Thursday, July 26, 2007

Friends I will remember you... think of you... EAT with you.

Have you heard?

A Harvard study just released links obesity to friends.

Apparently just by hanging out with fat people you can become fat.

And I thought people only looked like their dogs.

So what they are saying is that these diet programs where you have to go to a meeting with other fat people are in fact contributing to their fatness?

And I always thought it was the complimentary nachos.

That may explain why every diet fails.

That also explains why over eaters anonymous isn’t… well… anonymous.

If you see are large gathering of fat people it’s either a potluck, a dieters meeting or the new release of a Rosie O’Donnell video.

I sense some of you feeling a little uneasy. You’re not comfortable with me talking about fat people.

It’s okay.

I’m fat.

I can talk about it.

It’s like how white people can’t make fun of black people but black people can make fun of white people.

I’m fat so I can make fun of fat people and skinny people.

But skinny people can’t make fun of fat people.

That would be wrong.

Especially if they make fun of fat black people.

This whole friends make you fat concept is very intriguing.

Usually friends just make you so drunk you go home with whatever fat person is left at the bar.

But this is way different.

I wonder now if these gangs of skinny girls that always have the one fat girl with them to make them feel better about themselves will worry about that fat girl “turning” them.

Guys don’t care about this study. You get a group of guys together and tell us that if we hang out with fat people we could gain weight we’ll take it as a personal challenge and order the pizza and beer.

This is one of those studies that just didn’t need to exist.

You can’t get fat hanging out with fat people.

There are no calories in hanging out.

You get fat by eating the crap that fat people eat.

I know.

I’ve done it.

But let’s face it. It’s more fun to hang out with fat people.

Fat people love to watch TV or go to the movies. They have pizza and popcorn and milk duds and slurpees and torpedo sandwiches and they drink beer and tequila.

Skinny people never have anything good to eat with them.

Skinny people make a meal out of a carrot and a stick.

Skinny people think a gourmet meal is something frozen with the word “cuisine” in the title.

Skinny people love to exercise.

Fat people love to relax.

Fat people end up dying.

Skinny people end up dying.

Skinny people don’t need as many people to carry their coffin.

Fat people shouldn’t be cremated because of the fire risks.

Most fat people have a great sense of humor.

Most skinny people look so tense they could swallow a lump of coal and a diamond would shoot out of their ass.

Am I wrong?

Take a skinny person to an Italian restaurant and they’ll go into convulsions trying to figure out what they can eat.

Fat people just order.

A lot.

Fat people tip big. They want the waiters or waitresses to remember them. They hope that next time they'll bring them extra food.

Skinny people don’t eat out enough to know how to tip.

Fat people look good at the wheel of an RV at the stadium eating hot dogs.

Skinny people think they look good driving minivans with a cup from Starbucks on the dashboard.

Skinny people go to the beach and get sand in their cracks.

Fat people watch reruns of Baywatch and get Doritos in their cracks.

When a fat person says he’s making a “run” to the store it means he’s out of peanut butter.

When a skinny person says he’s making a “run” to the store…

He’s actually running to the store.

So with all these proven differences that I’ve pointed out it’s pretty obvious to me that those researchers from Harvard were smoking crack.

People are fat because they eat too much.

People are skinny because they want to get laid.

If you’re fat you can’t get skinny hanging out with skinny people.

All you get is hungry.

If you’re skinny you can’t get fat hanging out with fat people.

All you get is whatever is left after the fat people eat.

So save your research dollars and buy a cheeseburger and a chocolate shake and feed a homeless skinny person.

Better yet go down to the airport and get some free terrorist cheese.

Wednesday, July 25, 2007

Make love, not cheese.

I can put up with a lot.

I can deal with E-Coli scares.

I can survive salmonella.

I can handle a few fingers accidentally left in my Chili.

But for the love of god don’t turn my cheese into a weapon!!!

Have you heard about this?

Terrorists are smuggling blocks of cheese with wires and batteries and timers attached to them in their luggage.

At first I was really angry.

They’re trying to blow up our cheese!!!!

F@#*%*g communists!!!!

What’s happening to a world where there’s no respect for the cheese?

Then I thought…. Well… I’ve been a little bloated from too much cheese but I’ve never seen cheese blow up.

I don’t think cheese itself will actually burst into flame and shrapnel.

Although it does seem that way sometimes.

When you eat too much of it.

If you know what I mean.

I wonder what kind of cheese these terrorists were smuggling.

I don’t know any good Muslim cheeses.

Come to think of it I don’t know any Muslim cheeses.

I have a lot of cheese experience and I’ve never even heard of a Muslim cheese.

Especially one that explodes.

Then I thought that maybe our war on terror was finally working.

We have succeeded in cutting off the supply of actual explosives so now these people are making bombs out of cheese.

