetable soup, rhubarb and turnip soup, dandelion soup, and her very special soup which she called Soup Soup.
People would come from the villages near and far to the woman’s house and bring whatever ingredients they had so that she could make her delicious soup for them.
Miss Dryer came to the woman’s door, “I have carrots.”
“Then we will make carrot soup.”
Mr. Hearty came to the door. “I have potatoes.”
“Then we will make potato soup.”
The Simon twins came to the door, “We have turnips and leeks.”
“Then we will make turnip and leek soup.”
Somehow, though only one or two ingredients were added, the woman was able to stir and stir and stir and stir and soon that one ingredient would taste like many!
Everyone loved the woman’s soup.
One day, a little dark haired girl with sad eyes came to the woman’s door. She wore handmade clothes that were more patches than cloth.
“Can you please make me some soup?”
“What have you brought with you to make the soup?” asked the woman, knowing the answer.
“I have nothing. My mother is sick and father is away in the city. I have nothing to make soup.”
The woman said, “Come inside. I think you have something to add to the soup.”
The woman added water to the very large kettle. She lit the very big stove and began to stir.
“Now, little girl, you have nothing in your hands and you have nothing in your pockets, but you have something in your heart. All you need is to speak to the soup and tell it what your heart is saying.”
The little girl stood on a little chair and was just able to look over the edge of the kettle.
She spoke in but a whisper, “I love you Mommy. Get well soon.”
The woman then began to stir and stir and stir and stir.
And as she stirred and stirred the soup began to churn and bubble. Broth began to form and carrots and peas and beans and leeks and hundreds of herbs and vegetables and flavors mixed and melded in the pot. With a final stir, letters formed of pasta bubbled to the surface.
First…
“I love you Mommy.”
…and they sank. Then…
“Get well soon.”
As the sun began to dip in the afternoon and create its own colorful soup in the sky, shadows of a smaller person and a bigger person together carried a very big kettle towards the village.
The next morning, the woman arrived back to her very small house with two very small windows. She carried with her a much emptier pot, a small bouquet of flowers and a very big smile.
As she walked in the door she said to herself, "I think I'll make some soup today."
Happy Birthday Daddy
Greg made me a birthday card last week.
The top picture is a Star Wars guy and the bottom one is Aang from The Avatar (an animated series on Nickelodeon.)
We sometimes talk about which characters we would like to be in real life (I always say King Boomy.) I like that Greg always changes his mind from one character to the next.
What's really great is that Greg realizes that Star Wars and Avatar are the really important things in life.
The top picture is a Star Wars guy and the bottom one is Aang from The Avatar (an animated series on Nickelodeon.)
We sometimes talk about which characters we would like to be in real life (I always say King Boomy.) I like that Greg always changes his mind from one character to the next.
What's really great is that Greg realizes that Star Wars and Avatar are the really important things in life.
NASA's Mars Phoenix Lander finds signs of past civilization
The NASA's Mars Phoenix Lander made a safe touchdown on the surface of Mars yesterday and started sending back photos soon after. I wanted to be the first scientist* to examine the photo for signs of alien life.
Here is the landscape:
These photos show us that Martians:
a: collected water
b: valued public television
c: used the Imperial System of Units to measure Bigfoot tracks
*Took Chemistry in HS
Here is the landscape:
NASA/JPL-Caltech/University of Arizona
And here is an untouched photo with high resolution zoom-ins on the found objects.
These photos show us that Martians:
a: collected water
b: valued public television
c: used the Imperial System of Units to measure Bigfoot tracks
*Took Chemistry in HS
Dave Amadio - Saving Rome
Dave Amadio has just released his newest album "Saving Rome." You can check out his MySpace page, listen to some of the tracks off the new album and see all the hot chicks that worship him.
Here's the video to "Holiday" from YouTube.
I'm not usually one to swoon, but Dave is very hot and I am dumping Miss Sally to follow him on tour. At worst, I'll get the leftovers from the trail of broken hearts he leaves around the country. At best, maybe he'll let me iron his t-shirts and allow me pick out my favorite pair of jeans that he will wear on stage and sweat into.
Here's the video to "Holiday" from YouTube.
I'm not usually one to swoon, but Dave is very hot and I am dumping Miss Sally to follow him on tour. At worst, I'll get the leftovers from the trail of broken hearts he leaves around the country. At best, maybe he'll let me iron his t-shirts and allow me pick out my favorite pair of jeans that he will wear on stage and sweat into.
Screw you, Steven Spielberg
{Editor's Note: Spoilers ahead. Even though they are transparent in the script, I do talk about them. You have two choices: don't see the movie or don't see the movie.)
I just got home from watching a two hour train wreck of a movie called “Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull.”
I went in with low expectations, just so that I could leave with a little bit of happiness. I set my low expectations way too high.
I almost walked out. Twice. But I had to wait and see if this malignant tumor of a film might suddenly go into remission. Instead it metastasized and the projector in the next theater over melted.
The level of disbelief suspension necessary to even begin to digest this film is incalculable. From the four minute mark in, the movie is virtually unwatchable. The script is forced. The plot was as transparent as the crystal alien skull. Every other Indy line tries to be funny and clever, but falls flat. Oh yeah, there is no kingdom.
The worst part about all this is that I am being forced to remember the film so that I can write about it. Instead, I am going to stop writing about it here and drop a few f-bombs:
Spielberg – you f'ing suck
Screenwriter Koepp – f-you, dick
Lucas- I’m not sure what you had to do with this film, but f-you, too.
I will end with this- As the credits began to roll, Chris, John and I had these comments to each other:
"To show the blooper reel at the end of the film, all they would need to do is show the film again."
"Aliens, why’d it have to be aliens."
"It was so bad that my popcorn oil curdled half way through the film."
"I saw “Alan Smithee” in the credits 47 times."
"The script was so bad that Sean Connery turned it down to do a remake of Highlander 2."
"At least they were able to reuse the models from Independence Day."
"This movie made “Temple of Doom” look like Schindler's List."
I just got home from watching a two hour train wreck of a movie called “Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull.”
