The Story of Watson: The Breakfast Thief

I've talked about cats and dogs before, but this time it's personal.

This is the story of Watson, a mini wired-hair dachshund.
Here he is.

Isn't he cute?
Isn't he nice looking?
Doesn't he seem like a nice, fun, awesome dog?

It's a lie. All lies.
He's a double agent. A traitor.
Let me cartoonify him first.

Because you deserved it. Traitor.

One day, I decided to take some time and make Eggs Benedict for breakfast (point of information: this was at my parent's house, and Watson is my parent's dog).

What is eggs benedict, you ask? Let me draw it out for you.

So I just finish making this concoction of deliciousness, this edible monument to engineering. I place it on the table, and go to quickly clean the dishes before eating it, as I don't like to eat lava.

Now is a good time to mention that dogs are simple creatures with very simple minds...

This dog, with a height or like 8 inches, JUMPED onto the chair, HOPPED onto the table, and ATE BOTH EGGS BENEDICT I MADE.

And then ran off.

All before I even freaking realized what was happening.

It was gone. All the work (which is more than you think) was eaten in the space of a minute. By Watson the dog.

And the plate was licked clean.

It was a most grievous error. I spent the rest of the day playing Indoor Safari with a nerf gun, stalking the Puppy Errant and shooting him with the foam darts.

Because, well, you can't actually be angry at a dog that cute.

"Soon I shall be the Bacon King!"

Comments Welcome!

Thankfulness in Fruitlessness

Ah Thanksgiving, the only holiday where we claim we’re thankful, and then spend the next few days literally killing people to get more stuff we want.

It’s the American way! Whoo!

When you’re jobless, the sales and bargains don’t apply to you because you’re already thankful for what you have you can’t afford anything anyways.

So, naturally, one has to get creative as to what to be thankful for.

It’s the simple things, really. And, yes, before MaterBaconia and LavaGirl and assorted friends, family members, and talking sinks start yelling at me: Yes. I am supremely, and very very VERY thankful for each and every one of you. You’ve molded me into the (psychotic) person I am, and you keep me going.

Thank you for being who you are, and for helping me figure out who I am.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.

And Upon this Bacon I Shall Eat More Bacon

My brain is ceasing to function right now, so today is all about one thing.

BACON.

Congratulations. You are now a full member of the Church of Bacon (fully compatible with most religions). Welcome aboard.

To fully appreciate Bacon, however, it is clear to me that there need to be certain rules...

And now, onto the Proper Handling and Cooking of Bacon (I'd call it "kosher," but that'd be too ironic).

HANDLING AND STORAGE

1. Always handle your bacon lovingly and tenderly, like a newborn infant.

   

   And Patriotic

2. Be sure to refrigerate your bacon if you're going to use it before the expiration date. Otherwise, put it in cryogenic stasis.
   

MOST CORRECT METHOD OF COOKING BACON.

(And yes, I said cooking. Do NOT buy "precooked" bacon. Equate "precooked" with "subpar bacon-like substance taken from the unholy offspring of a turtle and a lobster." If you used precooked bacon, may God have mercy upon your soul).

1. Take an oven-safe tray (baking sheet, car hood, etc.) and cover it with tin foil to prevent the aliens from locking onto your bacon signature (and making clean up easier). 

2. Place bacon on the tray.

3. Place it in the oven.

4. *NOW* Set the oven to 400 degrees Fahrenheit, or 204 degrees Celsius if you're one of those pesky metric unit people. [Special Note: This is considered "a bit chilly" by LavaGirl]

5. Set a timer for 15 minutes. Once that's up, check the bacon. If it is doesn't look done or you want it crispier, leave it in, but be careful as you approach the 20 minute mark. If it looks good, it IS good. Take it out.

6. Eat your Bacon in its glory.

Yes, I know I've been completely off-topic these past few days. It's just that my brain has been rebelling against ever attempt to wrestle it into control.

~BlueCru

Products for Lava Girl

As discussed in a previous post, LavaGirl (the woman I'm engaged to) has some... peculiarities when it comes to her "ideal temperature" for consuming food and drink.

"If it doesn't melt my tastebuds, then I don't want it."

Naturally, it is difficult to find products that will reach such extreme temperatures... or even companies willing to produce them.

But, somehow, there's always at least one shady, creepy company or person willing to design something so skin-meltingly crazy it meets the bar.

And, my personal favorite...

"Now with THRUST VECTORING!"

Oh the things that girl does...

I date lava girl

Yesterday Fiancée and I went out on a date to a local bar.

Finally.

It was just a small place, nothing too flashy or exciting. We figured just order a few appetizers and beers and call it a night. We ordered beer-battered french fries and I nearly died out of happiness.

Some time later, our french fries were depleted, and there was much sorrow. To stave off the oncoming darkness, we got jalapeño poppers. They were fresh out of the fryer, which meant that the cheese inside the popper was a temperate 8000°C. 

Tastebuds were lost.

Meanwhile on the feminine side of the table, all was well.

It took me three years to realize that I was dating Lava Girl. The proof was all around me. At coffee places...

Restaurants...

Hell, even campfires

The REAL kicker is that, whenever we cook something, who's the taste tester? 

Me.

Actual quote.

The female mind is a curious, strange thing. Best to stay away.

An unknown artist's interpretation of the feminine mind.

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