Three O’Clock Dessert

Last night I was asking a real German (not like Kleinheider and me who are German in grouchiness only) about how the Pennsylvania Dutch will sometimes serve you chocolate cake before dinner, which I think is the most awesome thing ever, because it means you have room for dessert, when he (the German, not Kleinheider) explained that, where he’s from in Germany, on special occasions, you’ll eat lunch at noon and have a lavish dessert at three o’clock and then dinner at eight.

This idea of a lavish three o’clock dessert is so exciting to me that I immediately took the Professor out to Calhoun’s to celebrate my German heritage by eating chocolate cake in the middle of the afternoon in order to celebrate the Professor’s moving.

She is a little stressed out by the move.

I am, I’m embarrassed to say, kind of happy because, in the course of talking about the move, she revealed that she believes she’ll be here in Nashville another two years at least.

Two more years of having the Professor right here in town.  That’s an indulgence best celebrated with three o’clock dessert.

The Walk is Over When The Dog is Done, Not Necessarily When the Trail Ends

Me: Come on.  I can see the car right over there. 

Mrs. Wigglebottom:

Bad, Bad Beer and Other Things that Might Make White Men Seem Better in Bed

I had a beer last night that had a name like Bittersweet Betty or Blowhard Betty or Bionic Betty or something Betty which was so bad I can’t even begin to discribe it to you.  It seemed to taste strongly of Beggin’ Strips.

Yes, the dog treat.

Why anyone would intentionally make their beer taste like that, I have no idea.  Perhaps it was sabatoge by a competitor.

Still, it makes me laugh, to asume that there’s someone out there who thinks that people want to drink beer that tastes like fake bacon.

And who knows?  Maybe there is.  The world is a wide place.

Speaking of things that make me laugh, Donna Locke says:

Allow me to say here, as an aside, that I have a new rule: If someone is attacking me on her or his blog and does not have the guts to identify herself or himself by full name on the blog, I will not be answering the person on her or his blog. So have at it, gutless ones.

Well, well, well.  I think we all know who she means, that person who, though not named by name on Tiny Cat Pants, has never kept her indentity much of a secret, seeing as she’s linked to numerous reviews and articles that mention her full name.  Hell, I recall seeing my full name and “Tiny Cat Pants” on the front page of the Tennessean once.

But that’s not what makes me laugh.

What makes me laugh is that Locke can run around the internet saying things like, “The only people not fed up are the American women who have latched on to some of the Latino illegal-alien men as meal tickets.” AND that she can then can act like I’m the one who’s being unreasonable and not playing fairly because I don’t run my blog the way she wants me to.  Unreasonable and not playing fairly is bringing up this old cannard again.

Seriously, if Latino illegal-alien men are stealing all “our” shitty jobs, white women are not latching onto them as  meal ticket.  No illegal alien, no matter how industrious, can support a non-working American woman on what we pay working class folks.

No, I think we all know what this is about–we’re still using “They’re fucking white women and the white women like it!” as a legitimate point for why we must all rally against the non-white menace du jour.

Well, hell.

If that’s really partially at the heart of it–this anxiety about swarthy penises weilded with such mastery that white women cannot help but turn uteruses rightly reserved for white men into incubators for non-white babies–let’s just spend our money on teaching white men to be better in bed.

Seriously.

If you had a choice between your tax money going to terrorizing our neighbors or going to teaching white men how to skillfully bring their lovers–male and female–ever increasing pleasure are you really going to choose “terrorizing our neighbors”?

America, think about how awesome it would be if white men were better in bed.  Straight women and gay men constantly walking around in that post-orgasmic glow.  Bill O’Reilly putting aside the “angry white guy” schtick for the “charming, skilled lover” smile.  Tucker Carlson acting more like he’s got some idea what the parts of him that don’t appear on screen are for.  Shoot, I dare say that it would be easier to tolerate the ways in which Bush & Co. are fucking the Constitution as hard as they can if we Constitution-lovers had some assurances that the Constitution was at least having a good time.

And so I say let’s better utilize our tax resources in order to combat white male bad-in-bed-ness instead of wasting it on removing the non-white penises from the potential pool of penises women might pick from (try saying that five times fast).  That’s clearly of more benefit to more people.

Shoot, just think, instead of praising white men who are working to ensure we continue to have a White House, not a Brown House, we would be praising men who worked to ensure that the White House is more like the White House.