Albeit this is a direct cause of eating, it's just too disgusting to post amid food talk, so you'll have to look for yourself.
And just in case you have any revenge to take on anyone, this may be of help.
Thursday, August 31, 2006
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
The Kitchen Is For Cooking, Not Killing.
So it's been a while since I cooked anything for you. I'm not too sure what you kids like to eat. So maybe you could give me some ideas and I'll post your favourites. In the mean time, here are some tips for your everyday kitchen adventures (that's assuming of course that you all know where your kitchen is....ahem, Angela).
HIGHWAY TO THE DANGER ZONE:
~* Don't use sponges. They harbour yucky bugs that'll make the toilet your new best friend. Opt for paper towel and washable dish clothes instead (don't forget to actually wash the clothes. Once every few days is probably best). And find a place to hang that cloth so that it can dry after each use because germies (like most men) enjoy warm, moist, dark places. If you must use sponges or scrubbies, make sure you're letting them dry between uses and tossing them out, at least, weekly.
~* Put a thermometer in your fridge. Ya know, it's always baffled me why thermometers aren't just a part of any cooling appliance, but alas they are not. So. Do you know what temperature your fridge should be operating at? Between 0 and 4 degrees celsius or 40 degrees farenheit.
~* Never ever ever ever never refreeze thawed food. Please no.
~* Entertaining is lovely isn't it? Especially outside in the summer sun. The hot, baking summer sun. And all of those mayonaise laiden salads sitting out, stewing in said sun. The point people? Eating amongst friends does not make you immune to botchulism. Hot foods must remain hot and cold foods must remain cold. Unless of course you like hospitals and funerals, then do as you wish.
~* Finally, store your raw meats on the bottom of your fridge. Nothin' says lovin' like chicken juice in the lettuce.
HIGHWAY TO THE DANGER ZONE:
~* Don't use sponges. They harbour yucky bugs that'll make the toilet your new best friend. Opt for paper towel and washable dish clothes instead (don't forget to actually wash the clothes. Once every few days is probably best). And find a place to hang that cloth so that it can dry after each use because germies (like most men) enjoy warm, moist, dark places. If you must use sponges or scrubbies, make sure you're letting them dry between uses and tossing them out, at least, weekly.
~* Put a thermometer in your fridge. Ya know, it's always baffled me why thermometers aren't just a part of any cooling appliance, but alas they are not. So. Do you know what temperature your fridge should be operating at? Between 0 and 4 degrees celsius or 40 degrees farenheit.
~* Never ever ever ever never refreeze thawed food. Please no.
~* Entertaining is lovely isn't it? Especially outside in the summer sun. The hot, baking summer sun. And all of those mayonaise laiden salads sitting out, stewing in said sun. The point people? Eating amongst friends does not make you immune to botchulism. Hot foods must remain hot and cold foods must remain cold. Unless of course you like hospitals and funerals, then do as you wish.
~* Finally, store your raw meats on the bottom of your fridge. Nothin' says lovin' like chicken juice in the lettuce.
Sunday, August 27, 2006
A little bitta Bullshit
Colbert lost to Barry Manilow.
LOST wasn't even nominated and 24 won.
Neuticals. *aka fake animal balls*
COLBERT LOST TO BARRY MANILOW. BULLSHIT.
Thursday, August 24, 2006
Things That Give Me A Rash
We all love to bitch about something. Ok. So maybe some more than others-some including moi of course. So shut up and listen to me whine for a bit and then you can have your own damn turn.
:: I don't know about the rest of the universe, but here in Canada we have turning lanes on our paved roads. Through the busier of city streets, there are complete centre lanes designed solely for turning wherever your little heart desires. Problem is, most folk seem to be afraid of these lanes. People. Signal-enter the centre lane-then slow down. Not the other fucking way around. Move bitch, get out the way!
:: I hate it when I enter a public washroom and it's empty and it smells like shit. Cause (other than the fact that it smells like shit) the next person who comes in behind me thinks that I made the stink. Hate that.
:: What makes my ass break out in hives? A government that sells the smokes, takes my taxes for the smokes and then tells me I can't smoke em' cause they're so BAD. So when does the booze makes you barf (and do other things that are very bad) campaign start? If there are pics of rotting teeth on my smokes, when do the pics of a pile of bile show up on the vodka? Just askin'.
:: The customer is always right. BULLf'nSHIT!! ya heard me.
:: this
:: If murder were legal, the flyer boy would be beaten to death with his own stack.
:: Even a paper bag can't help this annoying freak. Still not working .
And finally, I'll leave you with this, just because I love you.
:: I don't know about the rest of the universe, but here in Canada we have turning lanes on our paved roads. Through the busier of city streets, there are complete centre lanes designed solely for turning wherever your little heart desires. Problem is, most folk seem to be afraid of these lanes. People. Signal-enter the centre lane-then slow down. Not the other fucking way around. Move bitch, get out the way!
:: I hate it when I enter a public washroom and it's empty and it smells like shit. Cause (other than the fact that it smells like shit) the next person who comes in behind me thinks that I made the stink. Hate that.
:: What makes my ass break out in hives? A government that sells the smokes, takes my taxes for the smokes and then tells me I can't smoke em' cause they're so BAD. So when does the booze makes you barf (and do other things that are very bad) campaign start? If there are pics of rotting teeth on my smokes, when do the pics of a pile of bile show up on the vodka? Just askin'.
:: The customer is always right. BULLf'nSHIT!! ya heard me.
:: this
:: If murder were legal, the flyer boy would be beaten to death with his own stack.
:: Even a paper bag can't help this annoying freak. Still not working .
And finally, I'll leave you with this, just because I love you.
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
I Hope You Dance
When I was 8 I had a guinea pig. Her name was Blondie. I loved her. She squeeked and eeked and munched on pellets. Sometimes I'd let her out of her cage to play with me. Usually she'd run and hide under my bed. Timid little thing. One day, my family and I went on vacation. I was going to miss my little friend and I thought she'd miss me too. So I left her with a friend. A little stuffed bear about the same size as her. Later that week I returned home and flew up the stairs to see my friend. Noone could have ever guessed the horror awaiting me beyond the door at the top of the stairs. In her cage, on her back, legs erect and toes splayed, she laid. Beside her, only remnants of the little stuffed bear. I guess I gave her the ultimate company; death. Wherever you are now Blondie, I hope you dance.
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