Today, I’m not talking. I’m typing. I have a friend, we’ll call him Al (name changed to protect the guilty) who has something to get off of his chest.
There are two problems with Al
He doesn’t understand the Internet so does not have a blog of his own.
He’s Dutch, so his fingers are too big to operate standard keyboards.
That’s why I’m typing for him, and on my blog.
You’ll find that he has a keen wit and an excellent sense of humour, because he likes laughing at me.
Moving on, and I’ll give it up to Al.
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Today, when I opened up my RSS feeds, I came across an article regarding the FDA’s (Food and Drug Administration) decision to attack General Mills with regards to their labelling of Cheerios packaging.
Cheerios being the #1 selling cereal in the United States (one box in eight sold is Cheerios) is labeled by General Mills as being healthy for you, able to lower your cholesterol levels by several percentage points within a few weeks and to help prevent the onset of coronary heart disease apparently.
According to the FDA, that makes Cheerios, the breakfast cereal loved by millions, young and old alike, and unregistered DRUG! The ramifications are astounding!
That means every morning, my children and I are committing a felony by consuming an unregistered (aka Illegal) drug. Every grocery store in this great continent of ours, apparently then is a crack dealing drug house for selling processed wheat product, an apparent illegal substance.
Although, that may explain the dazed look on my fourteen year olds face.
This seems to me to be altogether ridiculous and stupid. Imagine if you will, that wheat products are actually drugs. That means your stupid breakfast doughnut, your loaf of bread, your tea biscuits, your spaghetti noodles etc., all being made with this illicit wheat product, are by extension according to the FDA unregistered drugs.
Health Food lovers of the world unite! You may all soon be going to jail.
Supermarket managers: Run and hide. You have been selling drugs for years, but that won’t matter to the FDA. You are a drug dealer. Surprise!
Does the FDA have nothing better to do with it’s time? Are there so few important matters that they could be working on with those federal tax dollars than chasing after corporate America, over breakfast cereal?
I think a situation has developed at the FDA. It requires presidential attention. Please Mr. President, please pay attention.
The FDA has too many people, with too much time on their hands. If Mr. President you are looking to reign in the federal deficit, may I suggest taking a long hard look at the FDA’s budget and possible culling the herd there.
I would also like to suggest that in an attempt to cull this herd, Americans be allowed to punch FDA agents in the nose on sight.
I know this sounds stupid, but the FDA’s actions do justify this! I would also like to point out that General Mills isn’t entirely innocent in all of this either.
Overstating the value of a product is of course a natural activity of advertisers which sometimes does draw unwanted attention from regulatory bodies. General Mills should also receive a punch on the nose for actually recognizing the FDA’s claim. Stating that they can’t wait to sit down with the FDA to resolve this. Resolve NOTHING! Ignore. Stop wasting everybody’s time and money.
There are people dying in this world that would love to have access to this type of food. FDA, please solve real problems or PISS OFF.
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There you have it. Al’s first blog post, even if it wasn’t his blog. Please, send lots of comments, he’s an attention whore just like me. And do pass it on to as MANY people as you can. Especially if they’re American (bureaucrats).
If there’s one thing I hate, it’s telemarketers. Especially the East Indian ones.
Hey, don’t get me wrong. I have nothing against the Indians themselves, except maybe for their food. It’s so damned delicious!
The curries and spices and butter chicken and my favorite those little balls soaked in syrup and the carrot stuff with the cheese mmmmmMMM! Just so good to my taste buds!
It’s what it does to my gut that’s my issue. It bloody well goes to war with it. I’m firing out a spicy ass rocket about thirty minutes after my last mouthful, and it STINGS!
The next seventeen poos are progressively worse, but I’m just digressing here.
See, I don’t like telemarketers. They make me want to NOT buy your product and/or service. If you have a product or service that I need, I will LOOK at your ads, and information and make an informed decision. I will then buy the best deal for me.
If you force me to listen to those deals, screw you.
So, you’re going to do telemarketing anyways, large corporate asshats, I get that. I’m guessing that India does it for dirt cheap too, because every telemarketer is Indian, I swear.
Why don’t you use your real name? If your accent is thick enough to spread on my morning toast, I know your name isn’t Gary Smith or Toby Stanson.
Just use Sanjit or Ranjit or whatever your name is, ok? I want to know your REAL name. You’re not fooling ANYONE.
Speaking of fooling people, yes, I get that you’re Indian. But you’re working for Canadian and American companies and calling on behalf of them to English speaking people in exchange for money. If you’re going to take money for that service, THEN SPEAK THE LANGUAGE!
When I answer the phone, and I hear “blip bloop bleep blip bob bloopy bip LONG DISTANCE blip blip boop”, I don’t understand what you’re taking about. I’m wondering how many people just say ‘yes’ to get you to fuck off? They deserve to get screwed if they do.
It’s Saturday morning. I’m cleaning up my sty of a house when I notice my land line phone is unplugged. Not that I care, I use a land line for internet. But I figured I’d plug it in, what the hell, even if I get free local calls on my cell phone.
Not eight minutes later the phone rings.
“Hello Mr. Spaz, I’m Johnathan Singh.. uh Smith! Bell Canada would like to thank you for your continued service by offering you lots of money off on our internet service!”
I politely told him that I already have internet.
“No no Mr. Spaz! It’s a REALLY good deal! Three months free!”
I have internet.
“But it’s only 24.95 a month after that!”
I have internet.
Usually I just hang up on these guys but I sensed something. Something that doesn’t happen very often. This guy cared. He was passionate. He was convinced that I was an idiot for not having Bell Internet. So I continued.