I went in with low expectations, just so that I could leave with a little bit of happiness. I set my low expectations way too high.
I almost walked out. Twice. But I had to wait and see if this malignant tumor of a film might suddenly go into remission. Instead it metastasized and the projector in the next theater over melted.
The level of disbelief suspension necessary to even begin to digest this film is incalculable. From the four minute mark in, the movie is virtually unwatchable. The script is forced. The plot was as transparent as the crystal alien skull. Every other Indy line tries to be funny and clever, but falls flat. Oh yeah, there is no kingdom.
The worst part about all this is that I am being forced to remember the film so that I can write about it. Instead, I am going to stop writing about it here and drop a few f-bombs:
Spielberg – you f'ing suck
Screenwriter Koepp – f-you, dick
Lucas- I’m not sure what you had to do with this film, but f-you, too.
I will end with this- As the credits began to roll, Chris, John and I had these comments to each other:
"To show the blooper reel at the end of the film, all they would need to do is show the film again."
"Aliens, why’d it have to be aliens."
"It was so bad that my popcorn oil curdled half way through the film."
"I saw “Alan Smithee” in the credits 47 times."
"The script was so bad that Sean Connery turned it down to do a remake of Highlander 2."
"At least they were able to reuse the models from Independence Day."
"This movie made “Temple of Doom” look like Schindler's List."
The Hot Damn - CD release
I'm no critic, though I can tell you more things I hate more than the things I like.
For example:
I hate most people.
I hate people who don't know how to check out at the grocery store self-checkout
I hate Highlander 2.
I hate that they are going to re-make the original Highlander.
I like the band The Hot Damn
The Hot Damn are having a CD release party, Friday May 30th, at The House of Crave with a couple other bands. It's $5 to get in.
What I would like you to think of this as is a Meet HolyJuan event with music by The Hot Damn. I will be giving out personalized business cards with specks of free DNA. Cute girls can request additional DNA.
I'll be wearing a Homestar Runner t-shirt. See you there.
The Line-up:
Exceptional Edward
This is my Suitcase
The Hot Damn
Yummy Fight
Release on Merit Badge Records
For example:
I hate most people.
I hate people who don't know how to check out at the grocery store self-checkout
I hate Highlander 2.
I hate that they are going to re-make the original Highlander.
I like the band The Hot Damn
The Hot Damn are having a CD release party, Friday May 30th, at The House of Crave with a couple other bands. It's $5 to get in.
What I would like you to think of this as is a Meet HolyJuan event with music by The Hot Damn. I will be giving out personalized business cards with specks of free DNA. Cute girls can request additional DNA.
I'll be wearing a Homestar Runner t-shirt. See you there.
The Line-up:
Exceptional Edward
This is my Suitcase
The Hot Damn
Yummy Fight
Release on Merit Badge Records
A question for Senator Clinton
Will somebody please pose this question to Senator Clinton: In the general election versus McCain, if she were to win more Electoral College votes, but McCain were to win more popular votes, would she hand over the Presidency to McCain?
I believe that it is Senator Clinton's right to continue campaigning through the end of the process. I think it is in her best interest to do so to gain something from her failed campaign, though to save face she is beating down the Democratic Party.
But what I cannot stand is the constant change in her campaign's logic as to what constitutes a "win" as if changing the parameters will somehow gain her the nomination. Her most recent argument is for popular vote. It is possible that if all the votes from Florida and Michigan are counted and if some screwy method of figuring out how many caucus votes were cast are tabulated, that Clinton could end this process with more popular votes than Obama.
Again I pose the question: If towards the end of the General Election Hillary has more Electoral College votes, but McCain has more popular votes (just like Bush/Gore in 2000,) would Clinton be okey-dokey with changing the pre-existing rules of the election so that the people's voice could be heard and counted and thus hand the Presidency over to McCain?
According to her logic, yes. And I think that is just mind numbingly idiotic.
I believe that it is Senator Clinton's right to continue campaigning through the end of the process. I think it is in her best interest to do so to gain something from her failed campaign, though to save face she is beating down the Democratic Party.
But what I cannot stand is the constant change in her campaign's logic as to what constitutes a "win" as if changing the parameters will somehow gain her the nomination. Her most recent argument is for popular vote. It is possible that if all the votes from Florida and Michigan are counted and if some screwy method of figuring out how many caucus votes were cast are tabulated, that Clinton could end this process with more popular votes than Obama.
Again I pose the question: If towards the end of the General Election Hillary has more Electoral College votes, but McCain has more popular votes (just like Bush/Gore in 2000,) would Clinton be okey-dokey with changing the pre-existing rules of the election so that the people's voice could be heard and counted and thus hand the Presidency over to McCain?
According to her logic, yes. And I think that is just mind numbingly idiotic.
Hillary needs $5... make that $10 or $4600
I was clicking through CNN and thought it was funny that there was a "Contribute $5 to Hillary" advertisement next to a story about Obama.
So I clicked the link and the Clinton page came up so that I could donate my hard working, white man dollars, but...
$5 is nowhere to be seen.
I see $10 and I see $4600, but $5 just ain't gonna cut it anymore!
From what I read, she'll need to trick an additional 2 million people into giving $10 or 4348 people into giving $4600 just to break even on her campaign debt. Good luck!
So I clicked the link and the Clinton page came up so that I could donate my hard working, white man dollars, but...
$5 is nowhere to be seen.
I see $10 and I see $4600, but $5 just ain't gonna cut it anymore!
From what I read, she'll need to trick an additional 2 million people into giving $10 or 4348 people into giving $4600 just to break even on her campaign debt. Good luck!
English words that cannot be translated into another language
I just finished watching a film where the cool, foreign guy causes the American chick to swoon simply by dropping a few words on her that cannot be translated into English. I then thought to myself, on my next trip overseas, what words can I use to charm the armpit-haired girls to get them in the sack?
Behold, a list of English words and phrases that have no translation overseas or in French Canada.