And people think George W. Bush isn’t doing a good job.

He’s got the evil doers resorting to incendiary cheese.

Cheese of mass destruction.

I can’t wait to see how many of the democrats say they never eat cheese.

Hillary eats cheese.

Look at those calves.

Trust me she eats a lot of cheese.

Has anyone checked to see if Dick Cheney owns a dairy?

Maybe it has something to do with methane.

Cows produce methane.

Methane is flammable.

Cows produce milk.

Cheese comes from milk.


Flammable cheese.

I did some long hard research on this, Wikopedia, and there’s a cheese in the Middle East called “Jibneh Arabieh”.

That even sounds like a terrorist’s name.

If a guy gets on a plane and his name happens to be “Jibneh Arabieh bin Laden” then we’re going to have a real problem.

I think the dairy industry is really going to be challenged here. I have this horrible feeling we’re going to see a press release promising the American public that U.S. made cheese does not explode.

In California we have the “Good cheese comes from happy cows.” ads all over the place. I can’t wait until the cows are dressed in full battle gear and a helmet and the ads say, “Good cheese, good old American cheese comes from good old American cows. Happy cows, tough cows, patriotic cows. God bless our cows.”

Actually I would have Clint Eastwood as “Dirty Cheddar” and his tag line would be,

“I know what you're thinking. "Did he eat six pieces of cheese or only five?" Well, to tell you the truth, in all this excitement I kind of lost track myself. But being this is Vieux Boulogne, the stinkiest cheese in the world, eat too much of it and it will blow your asshole clean off, you've got to ask yourself a question: Do I feel lucky? Well, do ya, punk?”

“Go ahead, eat my cheese.”

Now that’s an ad.

But seriously folks our friends at the TSA released a bulletin alerting airport security officials to look out for terrorists practicing to carry explosive components onto aircraft.

One of those components was cheese. Blocks of cheese.

I found the quotes from the TSA officials a tad disturbing.

“The unusual nature and increase in number of these improvised items raise concern.”

Um… Are you kidding me? ONE block of cheese with wires and electrical crap attached to it is going to raise my concern!

“There is no credible, specific threat here,” TSA spokeswoman Ellen Howe said Tuesday. “Don’t panic. We do these things all the time.”

Huh? No credible specific threat? Don’t panic? They do these things all the time?

Anytime anyone from the government tells you not to panic bend over, stick your head between your knees and grab your ankles.

Who puts cheese in their luggage? I want to know the names of the people that put cheese in their luggage. Why don’t they publish the names? If there are a lot of people named Mohammed putting wired cheese in their luggage that’s a pretty specific threat in my book.

If the guys name is Pedro then I’m not that concerned. A guy named Pedro will never blow up himself or his cheese.

“During the past six months TSA has produced more than 90 unclassified bulletins of this nature on a wide variety of security-related subjects.”


Of this nature?

How much cheese are we talking about here?

If these are the unclassified ones what do the classified cheese warning bulletins have to say?

I want a congressional investigation! I want a senate committee on cheese weapons!

They could sit at a table that looks like a big cheese wheel.

We could serve a good cheddar or a gouda or a .......

Cheese in the luggage.......


What's next?

Exploding hams?

I'm just waiting for airport security to ask me, "Has your cheese ever left your sight? Are you carrying any cheese from other people? Did you pack your own cheese?"



Tuesday, July 24, 2007

So now what?

So I’m 50.

I spent two weeks celebrating my 50th B-day.

Now it’s over.

The big “5” “0”.



Now what?

Seriously, I’m asking a question here.

What the hell do I do now?

Part of me thinks I should become a great philosopher and religious leader and impart my wisdom upon the world.

I would call myself “Fuddha” and my followers would be called “Foodists”. They would wear clothing made out of pasta and they would roam the countryside passing out pizza and marshmallows singings songs about veal sautéed in butter and white wine.

It would become the age of diet enlightenment.

Anyone associated with the word “exercise” would be stoned to death with hardened sourdough rolls.

FOOD News would become the new news channel and giving nothing but fair and balanced diet reporting by a renewed chubby Rush Limbaugh.

Oprah would become her fat jolly self again and lead scores of celebrities to the Foodist cause.

A monument to the “Twinkie” would be put up next to the Washington Monument and thousands would visit it every year leaving bags of peanut covered M & M’s for the poor.

A statue of the fat Elvis would be erected next to the Lincoln Memorial depicting him sitting on the toilet eating a peanut butter and banana sandwich.

And the world would be a happy place.


Too far on the Elvis thing?

Well I have to come up with something.

I know stuff now.

I have five decades worth of valuable info stored up in my head.

Things I’ve learned about communism and the meaning of the word hunger and how far I had to be driven on a sunny day to get to school and stuff.

