KermieD
Well-Known Member
- Joined
- Mar 31, 2009
- Messages
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Last night, I was posting a blog on Myspace while munching on some crackers with peanut butter spread over them. After I decide it all looks okay and post it, I think to myself "Self, what washes down peanut butter perfectly?" Of course, it's milk. Milk is perfect with peanut butter. So I tromp off to the fridge to get some milk.
I'm a guy. Being a guy, it means that after the sun goes down and everyone else is in bed, the carton is my glass. Some of you women may think your husband/significant other has been trained not to do this. You would be wrong to asume that. He does it. You're just not looking when he does. It's something that's embedded in the corner of the Y chromosome, right next to the burp and fart genes.
I learned 3 valuable lessons last night.
1. Using glassware instead of the carton does have value beyond not getting yelled at by your S.O.
2. Despite what scientists tell you, the singal travels faster along some nerves than others.
3. There *is* a difference in the brand of paper towels you buy.
I suppose I should explain. People rarely learn from the mistakes of others, but if I hope to have anyone get something out of this, it should be a little less cryptic than tossing out 3 obscure life lessons and leaving it at that.
Where was I? Oh, yeah. Blog done, peanut butter crackers done, carton of milk. I reach down, pick up the carton of milk and take a healthy slug. This is where lesson #1 and lesson #2 make themselves readily apparent. You see, while I know the touch and taste nerves should reach my brain at exactly the same time, or at least at an interval too small to be consciously noticeable, I swear to GOD I can feel the chunks in my mouth a split second before my tastebuds catch onto the fetid, rotting flavor of spent milk and start exploding like so many tiny land mines dotted over the landscape of my tonuge. Just typing this is giving me nasty flashbacks and I just know I can still taste this right now. I had managed to go 38+ years without this particular experience, but now my rotten milk virginity is gone.
Fortunately, I'm standing right next to the sink, which catches most of the spewing fetid curdled mess. I reach to my right and grab a paper towel and start scrubbing my tongue with it. I've seen a considerable number of those commercials for Brawny paper towels. You know the ones, where they put 50 lbs of buckshot or some such crap on two wet paper towels. Of course, since Brawny paid the bill, the Brawny one holds up while the other guy's paper towel turns into goo. I've always thought "look, man, I'm not going to be towing my car or making a paper towel rope to escape from prison with these things" and bought the cheap generic ones. Oh, foolish mortal! As I'm scrubbing my tongue, the paper towel is disintegrating. As it disintegrates, it's pilling up into these little soggy wet balls that are exactly the same size and consistency of the chunks of milk I just spewed into the sink!
Sheila, my fiance, my love, you win. You're right and, even after you go to bed, I will now pour liquids into a glass before imbibing. Oh, and by the way, I'm going to be a few minutes late getting home from work. I need to stop at the store and pick up some Brawny paper towels.
I'm a guy. Being a guy, it means that after the sun goes down and everyone else is in bed, the carton is my glass. Some of you women may think your husband/significant other has been trained not to do this. You would be wrong to asume that. He does it. You're just not looking when he does. It's something that's embedded in the corner of the Y chromosome, right next to the burp and fart genes.
I learned 3 valuable lessons last night.
1. Using glassware instead of the carton does have value beyond not getting yelled at by your S.O.
2. Despite what scientists tell you, the singal travels faster along some nerves than others.
3. There *is* a difference in the brand of paper towels you buy.
I suppose I should explain. People rarely learn from the mistakes of others, but if I hope to have anyone get something out of this, it should be a little less cryptic than tossing out 3 obscure life lessons and leaving it at that.
Where was I? Oh, yeah. Blog done, peanut butter crackers done, carton of milk. I reach down, pick up the carton of milk and take a healthy slug. This is where lesson #1 and lesson #2 make themselves readily apparent. You see, while I know the touch and taste nerves should reach my brain at exactly the same time, or at least at an interval too small to be consciously noticeable, I swear to GOD I can feel the chunks in my mouth a split second before my tastebuds catch onto the fetid, rotting flavor of spent milk and start exploding like so many tiny land mines dotted over the landscape of my tonuge. Just typing this is giving me nasty flashbacks and I just know I can still taste this right now. I had managed to go 38+ years without this particular experience, but now my rotten milk virginity is gone.
Fortunately, I'm standing right next to the sink, which catches most of the spewing fetid curdled mess. I reach to my right and grab a paper towel and start scrubbing my tongue with it. I've seen a considerable number of those commercials for Brawny paper towels. You know the ones, where they put 50 lbs of buckshot or some such crap on two wet paper towels. Of course, since Brawny paid the bill, the Brawny one holds up while the other guy's paper towel turns into goo. I've always thought "look, man, I'm not going to be towing my car or making a paper towel rope to escape from prison with these things" and bought the cheap generic ones. Oh, foolish mortal! As I'm scrubbing my tongue, the paper towel is disintegrating. As it disintegrates, it's pilling up into these little soggy wet balls that are exactly the same size and consistency of the chunks of milk I just spewed into the sink!
Sheila, my fiance, my love, you win. You're right and, even after you go to bed, I will now pour liquids into a glass before imbibing. Oh, and by the way, I'm going to be a few minutes late getting home from work. I need to stop at the store and pick up some Brawny paper towels.
ROTFLMAO!!!! 