Misunderestimate
Thank goodness for the previous administration’s eight years of adding seemingly American words to our dialect. I dare you to find “decider” in a French dictionary or the Hungarian word for “strategery.” Many a Mexican immigrant has gotten into fist fights with their second language teacher over the pronunciation of "nucular" that they heard on the televisión.
Blow Job
Sure, there are translations in every language for the greatest gift a woman can give a man, but nothing literal; after all, only Americans would say “blow” when they really mean "suck" and “job” when they mean “can I have this one for free?”
Pillow Talk
In France, guys leave after sex. In Slovakia, they pull up their britches and head outside to trim the hedge. Only in America will you find guys chit-chatting after sex. The funny part is trying to translate this concept into a foreign language: “The after-sex speak, during which time the man lies about love, and the woman lies about orgasm.”
Tidal Wave
I’ve run into way too many high-and-mighty people who frown upon the American word “Tidal Wave.” When Indonesia was decimated a few years back, I was chastised for saying “tidal wave.” When a high-and-mighty says, “A Tsunami struck!” ask them, “What is a tsunami?” and watch as they look around before whispering, “A tsunami is a tidal wave.”
Taint
No one but Americans would have a name for the area of the body that ain’t the balls and ain’t the ass.
Chode
No one, save the Americans, would have a second word for the word taint.
Redneck
Other countries are small, and so they can only make fun of other countries. The United States is too damn big, and we like to pick on the people in our sister states, or, as it were with this definition, our sister and wife states.
Pocketbook
Just what the hell is a pocketbook? You’ll never know if you speak another language. Turns out it’s a satchel for carrying around your most important woman stuff. It’s not a book and it’s not small enough to fit into anyone’s pocket. In other languages you can roughly translate it to, “Over the shoulder satchel used to hide everything you want, but nothing you need.”
Pocket Pussy
Staying with the theme, here… Have you ever seen one of these cure-alls for the lonely man? Well, it doesn’t look like pocket, it won’t fit in a pocket and it certainly won’t hold your car keys. As for the pussy… I’m not sure. If this were to translate literally, you’d have a wave of Japanese men ordering “dirtied” Levis off the internet and then banging them. Oh, I guess we already do.
Behold, a list of English words and phrases that have no translation overseas or in French Canada.
Misunderestimate
Thank goodness for the previous administration’s eight years of adding seemingly American words to our dialect. I dare you to find “decider” in a French dictionary or the Hungarian word for “strategery.” Many a Mexican immigrant has gotten into fist fights with their second language teacher over the pronunciation of "nucular" that they heard on the televisión.
Blow Job
Sure, there are translations in every language for the greatest gift a woman can give a man, but nothing literal; after all, only Americans would say “blow” when they really mean "suck" and “job” when they mean “can I have this one for free?”
Pillow Talk
In France, guys leave after sex. In Slovakia, they pull up their britches and head outside to trim the hedge. Only in America will you find guys chit-chatting after sex. The funny part is trying to translate this concept into a foreign language: “The after-sex speak, during which time the man lies about love, and the woman lies about orgasm.”
Tidal Wave
I’ve run into way too many high-and-mighty people who frown upon the American word “Tidal Wave.” When Indonesia was decimated a few years back, I was chastised for saying “tidal wave.” When a high-and-mighty says, “A Tsunami struck!” ask them, “What is a tsunami?” and watch as they look around before whispering, “A tsunami is a tidal wave.”
Taint
No one but Americans would have a name for the area of the body that ain’t the balls and ain’t the ass.
Chode
No one, save the Americans, would have a second word for the word taint.
Redneck
Other countries are small, and so they can only make fun of other countries. The United States is too damn big, and we like to pick on the people in our sister states, or, as it were with this definition, our sister and wife states.
Pocketbook
Just what the hell is a pocketbook? You’ll never know if you speak another language. Turns out it’s a satchel for carrying around your most important woman stuff. It’s not a book and it’s not small enough to fit into anyone’s pocket. In other languages you can roughly translate it to, “Over the shoulder satchel used to hide everything you want, but nothing you need.”
Pocket Pussy
Staying with the theme, here… Have you ever seen one of these cure-alls for the lonely man? Well, it doesn’t look like pocket, it won’t fit in a pocket and it certainly won’t hold your car keys. As for the pussy… I’m not sure. If this were to translate literally, you’d have a wave of Japanese men ordering “dirtied” Levis off the internet and then banging them. Oh, I guess we already do.
Bush OKs waterboarding because he once heard drowning was a peaceful way to die.
By - PAUL LOY, Press Writer
WASHINGTON DC - President Bush feels no remorse for waterboarding techniques used on detainees because he remembers hearing once that drowning is one of the most peaceful ways to die.
“I heard (drowning) is a lot like going to sleep and if there’s one thing these terrorist don’t need to be doing, it’s sleeping… which is why I also authorized sleep deprivation techniques.” When asked about the cruelty behind the simulated drowning, Bush brushed it off suggesting that “it is like an extended Baptism and these al Qaeda could use it.”
ABC News' Chief White House correspondent
Martha Raddatz interviews President Bush
for an exclusive ABC News report. (ABC News)
The high-level discussions about [the torture techniques] were so detailed, these sources said, some of the interrogation sessions were almost choreographed — down to the number of times CIA agents could use a specific tactic. At one point, Condi pulled out a whiteboard and started to draw diagrams of the torture techniques. One thing lead to another and by midnight, we were playing a spirited game of Pictionary. Cheney won with the word, “coagulate.”
These top advisers signed off on how the CIA would interrogate top al Qaeda suspects — whether they would be slapped, pushed, deprived of sleep or subjected to simulated drowning, called waterboarding, sources told ABC news. Bush suggested that they be “grounded” from television, but his aids reminded him that al Qaeda really didn't have television. The President joked, “Well, they’ve got one positive thing going for them.”
WASHINGTON DC - President Bush feels no remorse for waterboarding techniques used on detainees because he remembers hearing once that drowning is one of the most peaceful ways to die.