I’ve learned that nodding and grunting every once in a while can make a woman think you care about whatever it is she thinks you heard long enough for you to get out of the room.

I’ve learned that my wife reads what I write so I’ll get punched for that last thing I learned.

I’ve learned to understand women, a little, and that even if I understand them it doesn’t matter. Understanding something doesn’t change it. It just makes it more frustrating to deal with until you finally lapse into a coma so your brain doesn’t explode.

Okay maybe not a coma.

It’s more of a nap.

I’ve learned that what you don’t know “can” hurt you.

Usually when you’re napping.

She’ll punch me for that one too.

While I’m awake.

I’ve learned that it’s important to have a good education and you can get a good education in places other than school.

I’ve learned that education is no substitute for good people skills and a baseball bat.

I’ve learned that no one earns a degree in asshole but it sure seems that way sometime.

I’ve learned that if there is a God he or she seems to love war, death, violence, country western music and sand. But not foreigners, especially the French or illegal Mexicans or infidels.

God hates the infidels.

Wasn’t that the name of a 70’s disco band?

“Sister Sledge and the Infidels.”

It had to be.

I remember the 70’s.

All the discos were filled with Arabs.

I’ve learned that everything that tastes good is bad for you until they find a way to screw up the taste and make it the “healthy alternative.”

I’ve learned that all politicians are corrupt and full of crap. Okay I didn’t really learn that. That’s what we call a “given”.

I’ve learned that it doesn’t matter whether you are on the far right or the far left you’ve already convinced yourself of your own bull shit and you’re never going to listen to the other side.

I’ve learned that no one is ever passionate about “common sense.”

I’ve learned you can’t win a land war in Asia.

Or an argument with a woman.

Especially women from Asia.

Or Portugal.

I’ve learned you love your children unconditionally until they learn how to drive, develop their own taste in music and want their own phone.

I’ve learned that spoiling your grandkids is great payback.

I’ve learned that no matter how skinny you get you’re still going to die.

Probably hungry.

I’ve learned that “what happens in Vegas” is only what your wife will let happen to you in Vegas once she takes your ATM and credit cards.

I’ve learned that rarely, if ever, does a plan no matter how well thought out, not need to be altered on the fly.

I’ve learned that being flexible can be painful.

Especially if you have bad hips.

I’ve learned a lot of other crap too but I’ve also learned that if you write too long a blog post no one is going to read it.

So I leave you with a question?

What have you learned?

Thursday, July 05, 2007

It's a bird, it's a plane, it's a fishing rod?

I’ve seen all kinds of stupid in my life.

All kinds.

But there is something that I just saw that now cracks the top ten.

The “FishPen.”

“The Coleman FishPen is the amazing fishing pole that lets you fish anytime.”

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been to Sea World and thought, “Damn, if I only had a fishing pole on me right now.”

This is hillbilly stupid. I would love to interview someone from Coleman about the “FishPen”.

“So it’s a pen that is also a fishing pole?”

“Um… No… It’s not a pen. You can’t write with it. It just looks like a pen.”

“So you keep it in your pocket and people think it’s just a pen but you can whip it out in a moments notice to get into the hot fishing action?”

“Um… No…You have to attach the reel.”

“Does the reel look like a pen?”

“Um… No… It looks like a reel.”

“So all you have in your pocket is a fishing pole?”

“Well the reel is small enough to fit in a pocket too.”

“So my friends might walk up to me and say, “Hey Tony is that the reel of a FishPen in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?”

“I suppose.”

“What about the hooks and line and lures and stuff?”

“There in the handy FishPen carrying case.”

There’s a carrying case for the FishPen?”

“Yes it comes with it’s own case for the FishPen, the Reel, the lures and line and hooks and it fits in the glove box of your car.”

“Then why would you put the FishPen pole in your pocket?”

“Um… Well… See… it telescopes out into a pole. You just reach in to your pocket and in one motion you can flick and whip it into a pole… It’s in your pocket… A pole… It collapses… Into a pen… “

“A pen that doesn’t actually write.”

“No... but it looks like a pen.”

Why are they marketing this as a fishing pole?

I have a better idea.

“Parents, teachers, disgruntled office workers, have you ever had a moment where you wished you had a pole to whip someone with?”

“Now you can with the amazing WhipPen!!!”

“It looks like a harmless pen but in an instant transforms into a notched pole to keep children or non English speaking office workers at bay!!!”

"But wait! There's more!"

“Duct tape an actual pen to the WhipPen and your WhipPen transforms into a real pen!!!”

“That’s right unlike some products that only claim to be a pen this pen actually writes!!! Write hostage demands, hold up notes, suicide notes, grocery lists and more!!!”

“But wait! There’s more!”

