Thursday, February 22, 2007

Which came first the chicken or flavored water?

Scientists have come out with a report that says you do not need to drink eight glasses of water a day. After three years and hundreds of thousands of dollars scientists have concluded that…

You only need to drink...............

Wait for it……..

When you're thirsty.


I’m fairly confident that this one scientific discovery will save our planet from the rising sea levels caused by Global Warming.


Has anyone checked to see if maybe the sea levels are rising because people are just peeing too much?

Is it just a coincidence that they started telling people to drink eight glasses a day at the same time they now believe global warming started?

If people would only drink when they’re thirsty we could save our planet.

Well maybe not the whole planet.

I think Fiji and South Dakota are still basically screwed.

Not only could this save the planet it may actually shorten up the ladies line at the stadium, ballpark, movies etc.

We all see those long pee lines outside the women’s restrooms.

I think it’s because a lot of women walk around with bottled water. They’ve got to drink water, got to have those eight glasses a day.

Drink, drink, drink, water, water, water!!!

So they spend half the day in the restroom.

Meanwhile people that really need to pee are screwed.

Drink, drink, drink, water, water, water!!!

I love these health nuts that drink the vitamin enhanced “flavored” waters.

Water enhanced with vitamins.


They’re also “flavored” with “High Fructose Corn Syrup”.

Umm….. That’s no longer water.

That’s diabetes in a bottle.

Water has “zero” calories.

As in nothing, nada, zip.

Most of these flavored waters have 50 to 80 calories a serving. There are usually 2 servings per bottle.

So if you’re stupid enough to be drinking eight glasses of this crap a day you’re going to end up in a sugar induced coma taking up space in the pee line.

The only flavored water that’s okay is “Propel”. It only has about 30 calories in a bottle. I think they named it “Propel” because of how hard you’ll pee after you drink eight bottles of the stuff.

But I’m not a scientist.

I could be wrong.

Does it not make you nuts listening to these “scientists”, “doctors”, and “experts” constantly changing their minds?





I guess it depends on who these scientists are working for.

50 years ago “scientists” were saying smoking menthol cigarettes could actually help you “breathe” better.


I’m actually okay with the “don’t eat eggs” thing.

I’m mean... let’s face it.

An egg is the only thing on the planet that doesn’t taste “just like chicken”.

And if the only thing you’re eating is the white stuff.... uh... you’re basically eating slime.

Eggs are one of the only two foods that I don’t ever eat.

I don’t eat eggs and I never eat mayonnaise or anything made with mayonnaise.


I hate mayonnaise.

I almost got into a fight once in a supposedly “Italian” deli because they put mayonnaise on a torpedo sandwich and then HEATED it up!!!!!


There needs to be a law!!!!

You don’t ever put mayo on salami, mortadella, pepperoni or proscuito!!!!



I found out later the owners were Syrians.


No one ever got a good torpedo sandwich in Syria.

Maybe it’s because good Italian meats have to be blessed by the pope.


Well they should be.

I’ll bet I could find a scientist that says so.

Tuesday, February 13, 2007

Happy Valentines Day to all the people with big butts.

The Sunday dinner is a tradition in our house. When my boys were growing up they were allowed to bring anyone over for Sunday dinner. When they were teenagers it felt like we were feeding an army but their friends all knew that on Sunday they could count on a good home cooked meal. My nickname to them was "Big Dog" and it still is today. For some reason we always had leftovers. It didn’t matter if we were serving six or sixteen there were always doggy bags for them to take home.

The best part of Sunday dinner was the conversation. It was a wealth of comic material and I can see it will continue with my grandkids if last Sunday’s conversation with my four year old grandson at dinner is any indication.


“Yes Alex.”

“I’m confused.”

“What are you confused about?”


“Daaaaad…. Watch what you say.”

“Relax A.J. I’m talking to my grandson.”

“Well girls can be pretty confusing. Look at me. I’ve known your gramma for 32 years. I’m always confused.”


