Sweaty rarebit haunts clueless students

I am watching the Yankees Batting Practice Show. They are interviewing Brian Cashman, General Manager. Either the audio and visual are slightly off or I am having a stroke. Oh well. I love baseball. Would be funny to die on the last day of this season – typical cruelty of life depriving me of a post-season in which we have the home-field advantage throughout.

Thinking of things with big egos, albeit in the following instance without the testicular gravitas to warrant it, that Venezuelan sweat gland claims that he defeated an assassination attempt. Seems some squirrel hunter was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Poor guy was just hungry and out varmint hunting. And now he is a “sniper with a long-range gun and a motorcycle to escape on” who “had planned to shoot him as he exited a helicopter on a recent trip to western Venezuela.” Poor bastard. With little Juan and Julio left at home wondering when papa will bring home the stringy meat from which they will add a turnip and slice of onion for a thin stew one tablespoon of which they will gently pour onto their mama’s grave, our hunter will now face days of torture to extract a Spanish Inquisition confession followed within hours by a public execution.

I like the concept of carnivals on the internet - all sorts of special interest stuff. I used to follow the Carnival of Recipes frequently. Need a recipe? OK.

I’ve only had Welsh Rarebit a couple of times in my life. It’s a closet favorite of mine.

2 tablespoons unsalted butter
2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon Dijon mustard
1 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1/2 cup porter beer
3/4 cup heavy cream
6 ounces (approximately 1 1/2 cups) shredded Cheddar
2 drops hot sauce
4 slices toasted rye bread

In a medium saucepan over low heat, melt the butter and whisk in the flour. Cook, whisking constantly for 2 to 3 minutes, being careful not to brown the flour. Whisk in mustard, Worcestershire sauce, salt, and pepper until smooth. Add beer and whisk to combine. Pour in cream and whisk until well combined and smooth. Gradually add cheese, stirring constantly, until cheese melts and sauce is smooth; this will take 4 to 5 minutes. Add hot sauce. Pour over toast and serve immediately.

Speaking of things hidden, this commercial for insurance is playing dozens of times. Some young couple with a baby got screwed on their premium. It is quite telling. The young wife, off camera, shrieks “WHAT?!?” into the phone when told the real price. Real witch. Then she is all peaches and cream on camera, holding her baby while dufus husband stammers his way through breathing without forgetting to blink. She tells us how hard it is to make ends meet with a new baby. We are supposed to feel sorry for her. I feel sorry for him. You got to know he’s dodged many a flying object in his brief marriage. It’s only going to get worse, pal. Sorry. It’ll be easier if you learn to stitch closed your own wounds. You avoid the insurance deductible, the wasted time in ER, and the lies you have to tell hospital staff. Here is your primer on stitching yourself. Just shut-up and read it. It’s not as bad as it seems.

Intelligent humor is about done, or maybe the internet is just a pathetic resource. I wind up on this page and read, “Q: Why do ducks have webbed feet? A: To stamp out forest fires!” I don’t get it. I picture roast duck, probably overdone, and a real bitch to serve with the feathers still intact.

Here is a couple of good facts: Homicides, suspicious deaths, and deaths of hit-and-run victims, prison inmates, and public transportation drivers require autopsies; in contact wounds, both the bullet and propellant gases enter the body, producing a star-shaped wound as the skin is split.

Here’s a car with a bit of a concept problem.

I think these guys are so funny. Soul Trackers is a bunch of liberal Subaru owners that watch too much Scooby Doo. They investigate some house in Chester County, PA, and find … a bird.

Listen, guys, I understand the whole life-after-death fascination. Someone is killed in a horrible fashion and they hang out all angry and stuff. Warm bodies (as they like to call us) move in, and, in acts of unmitigated fury, the soul trapped in this grisly murder scene flips the light switch a couple of times a month. Chilling. But all of this is premised on a human brain – the most developed organ on the planet (save John Holmes’ club). But a bird brain? Tweety the Parakeet has the residual wrath to haunt a Philly suburb? Is the after-life filled with animals? Am I going to be tormented by the roadkill I have flatten over the years? Fish, how about fish? I’ve not only killed a lot of fish over the years – but have eaten them, too. Is this going to – literally – come back to haunt me?

Thanks to Soul Trackers, I have a whole new reason to be neurotic. Thanks, guys.

Speaking of happy stuff that means nothing in the long run, here’s some plans for free dog agility equipment. But first you need to find a dog you can make agile. If your dog ain’t a border collie, all you got is a dog.

Pennsylvania is finally getting its informational act together on court dockets. You can look up cases civil and criminal. I remember walking down the hall and a couple of non-CJ students asked me how to look up Philly’s Most Wanted. I helped them a bit, and then one of them asked me to search for his name. I raised an eyebrow and pulled him aside. Turns out he missed a court hearing and was wondering if a bench warrant had been issued. I searched the dockets. “No warrant entered into this system. It may be elsewhere, though. But, really, you thought a bench warrant would rank you ‘most wanted’? You’re too funny.”

Gotta go. Bye.