“I heard (drowning) is a lot like going to sleep and if there’s one thing these terrorist don’t need to be doing, it’s sleeping… which is why I also authorized sleep deprivation techniques.” When asked about the cruelty behind the simulated drowning, Bush brushed it off suggesting that “it is like an extended Baptism and these al Qaeda could use it.”
ABC News' Chief White House correspondent
Martha Raddatz interviews President Bush
for an exclusive ABC News report. (ABC News)
The high-level discussions about [the torture techniques] were so detailed, these sources said, some of the interrogation sessions were almost choreographed — down to the number of times CIA agents could use a specific tactic. At one point, Condi pulled out a whiteboard and started to draw diagrams of the torture techniques. One thing lead to another and by midnight, we were playing a spirited game of Pictionary. Cheney won with the word, “coagulate.”
These top advisers signed off on how the CIA would interrogate top al Qaeda suspects — whether they would be slapped, pushed, deprived of sleep or subjected to simulated drowning, called waterboarding, sources told ABC news. Bush suggested that they be “grounded” from television, but his aids reminded him that al Qaeda really didn't have television. The President joked, “Well, they’ve got one positive thing going for them.”
A windy night in Denver
We did a high ropes course today and I am remembering the days when I could hold on to a post in gale force winds with no physical repercussions. I think I will be sleeping soundly tonight.
RIP Broccoli – 10/06 – 5/08
Broccoli died today. He was 1.5 years old, which in goldfish years is about 38.
Greg won him at the Fairfield County Fair in October of 2006. The game consists of me buying ten dollars worth of ping pong balls and Greg trying to throw them into small fishbowls of water. He made one in at the two dollar mark and my biggest fear was that he would make another one or more. Luckily he only made the one and the
carney dipped a random, non-floating goldfish out of the fish vat and put him lovingly into a plastic bag. As we walked to the car, me holding the plastic bag with him wanting to, I asked Greg what he wanted to name his new pet. Without much hesitation, he said, “Broccoli.” I made mention and repeated several times that goldfish get sick and die. Greg seemed to not care.
My old boss Orlando suggested I buy the SpongeBob SquarePants all-in-one tank. It came with everything a fish that was only going to live a month needed: Tank, air bubbler, tiny white rocks, and SpongeBob character to stick in the tank as your fish would need a friend to console it during its short life.
About six amazing months into his life, Broccoli began to act funny. He’d spin. All the time. Most of the time he would spin with his nose pointed at the tiny white rocks in the bottom of the tank. When we would feed him, he’d spin up to the surface and spend hours trying to get the food to go in his mouth. The internet said it was a parasite that fish get and there was no cure. I let him spin for about two days, hoping he would work it out. I told Miss Sally that I would give it one more day before sending Broccoli to the porcelain purgatory.
The next day, he was fine. No spinning. For weeks, I would quietly ask Sally if she replaced the sick Broccoli with a new Broccoli. She denied it. I believe her. Mostly.
A year after Broccoli became a member of our family, Greg and I went back to the Fairfield County Fair and we won another goldfish. This time I only bought two dollars worth of balls and Greg’s aim was still the same. As we walked to the car, he holding the plastic bag with me wanting to, I asked Greg what he wanted to name his new pet. Without much hesitation, he said, “Broccoli.” “But you all ready have a fish named Broccoli.” He shrugged. I made mention and repeated several times that goldfish get sick and die. Greg seemed to not care.
I made a point to not differentiate between the two Broccolis. I’d comment, “Broccoli is getting bigger!” or “I like Broccoli better.” Greg would answer whichever way he’d see fit.
Today, Broccoli was hovering sideways in the middle of the tank. I tried to resuscitate him by pushing him around in a bowl of water, forcing water through his gills. He was gone.
I called Sally and asked her what her opinion was on sharing the death of Broccoli with Greg. She said I should and we should flush him together. I called Greg in from the outside.
“Greg, remember how I told you that fish get sick and die?”
“Is Broccoli dead?”
“Yeah. I’m sorry. He was a good fish.”
“Let me see.”
I held him up to the bowl I tried to resuscitate him in.
Greg said, “He’s not bones.”
I tried not to laugh, “Over time he would turn into bones, but not for a while.”
I said we had to flush him and we took him to the toilet. Luckily Miss Sally had just cleaned the bathroom or I would have felt a little guilty throwing him in a five year old’s pee shrouded toilet. We dropped him in and I said a few words about what a good fish he was. Greg flushed.
Broccoli’s limp body somehow fought the current and would not go down at first. In the end, he disappeared. After the waters calmed, Broccoli, the fighter that he was, stuck his head back up from the pipe and with his dead eye looked at us as if to say, “Is that all you got.”
I, of course, said this out loud and Greg and I laughed, making up new lines, mimicking Broccoli. “You can’t flush me suckas!” Greg’s was, “I’m swimming in the toilet,” which he thought was pretty funny.
The tank re-filled and Greg flushed again.
Broccoli swims alone in his tank in Greg’s room. I reminded him to only put in half the food he did the night before.
Greg won him at the Fairfield County Fair in October of 2006. The game consists of me buying ten dollars worth of ping pong balls and Greg trying to throw them into small fishbowls of water. He made one in at the two dollar mark and my biggest fear was that he would make another one or more. Luckily he only made the one and the
carney dipped a random, non-floating goldfish out of the fish vat and put him lovingly into a plastic bag. As we walked to the car, me holding the plastic bag with him wanting to, I asked Greg what he wanted to name his new pet. Without much hesitation, he said, “Broccoli.” I made mention and repeated several times that goldfish get sick and die. Greg seemed to not care.My old boss Orlando suggested I buy the SpongeBob SquarePants all-in-one tank. It came with everything a fish that was only going to live a month needed: Tank, air bubbler, tiny white rocks, and SpongeBob character to stick in the tank as your fish would need a friend to console it during its short life.
About six amazing months into his life, Broccoli began to act funny. He’d spin. All the time. Most of the time he would spin with his nose pointed at the tiny white rocks in the bottom of the tank. When we would feed him, he’d spin up to the surface and spend hours trying to get the food to go in his mouth. The internet said it was a parasite that fish get and there was no cure. I let him spin for about two days, hoping he would work it out. I told Miss Sally that I would give it one more day before sending Broccoli to the porcelain purgatory.