“Careful Calabrese.”

“I think you’re going to get in trouble again Poppa.”

“Don’t worry. What about girls confuse you?”

“They’re always kissing me.”

“On the lips?”




“Who’s kissing you? Pearl?”

“No Poppa not Pearl.”

“I thought Pearl was your girlfriend.”

“She’s my ex-girlfriend.”

“Uh… then who’s kissing you?”


“Is she your girlfriend?”

“She is now.”

“Well okay then. So your girlfriend Jocelyn is always kissing you.”


“And that’s confusing?”


“Now I’m confused.”

“I want to kiss Ann Marie.”

“Um…. I see… well….”

“Watch it dad.”

“Calabrese if you want to sleep with one eye open…..”

“So Ann Marie is pretty cute?”

“She’s a hottie.”

“Let the record show that he said it not me. So does Ann Marie want to kiss you?”

“Poppa…. I said everyone wants to kiss me.”

“Well I can see why you’re confused.”

“Alex, Poppa is going to give you a little advice.”

“Please dad, don’t do it.”

“I’m watching you Calabrese.”

“I believe it was the late great Milton Bradley or possibly Fred Mertz that said, “Show me the hottest woman in the world and I’ll show you a guy who’s tired of …..”




“BIG DOG!!!!!”


“…. Kissing her.”

“I’m not kissing Ann Marie. I said I WANT to kiss Ann Marie.”

“I told you people to relax. You see Alex women are pretty much all the same.”

“Not the old ones.”

“Uh…. Especially the old ones.”

“Not the fat ones.”

“Uh…. Even the fat ones. There’s an old expression Alex, “Size doesn’t matter.”

“OH GOD!!! DAD!!!!”

“It sure doesn’t.”

“OH GOD!!! MOM!!!!”

“Thanks babe.”

“Poppa… It matters to me.”

“Here’s the thing. You want to be nice to all the girls. You never know what anyone is going to grow up to be. A girl you would never think of as being your girlfriend now could be your girlfriend when you’re sixteen.”

“I don’t think so Poppa.”

“Why not Alex?”

“Because when I’m sixteen I’ll be married to Ann Marie.”

“Okay then….as long as you have it worked out.”

“Then she’ll have to kiss me.”

“Yep. Once you’re married they pretty much have to kiss you.”

“Wanna bet Calabrese?”

“So are you giving a Valentine to Ann Marie?”

“I’m giving a Valentine to EVERYBODY.”

“To everyone?”

“Miss Rose said we have to.”

“Miss Rose is your teacher?”

“Yep. She’s fat.”

“Um…. I’m sure it’s just glandular.”

“She has a big butt.”

“That’s glandular alright.”

“I have to give her a Valentine too.”

“That’s nice she’ll like that.”

“I’m not kissing her. Can I have more juice?”

“Uh… Okay someone needs to take over for me because the responses in my head right now will definitely get me into trouble.”

“You started this Dad.”

“Okay. Fine. Alex do you know what Valentines Day is all about?”

“Yep. You told me it was when all those guys got whacked in the garage.”



“Alex, I told you that’s what “happened” on Valentine’s Day not what Valentine’s Day is all about. Valentines Day is about showing other people that you can be their pal.”

“Not those guys in the garage.”

“You have a point there….”

“Alex, listen to your Gramma for a second. Valentine’s Day is a day where you get the chance to show the people you care about how much love them. You don’t have to give them cards or gifts, sometimes you just need to tell them with your own words that you love them.”

“I love you Gramma.”

“I love you too sweetie.”

Happy Valentine’s Day!!!

Thursday, February 08, 2007

2007 A Girl Scout Cookie Odyssey

In 1900 the average life expectancy was 47.3 years.

Back in the 1900 all food was “natural”.

There were no “24” hour fitness centers.

No Pilates.

No Bow Flexes.

No Jenny Craig. Um…. Wait… how old is that woman? Okay maybe there was a Jenny Craig.