“The amazing WhipPen can also be used to get out of boring business meetings or conversations with women. Just pretend you want to take notes and then complain you’re “pen” is out of ink you need to go get another one. Then don’t come back!!!”

“But wait! There’s more!”

"The amazing WhipPen can also be used as a fishing rod!!! That's right! How many times have you been to an aquarium and thought, "What a waste, those rare tropical fish look awfully tasty"?

"Well drool no longer! We'll included the "Pocket Rocket" vibrating fishing reel with every WhipPen!!! It even comes in it's own intimate carrying case!!!"

"Women love it!!!"

"But wait! There's more!"

“How much would you expect to pay for the amazing WhipPen? $399.99? Well you won’t pay $399.99, you won’t pay $299.99 and you won’t pay $199.99!!! You can have the amazing WhipPen at the TV special price of $99.99!!!

“But wait! There’s more!”

“Buy one WhipPen and we’ll send you two additional WhipPens absolutely free, just pay $85 for shipping and handling, that’s a $200 value absolutely free!!!”

“Now the whole family can enjoy the amazing WhipPen!!! Whip the family dog, the neighbors dog, you can even whip your neighbor!!!”

“The amazing WhipPen! Spoil the rod, spare everyone!!!”

Where’s Ron Popeil when we need him?

Monday, July 02, 2007

Everything changes....

I miss godless communism.

There was much less tension in the world when all we had to worry about was nuclear holocaust.

I miss the days when you talked about Iraq everyone thought you were talking about some new type of Chevy Camaro.

Do you remember when you only drank water when you were thirsty?

Don’t you miss the days when the only “pods” you heard about were in the movie, “Invasion of the Body Snatchers.”

Remember when the only time you were buying something “online” was because you were standing in one at Sears? (A Sears with more than one checkout counter.)

Remember when a “Global Positioning System” was your recliner?

So I got a new car.

I made the mistake of telling people I was going to get a new car.

So I was bombarded by people telling to me to get a Mercedes or a BMW.

I couldn’t do it.

Those cars are German.

I’m Italian.

In my mind if I got a German car it would always be trying to get even with me for us switching sides in WWII.

I’m not buying anything German unless it’s hotdog at Wienerschnitzel.

Then they started in on me about buying a Lexus, Infiniti, Acura, even a Volvo.

A Volvo?

How can anybody buy a car that sounds like another one of those secret body parts on women that a man can never find?

I've been married for twenty nine years.

I’m used to driving an automatic.

How do you take that for a test drive?

So I just went with another good old fashioned Cadillac.

I know, I know…. boring.

I like my Cadillac.

It’s got a nice trunk.

The salesman at the Cadillac dealer wanted to sell me an STS with a GPS, Global Positioning System.

Now someone tell me why I need a “Global Positioning System” in my Cadillac?

If I want to know where I’m going, trust me, my wife will tell me.

Apparently salesmen get some kind of special award, like 72 virgins, for selling you a Cadillac with GPS.

This guy wasn’t giving up.

“I don’t need GPS I have OnStar.”

“OnStar doesn’t have a map.”

“I don’t need a map, OnStar talks to me.”

“GPS talks to you and has a map.”

“What kind of voice does GPS have?”

“What kind of voice?”

“Yes, what kind of voice? Is it a calming voice, a nagging voice or a bitchy voice? I don’t want something that sounds like Hillary Clinton.”

“It's kind of a sexy voice.”

“I’m used to the OnStar voice. She kind of reminds me of my mom without the accent. Any moment I think she’ll say, “What did you have for lunch today Anthony? A cigarette? A peck of cigarettes?”

(You have to know my mom, she couldn’t say anything that ended with “ack” it always sounded like “eck”. She also could say anything that ended in “eets” it always sounded like “its”. I loved when she announced she was going to change the “Sheets”.)

“You want a car that sounds like your mother?”

“Yes it’s very comforting.”

“Wouldn’t you like a younger sexier voice?”

“Umm…. It’s a Cadillac. Most people, when they see a Cadillac, think, “I wonder who he’s got in the trunk?”

“Not today Mr. Calabrese. Cadillac’s are very sexy. Very hip.”

“Very hip? Who says that anymore? Very hip? It’s a Cadillac. It’s not like I’d be driving a Volvo.”

“A Volvo?”

“Never mind.”

So no GPS, I have basically the same car I had before with one major difference.”

“OnStar ready.”

“Who are you?”

“OnStar ready.”

“You not my mom’s voice.”

“You can say store, delete, dial, call…. OnStar ready.”

“Crap. You sound like my eighth grade teacher, Sister Ursula.”

“Shut up and drive Mr. Calabrese or you’ll be cleaning the blackboards in detention for a week.”


“OnStar ready.”

I should have gotten a Volvo.