The next day, he was fine. No spinning. For weeks, I would quietly ask Sally if she replaced the sick Broccoli with a new Broccoli. She denied it. I believe her. Mostly.
A year after Broccoli became a member of our family, Greg and I went back to the Fairfield County Fair and we won another goldfish. This time I only bought two dollars worth of balls and Greg’s aim was still the same. As we walked to the car, he holding the plastic bag with me wanting to, I asked Greg what he wanted to name his new pet. Without much hesitation, he said, “Broccoli.” “But you all ready have a fish named Broccoli.” He shrugged. I made mention and repeated several times that goldfish get sick and die. Greg seemed to not care.
I made a point to not differentiate between the two Broccolis. I’d comment, “Broccoli is getting bigger!” or “I like Broccoli better.” Greg would answer whichever way he’d see fit.
Today, Broccoli was hovering sideways in the middle of the tank. I tried to resuscitate him by pushing him around in a bowl of water, forcing water through his gills. He was gone.
I called Sally and asked her what her opinion was on sharing the death of Broccoli with Greg. She said I should and we should flush him together. I called Greg in from the outside.
“Greg, remember how I told you that fish get sick and die?”
“Is Broccoli dead?”
“Yeah. I’m sorry. He was a good fish.”
“Let me see.”
I held him up to the bowl I tried to resuscitate him in.
Greg said, “He’s not bones.”
I tried not to laugh, “Over time he would turn into bones, but not for a while.”
I said we had to flush him and we took him to the toilet. Luckily Miss Sally had just cleaned the bathroom or I would have felt a little guilty throwing him in a five year old’s pee shrouded toilet. We dropped him in and I said a few words about what a good fish he was. Greg flushed.
Broccoli’s limp body somehow fought the current and would not go down at first. In the end, he disappeared. After the waters calmed, Broccoli, the fighter that he was, stuck his head back up from the pipe and with his dead eye looked at us as if to say, “Is that all you got.”
I, of course, said this out loud and Greg and I laughed, making up new lines, mimicking Broccoli. “You can’t flush me suckas!” Greg’s was, “I’m swimming in the toilet,” which he thought was pretty funny.
The tank re-filled and Greg flushed again.
Broccoli swims alone in his tank in Greg’s room. I reminded him to only put in half the food he did the night before.
Weight Loss Could Save Billions And Lower Gas Prices
ATHENS, OH - Researchers at Russ College of Engineering and Technology at Ohio University have calculated that if every adult in the United States lost fifteen pounds, the savings to the economy in gasoline alone would amount to three billion dollars over the next year.
Cascading savings from the weight loss would also include fuel savings on fewer shipments of food, reduction in health care costs, as well as a reduction in gasoline demand which in turn would cause an overall drop in gas prices of approximately eight cents per gallon.
Roger Good, PhD, is the lead researcher on the project. “We Americans are hauling around a lot of extra weight. Getting rid of fifteen pounds of it will save fuel and, in turn, lower fuel costs.”
But wouldn’t the loss of consumption hurt the economy? No f’ing way says enthusiastic Ralph Connor, graduate student, “The need for more nutritious foods would replace the monetary loss from the quantity of fatty foods. Maybe the Ho-Ho people will come out with a soy version of the treat!”
Other areas of the economy would see a positive spin from the weigh loss. “You would also see a spike in the retail industry as smaller Americas seek out new clothes,” smiled Dr. Good. "Indeed, our research shows that the only business segment detrimented [sic] by a slimmer, trimmer America would be the health club / fitness industry. But really, with revolutionary home fitness solutions like Billy Blanks' Tae-Bo, Bowflex and the Hawaii Chair, traveling to gymnasiums is an idea whose time has come and gone, which ultimately contributes to further decreases in fuel consumption. It's a snowball effect."
Though the researchers do not think everyone has the willpower to stay on a diet, they believe that liposuction could be utilized to remove fat from people who are unwilling to voluntarily go on a diet. “We are working with Pacific Natural Energy (PNE) to see if we can actually turn human fat into biofuel with a device called ‘the FatBox.’” Plans are in the works for mobile liposuction labs called “Suck Trucks” which will be powered by the human bio-diesel. Connor whispers, “Some of these patients [hand gestures indicating a fatty] could power the Suck Truck for a week.”
Cascading savings from the weight loss would also include fuel savings on fewer shipments of food, reduction in health care costs, as well as a reduction in gasoline demand which in turn would cause an overall drop in gas prices of approximately eight cents per gallon. Roger Good, PhD, is the lead researcher on the project. “We Americans are hauling around a lot of extra weight. Getting rid of fifteen pounds of it will save fuel and, in turn, lower fuel costs.”
But wouldn’t the loss of consumption hurt the economy? No f’ing way says enthusiastic Ralph Connor, graduate student, “The need for more nutritious foods would replace the monetary loss from the quantity of fatty foods. Maybe the Ho-Ho people will come out with a soy version of the treat!”
Other areas of the economy would see a positive spin from the weigh loss. “You would also see a spike in the retail industry as smaller Americas seek out new clothes,” smiled Dr. Good. "Indeed, our research shows that the only business segment detrimented [sic] by a slimmer, trimmer America would be the health club / fitness industry. But really, with revolutionary home fitness solutions like Billy Blanks' Tae-Bo, Bowflex and the Hawaii Chair, traveling to gymnasiums is an idea whose time has come and gone, which ultimately contributes to further decreases in fuel consumption. It's a snowball effect."
Though the researchers do not think everyone has the willpower to stay on a diet, they believe that liposuction could be utilized to remove fat from people who are unwilling to voluntarily go on a diet. “We are working with Pacific Natural Energy (PNE) to see if we can actually turn human fat into biofuel with a device called ‘the FatBox.’” Plans are in the works for mobile liposuction labs called “Suck Trucks” which will be powered by the human bio-diesel. Connor whispers, “Some of these patients [hand gestures indicating a fatty] could power the Suck Truck for a week.”
