For all three of my loyal blog readers who were sent here looking for my SNL Weekend Update jokes, you'll have to wait until next week. On the off chance that any of them are found to be "air" worthy, I can't actually publish them or risk having them disqualified for prime time. You know the drill.
I feel a little fuzzy today. I think it's the cronyism hangover I'm experiencing from Tuesday's debate. If I hear the phrase "my friends" uttered from the stepford white haired puppet mouth one more time, I might have to send some beefy Italian cronies to Hofstra in order to give him a good talking to. I read the debate transcripts and he addressed the town hall crowd with "my friends" 19 times. Nineteen! Crony or cronyism were also hurled out there so often that the words lost all meaning. I started to hallucinate a little, thinking he was talking about Crones Disease. WTF? Is he sick? Can you rewind that please? Did he just say he had Crones? Wait ... did he actually move his shoulders when gesturing? Nope, they're still broken. But he did talk about hairplugs and golden cadillacs, so I didn't think I was that far off.
Still have five more jokes to crank out and am in desperate need of creative inspiration. Thought about baking brownies or doing some macaroni art. No dice. When in doubt, it's time to whip out the old flashcards.
The precious Weight Watchers Recipe Cards from 1974 are truly not to be believed. Did people actually eat this stuff? Apparently 1974 was the year of the mackerel. And shit on a shingle. Who knew? The first time I breezed through these, I peed my pants a little. Consider yourself forewarned. All this talk of Polynesian snacks has made me a bit peckish. Time to get crafty in the kitchen. WWPDD? What Would Paula Deen Do?
Confession: I do wish I were related to Paula Deen. We'd have such a great time in the kitchen. I'd make sure she didn't forget to remove all of her big bling before she plunged those man hands into a pecan pie crust. We'd joke about things like fluff and lard and how no one appreciates a good BBQ anymore. Well, with all the cous cous eating and tofu grilling going on these days and all. She'd pat me gently on the bum and scold me for using words like douche bag when talking about Emeril or questioning Rachel Ray's personal hygiene. Oh Paula. You've inspired me. Time to get my lard on.