Crisp in glover compartment

24 September 2011

Good Saturday and almost Sunday friends and lovers. Yes, the title is a stretch, but so is…um…something really stretchy (whether you Lycra it or not).

Tonight’s post features headings!

Zip, Zapp’s, Zop

On Thursday of this past week I travelled to Richmond, VA. I drove on I-95. On the way back from Richmond I decided to stop at a Wawa in Fredericksburg, VA to purchase road trip junk food.

I am not sure of the appropriate nomenclature for the population we derogatorily refer to as “white trash.” I don’t think an alternative using the word “trailer” is suitable. The term “Redneck” is too broad and does not take into account the groups living throughout the country and not just in the US South. For now, they shall remain an unnamed group in this here blog.

A young man belonging to the unnamed group walked into the Wawa directly behind me. (The man was directly behind me. The Wawa was directly ahead of me.) He said, “What’s up,” and I could not tell if he was actually speaking at me, but I answered anyway. He then turned into a human homing missile, stumbling dazedly into my path as we zigzagged our way to the toilets.

After I “nipped to the bog” (you’re welcome UK readers) I went to purchase a soda and a bag of chips. (I also bought a terrible buffalo bleu chicken wrap that made me wonder why I am not still vegetarian.) This particular Wawa had Mountain Dew in a 12 oz (64 m) can. Those of you who are my most passionate and intimate lovers know my Mountain Dew hierarchy (primarily because I cannot help but spout about the soda nearly every conversation) and know how pleased I was to find the 12 oz (114 dB) offering of purportedly penis-shrinking pop. (Was not that one of the biggest conversations among adolescent youth in the 1990s? Perhaps it was just among me and my unnamed group friends who consumed enough Mountain Dew for the company to legally change the name to Range Fog if they so chose.)

My most intimate lovers also know my proclivity to purchase potato chips. While many humans expecting disaster may stockpile water, bread and batteries, I gather cart loads of chips.

I am always willing to try a different flavor of chip, no matter how off-putting the name or description.

Hence, my decision to purchase a chip called “Spicy Cajun Crawtators.” (Note: I am unsure how two ounces equates to a “super size.”)

A chip off the old block(ed colon)

Verdict on the chips: Surprisingly edible and cause only minor heart palpitations and digestive dis-ease.

Facebook

I held out so far, but I do not think I can refrain any longer from weighing in on the latest Facebook changes. The only thought I really have (other than we maybe should not really expect any privacy from online networking sites) is considering if I can remove myself from the Facebook universe. I primarily use the site now to promote this blog and other creative activities. Perhaps I can disengage myself as a mere human from the site and engage myself solely as a creator and entertainer. Not sure. So I put the question to you, dear readers: Shall I remain on Facebook or make like a tree and disappear?

Whatever you decide, you should still be sure to follow me on Twitter. @mentalmacguyver

Preview

Stay tuned for the next post when I show and tell of the recent trip to Olive Garden.

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