Kate's Arm
My niece broke her arm, just like her Uncle Doug did when I was her age. I jumped off a swing and landed on my left arm. She was using a stool/chair as a ladder combination and lost her balance which took out her right arm.
I broke my left arm again my Junior year in football practice. After it healed up, and it came up in discussions, I would tell people how I broke the same arm twice and how you could feel the two sets of raised areas where the bones were mended. Now that I think about it, I'd also show people how my arm was bent funny because it didn't heal exactly right the first time when I was a kid.
My Junior Year broken arm cast was a full cast all the way up to the shoulder. After a few weeks, it was removed (those things get stinky) and a forearm cast replaced it. Because my arm had been stuck in that bent position, it wouldn't straighten out. The doctor said that was normal and that in a week or two it would start to work itself out. I'm sure I was supposed to follow some rehabilitation schedule.
Later that night, I was in a graveyard with two friends egging cars. We thought the eight foot fence would keep any of the drivers from coming after us, but we were wrong. When we climbed into the graveyard, it took me about five minutes to get over the fence with that cast on and my arm not bending. As we raced through the headstones with two guys starting to chase us, I didn't think about my arm and we all scrambled over the fence in about two seconds.
At the rendezvous point we were all out of breath from running and laughing. With my hands on my knees, I noticed that my left arm was stretched out straight. Who needs rehabilitation!
About two years ago I was home looking through some family photos and saw a photo of a six year old me with my cast... on my right arm.
Memory is a funny thing.
Torture by the Inch
My "good friends" kidnapped my tape measure and insisted I pay a ransom to get it back. As I am not one to play by the rules of terrorists, I said no. Then I began to receive photos of my tape measure being tortured by other tape measures.
Bastards. I'll convert to metric before I let the terrorists win.
(Is that one tape measure dressed up like Mr. T?)
Bastards. I'll convert to metric before I let the terrorists win.
(Is that one tape measure dressed up like Mr. T?)
0.025 Gallon Gas Reciept
At the end of last month, I stopped to get Kroger gas after shopping at the local Kroger store. They suckered me in with the Kroger Card and points and the hope of someday getting a $5 gift certificate after spending $1000 at their store.
When I pulled up to the pumps, another person was getting back in their car and circling around to another pump. I assumed it was because they pulled up on the wrong side of their car.
I scanned my Kroger Card, slid my credit card through the reader and waited to be deemed worthy. I was told to select my grade of fuel and begin pumping.
When I pulled the handle, I got an immediate, unsatisfying clunk of nothingness and the handle going slack. I adjusted the handle angle and tried again. I thrust the pump phallus in and out of my car's wanting fuel hole to no avail. At that moment, the other car person was doing the same thing I was and then realized that the pumps were all malfunctioning and that I wouldn't be getting gas at Kroger's that night.
When I reinserted the nozzle back into the pump, I noticed that the digital readout suggested that "some" gas had made it into my tank. 0.025 of a gallon to be specific. That of course is complete BS as the pump didn't even kick on and that tiny amount of gas would have evaporated before it reached the end of the nozzle.
Now, how much does twenty five thousandths of a gallon of gasoline cost at $3.449 per gallon? Nine fucking cents.
What's really great is that because I used my Kroger Card, I saved .00075 cents!
And what's really sad is that $3.449 for gas would be a steal today.
When I pulled up to the pumps, another person was getting back in their car and circling around to another pump. I assumed it was because they pulled up on the wrong side of their car.
I scanned my Kroger Card, slid my credit card through the reader and waited to be deemed worthy. I was told to select my grade of fuel and begin pumping.
When I pulled the handle, I got an immediate, unsatisfying clunk of nothingness and the handle going slack. I adjusted the handle angle and tried again. I thrust the pump phallus in and out of my car's wanting fuel hole to no avail. At that moment, the other car person was doing the same thing I was and then realized that the pumps were all malfunctioning and that I wouldn't be getting gas at Kroger's that night.
When I reinserted the nozzle back into the pump, I noticed that the digital readout suggested that "some" gas had made it into my tank. 0.025 of a gallon to be specific. That of course is complete BS as the pump didn't even kick on and that tiny amount of gas would have evaporated before it reached the end of the nozzle.
Now, how much does twenty five thousandths of a gallon of gasoline cost at $3.449 per gallon? Nine fucking cents.
What's really great is that because I used my Kroger Card, I saved .00075 cents!
And what's really sad is that $3.449 for gas would be a steal today.
Ask HolyJuan: My wife is faking it
Dear HolyJuan,
My wife just told me she's been "faking it" for years. In fact, she claims she feels almost nothing from penetration though she enjoys the closeness. Please help.
Signed,
Fake Name
Dear Fake Name,
I think the problem lies in the fact that your wife enjoys the closeness. What she is saying is that your penis is short and hence, you are way too close to her during sex. If your penis is large, then she’s got a cave for a vagina and you are still out of luck.
Here is my suggestion: Across the Room Sex. The next time you find yourself getting in the mood, stage yourself in the furthest part of the room away from the bed or hammock. While your wife lies in the standard, missionary position you enjoy so much, I want you to stand or kneel in the corner and thrust madly with your groinular area. I would suggest an intestinal wall tearing 300 times. During each thrust, I want you to scream out like Maria Sharapova serving a shot put. Then, run back into bed, frantically masturbate and fall asleep as quickly as possible. Repeat this eight to ten times over the next 30 days ensuring you take a two day “love break” between sessions. Over time, your wife will start to hate you. Burning hot, vitriolic hate. You might want to light candles in the bedroom during these sessions so that she has enough light to fill out the divorce papers.
One day, you will come home from therapy to find she is gone.
Now, she won’t have to fake orgasms anymore, as she will be with someone who isn’t you.
Wow. That was an easy fix my friend.
Take care,
HJ
PS And if you cannot figure out that you wife is faking it, you are a douche and don’t deserve to have sex. I know every single time that your wife is faking it and that number is twenty seven.
