Albuterol For The Soul – LittleCubeNews.com

Let me first thank my friend who got me a crock pot as a housewarming present, along with four plastic freezer mugs that have little footballs on the side (great for Sundays!). While I’m thankful for everyone’s generosity, some would say the pot looks even better when compared to other gifts: a free book on mortgages from someone’s work, someone’s rear-view window ornament, and a DVD someone accidentally bought for themselves without knowing a better, special edition existed. Here’s the recipe for Nathan’s Cran-Tard Pork:

1-16oz Can of Cranberry Sauce
4 Tbs. Dijon Mustard
3 Tbs. Fresh Lemon Juice
3 Tbs. Brown Sugar
3 Pork Tenderloins
1 Lb. Beets

Notice, the beets are optional. I only include them in all my recipes so the clever title of these columns make sense – and the eventual name of the book as well, Crock Rockin’ Beets: 101 Recipes to Improve Your Health with a Crock Pot and Beets. Anyway, take all the ingredients above and mix them with a wooden spoon. When you are done, it should look like three alien slugs from the 1986 movie Night of the Creeps soaking in a vat of fetal liquid.

After ten hours of cooking on low, it should look even worse, but will taste amazing – a marinated, loose-meat heaven.

1/2 Part Diet Vanilla Pepsi
1/2 Part Milk
Add Vodka to Taste

Stir and add little icecubes for coldness. Warning: If you like drinks that give you signals to “slow down” or “stop” because you are drinking too much of them, this is not for you. A Dirty Nathan will sneak up behind you. It may also give you superhuman strength, though, as I have recently discovered there is a chance you will wake up in bed with a toilet handle clutched in one hand. Also, some people have warned if you like drinks that “taste good” this may not be for you.

This is the first in a series, I hope, to ask the above question… so anyway, I woke up in the middle of the night a few weeks ago, and typically, could not fall asleep again. So I took the opportunity to heat up a foot-long, chicken-parm from Subway. Then I ate it while looking at pictures of baby animals. I was probably too tired to think about napkins so I wiped my hands on my underwear. The next morning I stopped in my tracks as I walked through the bathroom and thought to myself, “Is that blood?” Of course, it was only smears of marinara sauce all over my shorts. It took me a few moments to realize this, during which time I also said to myself, “Yes, it’s blood – it finally happened.” This is the most disturbing part to me because I don’t know what “it” refers to, but I am apparently expecting “it” to happen someday which will leave me with no memory and blood all over my boxer briefs.

I have no problem with stuffed animals. In fact, I have purchased a karate outfit for one stuffed bear and some knickers for another, neither of them mine. Once, I went into Build-a-Bear and a girl asked me if I needed some help. I replied, “Just shopping for a friend.” I had meant a human acquaintence of mine who owned a stuffed animal, but by the look on her face then and later when I was buying the pint-sized boxer briefs, she obviously thought I was talking about my “best friend in the world” – like maybe a stuffed monkey named Pepsi sitting on my couch waiting for me to get home with his present. It didn’t even bother me that much. What does bother me is the teddy bear sitting on a bookshelf in the classroom full of children at the school I work. She needs some underwear.

Our new non-profit sister site www.thetravelingunderpants.com

Hi.

You were standing in front of me in the Subway at Miller and Indian School. The only reason I noticed is because you were wearing a black tube top which revealed an ample and well-received chest. Perhaps you noticed me pretending not to stare at it? The only reason I mention it now is because you eventually smiled at me, which I’m fairly certain meant you were open to a relationship, even if it was just a brief, unplanned one shortly after your combo lunch deal.

I think you initially smiled because the sandwich maker refused to give me a foot-long steak with cold meat because “it was against store policy” and he “couldn’t let me walk out the door with unheated steak”. You wordlessly conveyed the familiar “What a Nazi!” sentiment with nothing but an expression. Of course, I had no idea how to follow up your receptive demeanor, a demeanor which was augmented by the amount of visible tattoos that clearly implied you did not take life so seriously that you were opposed to casual sex in the middle of the day with a stranger. Oh, I just stood there and nodded. I admit… I blew it.

At his point, I understand I don’t deserve a second chance. However, something about the length of your fingernails, absurd glossiness of your lipstick, pierced nose… I don’t really know, but something suggested there may at least be a wealth of pictures of you on the internet somewhere. Maybe you can send me a link and perhaps a free password?

Comparing any two movies based on video games is kind of like comparing the two great polar metal epics of the late 80’s – Iron Maiden’s “Stranger in a Strange Land” (about a caveman waking up after centuries frozen in a glacier) and Metallica’s “Trapped Under Ice” (about slowly drowning under a sheet of ice). They are both equal, except that the songs are equally awesome, while any two movies based on video games are equally crappy. Silent Hill will do nothing to invalidate this equation. The only thing these types of movies have going for them is that they can try to write their horrible computer effects off as an “homage” to their origins. But as usual, as in this case, they quickly become a reminder of where only source material this lame could possibly come from. Positively, the one place that Silent Hill differentiates itself is that if you think about it for a little while (not recommended), it almost makes sense. Most people who rent this are probably just looking to get their Bean on (Sean plays the dad) and he’s barely in it, anyway.