We ate bread, pasta, potatoes, beef, pork, chicken, gravy and occasionally a carrot.

And we were tough.

We walked through the snow, thirty miles, to get to school and we fought Indians and Amway salesmen the whole way there.

I’m talking real tough.

In 2007 the average life expectancy is 77.6 years.

But now, 55% of our population is obese.

The other 45% need a hug.

We’re fatter but we live longer?

How is that possible?

I believe we owe it to Girl Scout Cookies.

In December of 1917 the first Girl Scout Cookies were sold by two Girl Scouts sitting outside of a Vons store in Muskogee, Oklahoma extorting money from the town’s two fat people.

Thin Mints didn’t exist yet. All they had were plain old sugar cookies. But you know what they say, “You can lead a fat man to a buffet, but you can’t make him walk back home.”

Well those cookies were so damn good that it made those two fat people happy. Happy fat people live longer than fat people who are miserable because they think they need to eat fruit and lima beans for the rest of their lives.

In 1951 the “Chocolate Mint” cookie was introduced.

Guess what the average life expectancy was in 1951?

It had risen to 66.2 years.


Sometime during the next 25 years, a famous scientist, I believe it was Jonas Salk or possibly the late great Colonel Sanders, discovered the health benefits of Girl Scout Cookies and in 1978 convinced the Girl Scouts to rename the “Chocolate Mint” cookie the “Thin mint”.

And here we are in 2007, there are now five varieties of Girl Scout Cookies and no matter how fat and out of shape we are we can expect to live to the ripe old age of 77.6.

So I say thank you Girl Scouts of America for saving lives.

Thank you for creating young entrepreneurs.

Thank you for helping to create a strong base of tax paying citizens who mainly vote Republican.

Thank you, Thank you, Thank you.

“Are you done Calabrese?”

“Yes. I think we should now all join in a rousing chorus of the song that Ethel Murman made famous. God Bless America.”

“You are not ordering Girl Scout Cookies. You’re on a diet.”

“You’re a communist.”

“Fine, order the cookies, but you have to have them sent to the troops. They cannot set foot in this house. Capiche Calabrese? Not one single Girl Scout Cookie in this house.”


“Or your car.”


“Or your office or outside your office or outside the house.”

“Come on babe one serving isn’t going to hurt me. Don’t be so negative. Think of the health benefits.”

“To you one serving is one “sleeve” of cookies.”

“What’s your point?”

“The point is those cookies are more addictive than a “Lays” potato chip. You can’t eat just one so don’t eat any.”

“I feel sad for you dear. Have you ever thought that eating a Girl Scout Cookie might be thought of as a religious experience? Don’t you believe in God? You’re not a communist and an atheist are you? Haven’t you just once looked at all the different kind of Girl Scout Cookies and asked yourself, what would Jesus eat?”

“You’re going to hell Calabrese.”

“I think he’d probably pick Tagalongs.”

“Have an apple.”

“Apples suck.”

“Then have a pear.”

“I don’t think our forefathers threw off the yoke of English tyranny by eating pears.”

“I’m done with this numb nuts. You want to eat a cookie? Have a cookie. Have ten cookies. Go ahead, order twenty boxes of them. It’s your weight and it’s your health. Go ahead, die young, you have insurance. Doesn’t bother me.”

“Are you trying psychology on me? You can’t try psychology on fat people. Not when we’re in the “zone”. I’m a Zen Foodist right now. I am one with my Thin Mints. I am eating them right now in my mind.”

“Well you can eat all the imaginary Thin Mints you want. Then worst case you get an imaginary fat ass. But I know you Calabrese, you’ll order those cookies, eat them, and then complain about how you shouldn’t have eaten those cookies and how guilty you feel and how fat you are and why did I let you eat them. Am I right?”


“So do us both a favor and have some carrots or something to kill your appetite so we don’t have to talk about those cookies!!!”

“Okay… fine… you’re right…”

“And for the record Jesus would have eaten the Samoas.”