My wife just told me she's been "faking it" for years. In fact, she claims she feels almost nothing from penetration though she enjoys the closeness. Please help.
Signed,
Fake Name
Dear Fake Name,
I think the problem lies in the fact that your wife enjoys the closeness. What she is saying is that your penis is short and hence, you are way too close to her during sex. If your penis is large, then she’s got a cave for a vagina and you are still out of luck.
Here is my suggestion: Across the Room Sex. The next time you find yourself getting in the mood, stage yourself in the furthest part of the room away from the bed or hammock. While your wife lies in the standard, missionary position you enjoy so much, I want you to stand or kneel in the corner and thrust madly with your groinular area. I would suggest an intestinal wall tearing 300 times. During each thrust, I want you to scream out like Maria Sharapova serving a shot put. Then, run back into bed, frantically masturbate and fall asleep as quickly as possible. Repeat this eight to ten times over the next 30 days ensuring you take a two day “love break” between sessions. Over time, your wife will start to hate you. Burning hot, vitriolic hate. You might want to light candles in the bedroom during these sessions so that she has enough light to fill out the divorce papers.
One day, you will come home from therapy to find she is gone.
Now, she won’t have to fake orgasms anymore, as she will be with someone who isn’t you.
Wow. That was an easy fix my friend.
Take care,
HJ
PS And if you cannot figure out that you wife is faking it, you are a douche and don’t deserve to have sex. I know every single time that your wife is faking it and that number is twenty seven.
Indiana Jones Cereal Boxes: Then and Now
Indy THEN box:
Indy NOW box:
Then box from
http://www.theraider.net/news/fullstory_merchandise.php?id=374
Indy NOW box:
Then box from
http://www.theraider.net/news/fullstory_merchandise.php?id=374
"What's another word for thesuarus?" - Steven Wright
Damnit!! Fifteen years later and I still don't get that joke!!
Lia is a Guest DJ on CD 101
My muse and good friend Lia is going to be a Guest DJ on CD101 tomorrow, Monday May 12, from 1:00pm – 2:00pm. I highly suggest you check her out as Lia is known for her excellent taste in alternative music. When we meet for drinks, she’ll always pick a bar with a great jukebox. While I shove in my dollar and pick “Pour Some Sugar On Me” she’ll scour the flippy CD covers, squeezing out the best the jukebox has to offer.
Click HERE to listen live to CD101. It’s a great alternative radio station and locally owned so you don’t have to deal with the Clear Channel bullshit.
Go Lia!!
Click HERE to listen live to CD101. It’s a great alternative radio station and locally owned so you don’t have to deal with the Clear Channel bullshit.
Go Lia!!
I am from Columbus
Don’t do it. You always do. I did too, but as of today, I am quitting.
Columbus is a big boy now. Bigger and better than Cleveland or Cincinnati (no offense.) Our pro teams might suck and we all might be a little over the top for Ohio State, but Columbus has a lot of character and we’ve made a name for ourselves as a growing technology Mecca. We’ve got awesome restaurants, an interesting art community, fantastic museums and CD 101, one of the best radio stations in the country.
So why is it that most of you (including me) feel like you have to say Ohio right after you say Columbus? No one says Los Angeles, California unless they are the governor of said state or New York, New York unless they are singing. Columbus is a city unto itself and needs no additional explanation. If you are from Springfield, you might want to tack on an OH afterward. If you are from Lancaster, you’ll get blank stares until you elaborate with the state. By my count, there are 18 other Columbuses in the United States and none of them even come close to being as profound as Columbus.
From this point on, Columbus is Columbus. If the person you are speaking with asks “which Columbus?” you should curtly reply with one of the following suggested phrases:
- Is there another Columbus?
- You are kidding, right?
- Don’t even say you think I’m talking about Columbus, New Jersey
- Christopher Columbus, jerky
- (stare at them until they walk away or if it is over the phone, let out an extended “Duuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh,” until they hang up)
The only way this will work is if we all stand up and make our voices (or lack of voice) be heard (or not heard when choosing not to say Ohio.) Where are you from? Columbus!
I am from Columbus. And now, so are you.
Columbus is a big boy now. Bigger and better than Cleveland or Cincinnati (no offense.) Our pro teams might suck and we all might be a little over the top for Ohio State, but Columbus has a lot of character and we’ve made a name for ourselves as a growing technology Mecca. We’ve got awesome restaurants, an interesting art community, fantastic museums and CD 101, one of the best radio stations in the country.
So why is it that most of you (including me) feel like you have to say Ohio right after you say Columbus? No one says Los Angeles, California unless they are the governor of said state or New York, New York unless they are singing. Columbus is a city unto itself and needs no additional explanation. If you are from Springfield, you might want to tack on an OH afterward. If you are from Lancaster, you’ll get blank stares until you elaborate with the state. By my count, there are 18 other Columbuses in the United States and none of them even come close to being as profound as Columbus.
From this point on, Columbus is Columbus. If the person you are speaking with asks “which Columbus?” you should curtly reply with one of the following suggested phrases:
- Is there another Columbus?
- You are kidding, right?
- Don’t even say you think I’m talking about Columbus, New Jersey
- Christopher Columbus, jerky
- (stare at them until they walk away or if it is over the phone, let out an extended “Duuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh,” until they hang up)
The only way this will work is if we all stand up and make our voices (or lack of voice) be heard (or not heard when choosing not to say Ohio.) Where are you from? Columbus!
I am from Columbus. And now, so are you.
Doug Dances
The theme for one of the napkin drawing series last night was "Doug Dances." I'll leave it up to you to connect the dots. The top one is mine and the bottom one is Meshell's.
Am I puking a rainbow?
Am I puking a rainbow?
Find the Stuff
See if you can find the stuff in this napkin drawing by Meshell.
The Stuff:
Hamburger
Wine Bottle
Mouse
Ear of Corn
Fish
Banana
Heart
Star
Waldo
Buttered Toast
Bat
The Finger
Boobs
Butterfly
Hotdog
The Stuff:
Hamburger
Wine Bottle
Mouse
Ear of Corn
Fish
Banana
Heart
Star
Waldo
Buttered Toast
Bat
The Finger
Boobs
Butterfly
Hotdog
“Senior General Than Shweie, you're doing a heck of a job!"
