Grape is so great, you know? They should call it Great Grape. And grape products have been really making a come-back lately. You see grape-flavored toothpaste, and grape preserves and grapes in pasta.
Wherever you look in food news today, it’s all about grape. And not only regular grape stuff, but also all sorts of other grape-related foods like fruit, nuts, and oupon.
Pardon me, do you have any grape oupon?
No but boy do you have some grapenuts.
“Oh boy, that Mary J can sure sing great,” said Tom obligingly.
I have written a little song in honor of the man who I imagine might have once upon a time invented the alphabet.
Here’s the chorus:
He’s a beekeeper with a capital bee;
A sea captain with a capital sea;
A teetotaller with a capital tea;
What a bloody great chap is he (is he).
“The soup is quite bland –
Throw in some croutons, baby”,
said Tom wontonly.
“Singing with my boys;
Now I’ve had about enough”,
Said Tom gleefully.
Would you like to hear my new composition? It is going to be a sophisticated tuba/saxophone duet in B flat. It’s going to be kinda syncopated and kinda klezmer-ey and it has words too. And it’s political. Here is the chorus:
John Phillip Souza / He’d love to abuse ya
That’s all I got for now.
Ever had a mad craving for an omelet? I came home from work the other night absolutely famished. And I’d been thinking about that damn omelet all day. How I was going to slice up some chives and sautee some mushrooms and make me a big ole piece of toast to go with it. I started pulling out spices and chili peppers and everything when I realized there weren’t any eggs in the house because my inconsiderate roommate uses them all up and then conveniently forgets to pick up more.
So I got on my bike and rode like a crazed, muttering, egg-obsessive lunatic towards the store and when I got there they were just closing. I yelled “My eggs! I need just three eggs! Pleeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaase!”, but it totally didn’t help because like I said, they were closing already and didn’t care.
After my temper tantrum was over, I got off my bike and crossed the street. I heard a noise and then I noticed a window opening four stories up from an apartment building and a rope came down with a basket attached. The basket was slowly lowered down to street level. I couldn’t actually see anyone at the window but I knew there was a message for me. When I picked up the basket there were three beautiful eggs in it. And there was writing on the eggs. One of them said “just”, one said “for” and one said “you”.
So I yelled thanks and went home and made the best &^%$#@! omelet you ever had.
Dude, talk about Deus Eggs Machina.
Ever noticed how the Swedes never award themselves Nobel prizes? If you were unfortunate enough to have been born in Sweden, the chances of you ever getting a Nobel prize are slim indeed, my friend.
That’s right. They can Swedish it out, but they can’t take it.
This just in from Reuters Oddly Enough: doom, doom, doom. As predicted in the bible. They’re killing off the hyphens!
The latest edition of the Shorter Oxford English Dictionary has changed cry-baby to crybaby. Oh, the shame of it.
We at the schplog are mystified, horrified and deep-fried. Oh-no, we re-mark pitifully! And woe betide will-o’-the-whisp, cat-o’-nine-tails, tam-o’-shanter and the myriad words of that ilk. Dash-it-all!
Just for that, no posting to-morrow!
What did the rabbi say to the Pope?
Good yontif, pontiff.
