I don’t have much of a point to make in this post, but when the President of the United States declares himself to be the Chosen One, I’m not sure that there’s a point to anything anymore other than to ram home the idea that it’s not so smart to go out and vote after a full frontal lobotomy. Crispy fried Jesus in a bucket, did he really say that? We need to check the White House water supply for hallucinogens. It would explain SO much.
I tried the Impossible Burger the other day. For those of you who don’t know what that is, it’s a hamburger made out of 100% baby seal that Burger King sells. Can you believe that? If I were you, I’d go down to Burger King and register your disgust by lodging a complaint. (If a Silverback Gorilla were you, on the other hand, he’d go down to Burger King to register his disgust by flinging feces.)
I’m just kidding, of course. The Impossible Burger is made out of 100% plant-based material, which sounds great until you realize that you can say the same thing about ricin. I understand the need for a plant-based hamburger, and yes, the single biggest thing we can all do to combat climate change is stop eating beef. I get that. But if Burger King is going to be at the forefront of this movement, I say we just admit defeat and move to Neptune. Burger King’s food tastes like ass.
The Impossible Burger, on the other hand, tastes like… Well, it tastes like a beef substitute. The flavor is somewhat close to that of beef (even more so when Burger King drowns it in ketchup and mayo), but the texture is slightly pasty. I walked out of Burger King feeling like I’d saved the rainforest at the expense of my lower GI tract.
I’ve had lots of experience with plant-based hamburgers, actually. When I was in college, the dorms used to serve what they called “veggie-burgers”, although everyone else referred to them as violations of the Geneva Convention. They were literally green around the edges, and tasted exactly as you’d expect: Like compressed wads of lettuce marinated in beef fat. To say that they were revolting would be to sell them short. After all, you’d like to remain alive after a revolution. I’d describe them as self-immolating, because that’s what you felt like doing after eating one.
I may have written about this before, but the dorm I lived in had the best cafeteria on campus. Looks-wise, that is; It was still fully capable of unleashing atrocities at any moment, such as their version of Welsh Rarebit. This dish comes to us courtesy of the U.K., home to such culinary tragedies as haggis, jellied eels, and spotted dick. So I didn’t really expect a lot, especially since it just looked like bread covered with cheese. Instead you got a dish virtually indistinguishable from a hockey puck covered in phlegm.
Anyway, since we had the best cafeteria on campus, the University often brought prospective students there to see what it was like. And of course, as soon as we saw them walk in, we all held our stomachs in mock-distress. One guy went so far as to pretend to eat a bite of something, then fake vomit the cream of mushroom soup he’d been storing in his mouth for just that purpose.
But towards the end of the semester, the cafeteria started skimping on food, trotting out the same meal every day for three or four weeks on end: Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and veggie burgers. Naturally, everyone loaded up on the PBJ’s, leaving an awful lot of students left with no choice but to eat the green patties from hell. Let me tell you something: When the University walked future freshman through the cafeteria while this was going on, no one was acting.
The Impossible Burger was better than that. Not exactly a ringing endorsement, but there you have it.
I took my sons to a store that specializes in board games a few weeks ago. It was funny to watch them browse. They didn’t come right out and ask where you plug the controllers in, but you could tell that they were thinking it. At one point, my eldest son held up a game called Hospital Tycoon and rolled his eyes so severely that they had to be placed in slings.
(Hospital Tycoon, by the way, is a lot harder than its real life counterpart simply because you can’t charge $29.95 for a fucking aspirin.)