In the midst of disaster, it is good to see that the United States’ President is concerned about the welfare of the people in Myanmar. While preparing for his daughter’s wedding and fighting terrorism, George W Bush has taken time out of his busy schedule to comment on the handling of the disaster in ex-Burma:
President Bush stated, “Senior General Than Shweie, you're doing a heck of a job!"
President Bush stated, “Senior General Than Shweie, you're doing a heck of a job!"
The Yodeler
Today, I got an e-mail from my friend Meghan with the subject: "Bad Boy. "Thinking it was porn, I immediately opened it up. It read, "what the heck are you doing! i say, bad Doug, bad!"
This was the attached photo:
A photo of me, peeing on a sheet of cardboard? Once I got over the initial disappointment that it was not porn, I took a closer look and noticed that this was no ordinary sheet of cardboard! This was a cardboard mock up of "The Yodeler" exhibit. It was a interactive health exhibit, based on the Cliff Hangers game from The Price is Right. Instead of dollars, each tick was a gram of fat. Guests would cycle through a day of meals and choose foods that would usually eat.
After each meal, the yodeler would go up the cliff the number of fat grams your selected meal had. If you picked over 72 grams of fat... over the edge fatty!
Here's the final exhibit:
If there were an award for health exhibits based on The Price Is Right games, this would at least get second place.
I'm not sure if it was Meghan's intent, but I spent a while reminiscing about the design, fabrication and installation of this exhibit. Those were very, very good times.
Located within the Health Royale Gallery at the The Clay Center
Concept, Design and Graphics by Roto Studio
Engineering and Beautiful Mountain by LifeFormations
This was the attached photo:
A photo of me, peeing on a sheet of cardboard? Once I got over the initial disappointment that it was not porn, I took a closer look and noticed that this was no ordinary sheet of cardboard! This was a cardboard mock up of "The Yodeler" exhibit. It was a interactive health exhibit, based on the Cliff Hangers game from The Price is Right. Instead of dollars, each tick was a gram of fat. Guests would cycle through a day of meals and choose foods that would usually eat.
After each meal, the yodeler would go up the cliff the number of fat grams your selected meal had. If you picked over 72 grams of fat... over the edge fatty!
Here's the final exhibit:
If there were an award for health exhibits based on The Price Is Right games, this would at least get second place.
I'm not sure if it was Meghan's intent, but I spent a while reminiscing about the design, fabrication and installation of this exhibit. Those were very, very good times.
Located within the Health Royale Gallery at the The Clay Center
Concept, Design and Graphics by Roto Studio
Engineering and Beautiful Mountain by LifeFormations
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Save the Day - Star Wars
I knew I had seen that photo somewhere!
Save the Day photo via - http://badcontrol.com/?p=805.
Star Wars photo used without permission though Wikipedia references Star Wars and so I'm sure it's perfectly legal.
Apples downgraded to "other" status
I buy juice and in the past, I have been tricked. Our family enjoys the taste comforts of cranberry juice and usually we buy it mixed with grape or apple. On occasion, I have been tricked into purchasing "cranberry juice cocktail" which is a portion of cranberry juice and a lot of high fructose corn syrup.
Now I know to look for the 100% juice label:
This week, I purchased the Kroger Brand Cranberry Grape containing 100% juice. Because the Cranberry came first in the name on the label, I assumed that it was the most popular juice in the bottle. Grape would obviously be in second.
When I got home, I noticed the very lengthy description on the label. It seems that there is a BONUS "1 other fruit juice" blended in!
What could this BONUS fruit be? It would have to be something tropical like Guava or maybe something exotic like Mangosteen!! And it would have to be a small portion of juice since the name of unsaid juice isn't on the label. Let's look at the Ingredients!
Apple? Not only is apple the "other fruit" but it is also the second highest portion right after grape. The drink should be called Grape Apple Cranberry Juice.
I felt like complaining to Kroger for their trickery, but then I took another look at the label and realized that the poor apple, the food staple from our youth that came in both box and foil bag, has been down graded to "other" status.
Kroger's whip smart marketing team believes that if you put the word "apple" on the label, people will not buy the juice because they believe it is a second class juice! This is an outrage! The apple has stood by us year after year and its deeds should be recognized, not shunned to "other" status. Apple should be written in BOLD letters on the label! We should highlight it and add bright flashing lights around this word Apple that Kroger fears. Let us hold up apple to the status it deserves!
And this way, when I am trying to buy just Grape Cranberry juice, I will know to avoid the one with the large bold letters and flashing lights.
Now I know to look for the 100% juice label:
This week, I purchased the Kroger Brand Cranberry Grape containing 100% juice. Because the Cranberry came first in the name on the label, I assumed that it was the most popular juice in the bottle. Grape would obviously be in second.
When I got home, I noticed the very lengthy description on the label. It seems that there is a BONUS "1 other fruit juice" blended in!
What could this BONUS fruit be? It would have to be something tropical like Guava or maybe something exotic like Mangosteen!! And it would have to be a small portion of juice since the name of unsaid juice isn't on the label. Let's look at the Ingredients!
Apple? Not only is apple the "other fruit" but it is also the second highest portion right after grape. The drink should be called Grape Apple Cranberry Juice.
I felt like complaining to Kroger for their trickery, but then I took another look at the label and realized that the poor apple, the food staple from our youth that came in both box and foil bag, has been down graded to "other" status.
Kroger's whip smart marketing team believes that if you put the word "apple" on the label, people will not buy the juice because they believe it is a second class juice! This is an outrage! The apple has stood by us year after year and its deeds should be recognized, not shunned to "other" status. Apple should be written in BOLD letters on the label! We should highlight it and add bright flashing lights around this word Apple that Kroger fears. Let us hold up apple to the status it deserves!
And this way, when I am trying to buy just Grape Cranberry juice, I will know to avoid the one with the large bold letters and flashing lights.
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