Writes


Letters
Company Pen
Betting On Trump
How Many Toilets?
Lost Nickle
Dear Airline
Dear Senator Vasconcellos
Dear CBS
Dear Carolina Panthers
10 Questions From Americans
Dear Toys R Us...
Small On Top?
The Benjagon
Use Those Weather-Sticks
Einstein Didn’t Know His Barber Could Cook
I Want Your Clutter
Hello, Coca-Cola?
The Question About The Bill
10 Interview Questions


Dreams
Do I Own A Snake?
Fourth Is Enough
7 Year Living Room
Water Bowl
Overboard
Team 3D and The Finger
Coin Bringer
Turtle Dancing and Jell-O World
Team 3D vs. The French
Almost Spiderman
Killing The Old For Books
Closet Snake
Walking Out
Outside My Casino
Todd Took My Beer
Wednesdayding Lake
Vegas Clean Out
U.S. History Quiz in Tijuana
Uri and I vs. Lewis and Tyson
Team 3D 'Cleans' House
Shopping School
Talking to G-d in a Toy Aisle
Witness to a Dream
Bill Clinton's Pep Talk
Team 3D and the 3D Girls vs. The Purple Maori Theater Seat Thieves
North Africa vs. South Africa
Team 3D vs. The Invisible Yellow Llama -or- Zoo Island
Sparing Bonnie Hunt
Quarters for Dogs
Telling Her Off
Killing in Defense
Team 3D vs. The Ozone Blob
Mega Work Dream
Risking Life and Limb Over World War Two Germany
Pastry Bunnies
Dave and Ben vs. Ted Danson
Cory Car Club
Team 3D in New York
Yael's Book Opening Sword
Ten Foot Tall Piece of Fridayed Chicken
Web Hostage
Sky God
Team 3D vs. The Mall Wave
Nose Vines
U.F.I. Mining Town
Girls in Torture-land
Benjamin's Elevator Shaft Shower and the Golden Cross
Me, Kenn, Some Russian Guy, and Fire...
Team 3D vs. The Storm Crane
Two Dreams
Team 3D Detectives
Two Things Wrong
The Musical
A Shave and a Spot
Hawaii 500
Moving In
Japan's Crack Super Parachute Commando Squadron!

 
Pudding And Beer
 
Well, it's Saturday, and I'm home. Lisa's at work, 'making me a living' as I often joke, and I'm going to pick her up in a little over two hours. I've finished the laundry, but it's still in an unsorted pile in the middle of my sheetless bed (I washed the sheets too). I did some contract work for a friend of mine, well, part of a larger more complete 'job', and I watched the Giants lose to the Reds (thanks Shinjo) a little early (rain let the Giants go home an inning early, instead of their having to SUCK for another 20 minutes).

And here I am. It's 1:40 in the afternoon, and I guess I should be hungry, but really I'm not. I listened to some music, watched a ballgame on television, and dicked around on the computer for about three and a half hours. That doesn't really take a lot out of you. Still, though, something primal deep inside me said that it was time to eat.

I stumbled on downstairs in a pair of jeans I'd been wearing for four days straight and a Superman tshirt I really need to replace because the logo's washing off. I stick my head in the fridge, and even though there's plenty to eat, everything in the fridge is a component of some greater meal who's label probably reads, "assembly required". I don't know how to assemble a meal. Why does modern day society assume that I know how to assemble a meal? There's probably enough crap in my kitchen to make Rack of Lamb for sixteen people, but I wouldn't know it. I just see endless piles of packages and fruit.

That's something right there. Fruit. Even that needs work before eating. You have to wash the damn things before you eat them. What the hell is that? Isn't this America? Didn't I just get that fruit from Safeway or Lucky's or whatever? Isn't there some kind of Health Department somewhere that doesn't let people sell dirty or unclean food? That apple should have been ready to be eaten the second I put it in the bag. End of story.

The one meal that I can successfully conjure is a bowl of cereal. That's the most preparing I'm willing to commit to for a meal. Bowl. Check. Cereal in bowl. Check. Milk in bowl. Check. Eat. It's simple. It's easy. It's the only way to live. Nothing needs heating, mixing, stirring, simmering, or sauteing. It's in the damn bowl - it's ready to eat. Beautiful.

I'm getting off target here - let me realign.

So, I grabbed the stuff that's pretty much ready to go. Two cups of pudding and a can of Guinness. I pulled down a stein from the cupboard, and fixed the Guinness proper with one hand, while scrambling in a drawer for a spoon for the pudding with the other.

I got the beer ready (you don't pour a Guinness, you make a Guinness - funny how I had time/patience to do that and not something substantial), the pudding, and the spoon. And that was it. Back up to my room I went to write this. It's not that amusing, I'm sure, but I'm a guy. This is how guys work and think. We don't care what we wear, eat, or drink. Just so long as it gets done.

Aftermath
Well, I'm done with the pudding and only a couple sips away from finishing the Guinness. Want to know something? I'm not hungry anymore. Hot damn I feel, well, full! Looking back on it now, I can see how my body pulled the pudding from the shelves in the fridge in order to instinctively feed its sweet-tooth. But my brain, the beautiful, calculating, ever logical beast of an organ that it is, grabbed the Guinness. It knew that Guinness is filling, and that's what I needed. I didn't need REAL food. I didn't need that damn meal people are always after. I just needed something in my tummy. Guinness gave that to me. My brain grabbed that Guinness. My brain fed me. That means that Guinness is Brain Food. I'm rambling like a moron right now, so I'll just stop.

Pudding and beer. One needs little else.