“Well he would have eaten something other than a carrot stick that’s for damn sure.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“I complete you.”

Wednesday, February 07, 2007

Mail them an offer they can't refuse.

I have huge hands.


So you know that that means.

It means that I should never.

I repeat never.


Ever ever.

Ever ever ever.

Try to stick my hand in the opening of a mailbox to make sure my mail fell all the way down.

Especially if I am doing this at a drive thru drop off mailbox.

At night.

Wearing a watch.

You’re getting ahead of me aren’t you?

About 8:00pm last night we decide we need to have chicken.

Why so late?

Oh the usual, “What do you want for dinner?”

“Oh I dunno what do you want for dinner?”

“Anything you decide.”

“Okay Mexican food.”

“I don’t want Mexican food.”

“Well what do you want?”

“I said anything.”

So about an hour later…..

“El Pollo Loco”.

To me this was the perfect opportunity to mail the bills that have been sitting on the bar since Friday.

To kill two “birds” with one stone so to speak. (rim shot)

Now to quote Fredo Corleone.

“It ain't the way I wanted it! I can handle things! I'm smart! Not like everybody says... like dumb... I'm smart and I want respect!”

Here’s the thing.

When my wife says she needs to eat, she needs to eat. I have about an hour window to prevent Lucifer from appearing.

We had been discussing food for almost an hour.

I’m running out of time.

But I should be okay to drop of the mail and then get dinner because the post office is….

“On the way.”

When I pulled into the drive thru drop of lane I had to make the choice between the six mailboxes I could drop my mail into.

Now being “smart” I figure not to drop my mail in the mail boxes at either end because thieves might try to steal those. (I have no idea why this popped into my head. It’s a guy thing that happens when we get older and paranoid from watching too much FOX news.)

So I drop my mail into the fourth mailbox.

You know how when you drop mail down into the mailbox it normally makes that sound? Kind of like “Kerchunk.”


It didn’t make that sound.

It made a ruffled paper sound.

My mail was on top of a pile of other mail that had backed up into the mailbox!!!!

I panicked.

What if Al Qaeda reached in and stole my mail???

Terrorists could have my mail!!!!

I tried to reach down into the slot to pull my mail back out.


Like I said, I have really huge hands…..

I am now stuck in the mailbox slot.

I can feel my mail with my fingertips but I can’t pull it out. I can’t pull anything out because I am now wedged in the mailbox slot.

I try pushing my arm in to see if I can’t grab the mail and pull it out and an angle.

I now have my hand and watch stuck in the mailbox.

Cars are pulling in behind me to drop off their mail.

They’re honking.

I undo my seatbelt and half open the car door to get a better angle.

And accidentally take my foot off of the brake.

I am now stuck with my hand over my shoulder out the car window and I can’t back up because the jackass behind me moved up as I moved my car.

Well I’m not going anywhere.

Until the band on my watch breaks.

I yank my arm free and drive off humiliated.

But as I drive away I keep thinking that damn mailbox has my watch and my mail and someone is going to reach in and grab them.

So I go around the block and wait until no cars are coming and go back thru the mailbox drive thru. I know I can’t reach in there again. (because I’m smart) So I take my umbrella out of the trunk of my car (I knew I’d eventually use it for something, it’s not like I need it for rain) and try and reach in with my umbrella to scoop my watch and my mail out.

Not a good idea.

This post office Nazi comes out and starts yelling at me about government property and PRISON and whatever….

“And that’s why it took me over an hour to get your chicken.”

“You… you… I... You’re not making this up are you?”

“Look at this face. Look at it. Does this face say I’m making this up.”

“That face says you’re an idiot.”

“Stop laughing. The terrorists may have my watch and our mail.”

“Then let them make our mortgage payment.”

“I could have lost an arm.”

“Did you give the post office employee your information so they would mail your watch back to you?”

“Of course not! You never tell a postal worker where you live!”

“Uh… Okay Fredo…. Now let me eat my dinner in peace…. Hey! You forgot the salsa!”