On the way out, though, they became interested in the Dungeon & Dragons Starter Set, which is created by the company Wizards of the Coast, located on the Isle of Dork. Dungeons & Dragons, or D&D if brevity is your thing, has long had a reputation of being a game for nerds. This is because everything has arcane rules that involve math. Take this description of a first level Wizard spell, for example:
Ray of Dismay – This spell causes a thin, green wave to extend from the caster expanding outwards up to 30 feet. All creatures within this cone must make a saving throw equal to the Spellcaster’s ability, minus the Constitution modifier, on a 1d20, adding +1 for every level, or be extremely bummed out. Damage causes 3d6 + the current temperature in Celsius unless wearing heavy armor, in which case damage is determined by the following formula:
(HP/16 + AC * 1.3 – NYSE Closing) / The number of people named Frank in your neighborhood
After casting this spell, all players must self-administer wedgies.
How, you may ask, do I know this? Because I played D&D when I was 11. And now, because the rules are a little hard to follow (many people give up after their first game of D&D, preferring something simpler, such as quantum mechanics), I have to play it again.
To tell you the truth, I’m having a blast. This is because I am what is called the Dungeon Master. This term is used, by the way, because it sounds way better than the more accurate description, Guy Who Has All The Power And Makes Shit Up On The Fly. Seriously, I was shocked as hell to see how complex the rules have become, and even more so when I read this:
It’s important to remember that pace of play is very important. If characters act in unexpected ways, make up rules to govern their actions (and their consequences).
I can do that. Hell, I make up rules all the time:
Greg: (walking in the mall)
Two extremely large people: (walking in the mall, side by side, directly in front of me, at 0.0000001 miles per hour)
Greg: (Lobbies senator, asks for passage of a bill mandating minimum pedestrian speed limits for malls and the immediate catapulting of anyone impeding traffic because they’re drooling in front of Hickory Farms.)
Senator: (Reminds Greg of the restraining order)
I stopped playing D&D when I was 12 or 13 because I couldn’t find anyone reasonable to play with (which sounds a lot like my dating life just a year or two later). My brother liked to play, but D&D isn’t really designed for 2 people. Also, sibling rivalry sometimes got in the way.
Me: You walk down the hall until it ends in a door.
Brother: Ok, is the door booby-trapped?
Brother: Are you sure?
Brother: Ok, then I open the door.
Me: A 47 ton weight drops from the ceiling and smashes you flat, killing you. On the top of the weight is this inscription: “Thanks for telling mom I hopped out of the window last night to play with friends, asshole!”
That’s actually way more mature than the game that finally made me hang it up. I discovered that some friends of mine had been playing D&D for a couple of months, so I showed up the next time they played and this took place:
DM: The hallway ends and branches off to the right and left.
Player 1: To see if the coast is clear, I whip out my dick and poke it around the corner.
Me: What the…
DM: A cave troll jumps out of a hidden alcove and chops your dick off!
Player 1: I piss all over him with my stump.
Me: Wait a minute…
DM: The cave troll’s armor starts disintegrating.
Player 2: Quick, everybody pee on the cave troll!
Player 3: I pee on the cave troll.
DM: You peed 30 minutes ago, so you can only pee again if you roll 18 or higher.
Player 3: Ok… (rolls a 17).
DM: Oh, so close!
Player 4: Wait, don’t you have a +2 Amulet of Urology?
Me: Ok, I’m going home.
So now I play D&D with my kids on weekends. They’re having a blast, I’m having fun, and I don’t even mind the fact that all of my adult friends will be coming over soon to give me a swirlie.
Hey, let’s see what Tommy Lee Jones has been up to!
And finally, a little bit of reader mail:
From: Helen Silver
Subject: You’ve been selected by POWER – Women’s Only Network
Date: August 6, 2019 1:13 AM
We would like to give you the opportunity for possible inclusion in P.O.W.E.R. (Professional Organization of Women of Excellence Recognized)
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Subject: Hip Dysplasia in C Minor or “The Wonder of Rutabagas”
Date: August 22, 2019 9:45 PM
To: Helen Silver
No thanks, I have a penis.
Dogs on Drugs (http://dogsondrugs.com)
That’s it! Enjoy your weekend, everyone. And remember, only you can prevent forest fires. (Ok, you and the Chosen One, assuming he’s not busy grabbing angels by the pussy.)