Bird Flu and BJ's
No, not THOSE BJ's. I'm talking more along the lines of wholesale clubs.
I really don't intend this blog to be me just blabbing about stuff that I'm sure no one cares about, but I was thinking of these wholesale club prices this weekend while I was in New York.
Now, I happen to belong to BJ's Wholesale Club, mainly because they have OK prices on large amounts of meat and I can actually buy a container of olive oil roughly the size of an Elsinore Beer vat from Strange Brew and not have to cash in my IRA.
So, I was in BJ's getting four pounds of butter. FOUR POUNDS OF BUTTER!!!! When it dawned on me: I really don't like this joint. And I think it has to do with the clientele, present company excluded, of course. But I just find that more and more of these people seem really shady in the checkout line. And I study them. Why the hell is this dude buying a 50 gallon jug of bleach, a cut of meat that looks like it was taken from a brontosaurus, a 83-pound carton of goldfish crackers, and blue jeans? That's just whacked. Something not right in the noggin.
And there was this one lady there with five kids, who were all probably three years apart, yet none of them were twins and her looks and personality made the "My doctor says I have to take a laxative" lady from David Lee Roth's "Yankee Rose" video look like Kate Beckinsale and conduct herself like Miss freaking Manners. I couldn't wait to get me and my butter out of there faster than you could say "can I have a pallet of kitty litter".
And then there was another lady behind us in line. Someone (not us) had left one of those colossal shopping carts near the checkout line. Strangely, this thing seemed to be lined with the pelts of 4 or 5 Oscar the Grouches. Don't ask. Anyway, this lady behind us starts contorting her face and wretching her body because this titanic cart is in her way. And she asks me, buyer of only four pounds of butter, "Is this yours??" Now come on. I'm not a big dude, but even my girlie man hands and biceps are able to corral four pounds of butter with minimum to moderate effort. I look back and shake my head. Instead, I really wanted to say, "Are you out of your mind?? All I have is four pounds of butter! No! The cart isn't mine. And why the hell are you buying 3 metric tons of pickled cauliflower???"
So, if you are good looking, have an IQ north of Cro-Magnon man, and not a sociopathic whacko, please join one of these wholesale clubs. Let's balance things out a little.
On to the bird flu. This reeks of Y2K to me. Bottled water, canned goods (both things you can luckily buy in bulk at BJ's). End-of-the-world type stuff. Now, I don't care if this is a government conspiracy or not. I'm certainly not going to get my feathers ruffled, so to speak. They keep talking, "IF this thing mutates..." Well, IF hostile cucumbers from the Horsehead Nebula decide they don't like the color silver of my Ford Taurus and want to irradiate me..." I just can't be bothered. I just have more important things to worry about. Like who the hell really needs a 256 ounce can of cumin??
Anyway, if you are really worried about the bird flu, here's my survival guide.
1. Don't eat bird shit.
2. Don't sleep near bird shit.
If you are able to somehow wrestle your will from doing these two tempting things, you should be in the clear.
And if I start a blog entry in six months with "Alas, dear cyberfriends, the bird flu has me in the clutches of its large talons. I have sprouted clucks and have begun tilting my head to the side when looking at my dinner. The end is nigh", feel free to remind of this post.
And don't bother writing to me telling me how misinformed I am about this. I already know I'm an idiot.
Cover your mouth when you cough,
Dim.
I really don't intend this blog to be me just blabbing about stuff that I'm sure no one cares about, but I was thinking of these wholesale club prices this weekend while I was in New York.
Now, I happen to belong to BJ's Wholesale Club, mainly because they have OK prices on large amounts of meat and I can actually buy a container of olive oil roughly the size of an Elsinore Beer vat from Strange Brew and not have to cash in my IRA.
So, I was in BJ's getting four pounds of butter. FOUR POUNDS OF BUTTER!!!! When it dawned on me: I really don't like this joint. And I think it has to do with the clientele, present company excluded, of course. But I just find that more and more of these people seem really shady in the checkout line. And I study them. Why the hell is this dude buying a 50 gallon jug of bleach, a cut of meat that looks like it was taken from a brontosaurus, a 83-pound carton of goldfish crackers, and blue jeans? That's just whacked. Something not right in the noggin.
And there was this one lady there with five kids, who were all probably three years apart, yet none of them were twins and her looks and personality made the "My doctor says I have to take a laxative" lady from David Lee Roth's "Yankee Rose" video look like Kate Beckinsale and conduct herself like Miss freaking Manners. I couldn't wait to get me and my butter out of there faster than you could say "can I have a pallet of kitty litter".
And then there was another lady behind us in line. Someone (not us) had left one of those colossal shopping carts near the checkout line. Strangely, this thing seemed to be lined with the pelts of 4 or 5 Oscar the Grouches. Don't ask. Anyway, this lady behind us starts contorting her face and wretching her body because this titanic cart is in her way. And she asks me, buyer of only four pounds of butter, "Is this yours??" Now come on. I'm not a big dude, but even my girlie man hands and biceps are able to corral four pounds of butter with minimum to moderate effort. I look back and shake my head. Instead, I really wanted to say, "Are you out of your mind?? All I have is four pounds of butter! No! The cart isn't mine. And why the hell are you buying 3 metric tons of pickled cauliflower???"
So, if you are good looking, have an IQ north of Cro-Magnon man, and not a sociopathic whacko, please join one of these wholesale clubs. Let's balance things out a little.
On to the bird flu. This reeks of Y2K to me. Bottled water, canned goods (both things you can luckily buy in bulk at BJ's). End-of-the-world type stuff. Now, I don't care if this is a government conspiracy or not. I'm certainly not going to get my feathers ruffled, so to speak. They keep talking, "IF this thing mutates..." Well, IF hostile cucumbers from the Horsehead Nebula decide they don't like the color silver of my Ford Taurus and want to irradiate me..." I just can't be bothered. I just have more important things to worry about. Like who the hell really needs a 256 ounce can of cumin??
Anyway, if you are really worried about the bird flu, here's my survival guide.
1. Don't eat bird shit.
2. Don't sleep near bird shit.
If you are able to somehow wrestle your will from doing these two tempting things, you should be in the clear.
And if I start a blog entry in six months with "Alas, dear cyberfriends, the bird flu has me in the clutches of its large talons. I have sprouted clucks and have begun tilting my head to the side when looking at my dinner. The end is nigh", feel free to remind of this post.
And don't bother writing to me telling me how misinformed I am about this. I already know I'm an idiot.
Cover your mouth when you cough,
Dim.
posted by Dim at 11/06/2005 04:12:00 PM
3 Comments:
Alas, Rod has left you spamment. I welcomed you to the blogosphere earlier, now allow me to welcome you to the world of spam commenters.
I, on the other hand, am commenting because I laughed out loud about 7 times while reading this post. Hilarous.
Thanks Rusty! You are, by far, the friendliest member of the blogosphere I have encountered. You leave comments! That rocks.
Yeah, we do share a brain sometimes...
Better you than most!
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