Peeps, I may have asked this before and I may not have. Either way I swung I’m going to ask again.
When dealing with potatoes do you cutout their little eyeballs out or do you ignore them and chow down?
I have to scrub them off myself and if they don’t scrub off I carve them out. Furthermore, if said taters are looking even the slightest bit feisty (and I’m feeling a little neurotic myself), I throw them in the microwave and nuke their starchy, tuberous asses with some electromagnetic radiation. Just like Spencer and his candy bar in the 1940s.
Sure, I can look to WikiLeaks for the answer in how digestible the potato eyes are but I like to have real-time answers from you, my peer group. I’m not really interested in what the Clintons do with their’s or that Ralph Nader listens to soft core, country rap while eating his mashes.
Anyways, as a kid I was trained there were somethings you just don’t eat. Like raw cookie dough. Or cake batter. Or potato eyeballs.
So are these still valid concerns in this modern dietary age? I don’t wanna get salamejitus.
Sometimes I’m driving along, got something on my mind. And then I get the feeling that whatever I’m thinking about, well, I think that I should be worried about it.
And then I start thinking, “why the hell am I not having a panic attack?” Like this is some serious shit Why am I not freaking out? People could figuratively die. Even more than that, what will people think of me if this goes south? This could confirm that I am indeed “not enough.”
The latest issue of my magazine is now out. Woo-hoo! If you’ve seen my posts, the magazine is plumb-full of exactly that. Photos from around our lovely tri-city area, random thoughts of genius, ponderings on the men’s restroom, and insightful nonsense on daily living. It’s all true. It really is my diary.
You definitely don’t want to miss this issue. Well, you shouldn’t miss any of them really.
You can subscribe to a full year or buy single issues. Because I’m good like that. You might also find free copies in the parking garage (by the elevators) in St. Charles, at Graham’s 318 in Geneva, and I also left a handful of the last issue at Beardsgaard Barbers in Batavia this past weekend.
If you send me your address, I may even send you a free copy in the mail. Maybe. It’s only Tuesday and it’s already been a long week. I’m a man, not a magazine publishing machine.