Every time he’d tell me about how wonderful the Bell internet was, I’d reply in a flat monotone voice that “I have internet”.
After ten minutes, the exasperated Indian told me “You’re just not getting it!” to which I replied “Oh, I’m getting it just fine.”
Click.
He hung up on me.
The telemarketer hung up on me!
AWESOME! I just won!
In honour of my Indian friend, I’d like to show you the video that Mooooog had on his blog today, which he got from Beauty is in the Eye of the Beer Holder and of course which Live It Love It (the female Mooooog) posted right away on her blog as well.
See how well I whore people out? Yea, you like that, don’t you, you dirty little blogger. Yeaaa.
Anyways, enjoy Benny Lava. I know I did. At least ten times now. That shit is FUNNEH!
*Update: Before you watch this AWESOME video, I’d like you all to know that Chris from The Afternoon Break made a telemarketer listen to porn. How awesome is that?
Yes, Klingons are gay. I’m not talking about those little pieces of poo that stick to your ass hairs, even though those are gay too. I’m talking about the Klingons of Star Trek fame.
Yes, I realize they are the epitome of manliness, what with the muscles and the fighting and the rough bloody violent sex. But that’s just how Gene Roddenberry dreamed them up.
You see, it turns out Klingons are real and they are nothing like Gene Rodenberry imagined.
It seems that the actual Klingons contacted Gene on his death bed. I got the transcript and I’m posting it in honour of the release of the newest star trek movie, even though I heard there were no Klingons in it.
The following is an actual MSN messenger conversation that Gene had with said Klingons.
*Bloop a bloop!*
Klingon: Gene baby, are you there?
Gene: Who’s this? Can’t you see I’m dying here?Klingon: Sure silly buns, and I have something to tell you. A dirty deep dark secret.Gene: I like dirty secrets. Do tell.
Klingon: Klingons are real! And I’m one of them!
Gene: Bullshit.
Klingon: I’ll prove it to you. Look down between your legs:
Gene: Nothing there but an 8″ trouser python.
Klingon: Yummers. But seriously, look down between your legs.
Gene: Fine, I’m looking.
*pink doily appears over Gene’s Crotch.
Gene: Holy Schatner! You are real!
Klingon: I told you sweety pants!
Gene: What do you want with me?
Klingon: We were traveling past your planet and caught some episodes of star trek. We can’t believe you thought of a random alien character and it turns out you got the look and the name bang on!
Gene: Oh no! Are you going enslave our planet in an orgy of blood and violence?
Klingon: Sigh. Alas, there will be no orgies with you ugly ridgeless beings. I just thought since you were about to die we’d reveal the truth.
Gene: So if you don’t act like the Klingons in star trek, then how exactly do you act?
Klingon: Ok I’ll send you a picture that should explain everything. Here it is:
Klingon: I hope that explains everything. I have to go now!
Gene: Wait! I have so many questions to ask!
Klingon: No can do! I have a needlepoint class in an hour.
Gene: I’m going to tell everybody!
Klingon: Sigh. I thought this might happen. Greg, energize.
And that’s how Gene Roddenberry died, with a batleth in his ass. I bet you didn’t know that, did you.
pee’d, poo’d, farted and boasted about all the women they didn’t actually screw. This is the sanctuary for men to do all the things we’re not allowed to do in front of the women folk, because it’s a men’s room.
A men’s room as in no women allowed. You women have your own room to insert your tampons and quiff and poot or whatever it is you do.
So imagine my surprise, as I’m at the urinal with my dick in my hands, when a woman come into OUR room.
And yes, I did say dick in my HANDS. I have the opposite problem of moooooog. It’s a nice problem to have.
But back to the topic at hand.
Ha! Topic at HAND.
You see what I did there?
Anyways.
There are WOMEN in the mens room and I got my cock out. It’s not like I can stuff it back in my pants because I’m peeing at the time.
You CANNOT stop midstream. That’s impossible. Well you can, but it feels like a billion bee’s poking at your bladder, just about ready to sting you to death.
So naturally, I FREAK! WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING IN HERE! GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY ROOM NOW!
Actually, my reaction was more along the lines of ‘ummmm?’.
Yea, I’m such a hard ass.
I mean, if she was hot I might have risked the sexual harresment charge. Hey, she was invading man territory, and that sends a clear signal.
Just as clear as a woman wearing a push up bra and a low cut top. When she gets pissed at you looking down her cleavage, what she’s really saying is “I’ll meet you behind the bleachers later. Bring a condom”.
But she did not look hot at all. She was UGLY. She looked like mooogs therapist. Mooog has a picture of his therapist, so you can understand what I’m talking about.
Thank you mooog, your graphics make it easy.
So I say “ummm?”
She screams and leaves.
Apparently, the building manager was hosting a walk through so cleaning people could bid on the contract. Apparently this woman thought the men’s room was empty, despite the building being full of over caffinated engineering types.
Silly, silly girl.
If there’s a moral to this story, I guess it’s this:
Always carry a domer in your wallet just in case the english as a second language cleaning lady walks in on you draining the main vein and she’s actually hot.
And carry a stun gun in case she looks like moooogs therapist and still wants some.
Today, when I opened up my RSS feeds, I came across an article regarding the FDA’s (Food and Drug Administration) decision to attack General Mills with regards to their labelling of Cheerios packaging.
Klingon: I hope that explains everything. I have to go now!
Gene: Wait! I have so many questions to ask!
