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You are what you eat . . . with

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High-class socialites who use utensils that look like they are made for torture

Regular old folks who are comfortable with sporks

Have you ever really thought about how deep and wide the class struggle really is? You can see the differences everywhere: your clothing, your shoes, your home, your pets (we all know you have a dingy-ass dog that you traded for a bicycle tire or something), and yes, even your utensils.

Escargot tongs

Escargot tongs: let them know that you’re so rich, you’ll eat stuff that would make them want to puke.

The Claw

I honestly have no idea what this is for, and I don’t want it in my house.

If you’re not born into wealth, you might never crack a nut or a crab claw.  You might never put ice into a glass with something other than your hand. You’ll probably never understand the concept of a napkin made of a material finer than any of your suits, or why a plate that measures 18″ across is used to serve half of a cherry tomato with a blade of grass as a side.

If you are born into wealth, you’ll probably never eat off a plate with ridges that keep your food separated, especially if that plate was what your food was just cooked in.  You probably don’t realize that cups can have tops or that your fork can come in a handy plastic bag with a one-ply napkin and some salt & pepper.  It doesn’t make perfect sense to you to unplug the crock pot and put it in the middle of the dinner table, if you even know what a crock pot is.

There are several well-known sayings that aim to unite the classes; messages usually including: everyone is born, everyone dies, and everyone eats.  But some are born with a silver spoon, some die and are buried inside silver caskets, and some eat off of silver escargot tongs.

Everyone does, however, put their pants on one leg at a time.  It’s just that my legs are tanner than yours from laying out on the bow of my yacht.

July 8, 2009 | Filed Under food and eating | 2 Comments 

Bloggers are flakes, so you think

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People who write a blog for years as a creative outlet

People who write a blog for 6 months and quit when they don’t get rich and/or recognized at the grocery store

So, what kind words you all have had for me.  Here I am, dragged into a Mexican prison on April 4, 2009, tortured, fed Comet (it does make you vomit), made to bag cocaine in a corrupt government operation in Juarez, and when I get home, what do I see?

Hey TATTOPITW, why did you quit on us?

Hey TATTOPITW, where did you go, you big loser?

Hey you big douche bag, did you run out of creativity with your stupid little blog that I can’t live without?

I hate you, TATTOPITW, and I hope you’re in a Mexican prison being fed Comet.

Well, aside from that last guy, who was strangely correct, you’re all jerks, but I read the bible 8 times in that small prison cell and I forgive all of you.

I want to get back to writing to get past those horrible memories, suppress those flashbacks of chickens trying to peck my eyes out and watching reruns of Perfect Strangers – you have no idea what you’d be willing to do after letting Balki Bartokomous penetrate your inner thoughts.

Balki Bartokomous - the face of hate

The face I wake up to, screaming.

So, while I wish I came back to a supporting fan base, I can accept your frustration and just ask that we all move on.  I might not be able to write with the speed and frequency I once was (I had one of my hands sawed off and that damn chicken did manage to scar my right eye), but I’m back in the States where Balki is unwelcome and my safety is assured.

I missed you all.  Thanks for the warm welcome.

July 7, 2009 | Filed Under my life | 1 Comment 

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