Updates and stuff...

A new blog post in less than a week? Surely there must be something wrong with me. Well, you're kinda right. All last week I had a sore throat and possible fever that left me coughing like I had given up smoking for the first time since exiting the womb.

Naturally, I tried to stay hydrated but this of course resulted in more phlegm and since I'm a typical lazy bastard, I decided to discard the mucus in a bottle of Brisk Fruit Punch. Now of course, since I'm feeling better, I no longer need the bottle however I am afraid that the phlegm in the bottle may have mutated into something similar to the slime in Ghostbusters II. Releasing it could suck all of Calgary down into the 7th layer of hell: Edmonton.

I should get a medal since I didn't let this happen


Now, you'd think after a week of coughing up slime, that I would be cured. And you're right. But then of course, come Monday morning, I wake up with a stiff neck. Now I've had them before but this probably ranks as the second worst I've had. It was like someone replaced my neck with the Tin-Man's leg and then injected Viagra into my neck. Seriously, you could swing a scimitar at my neck and it wouldn't budge.

Of course I am all better now but with these recent bouts of sickness, I've lost weight which isn't good considering that the average obese toddler has more weight in their ass than I do in my entire body.

I thought people were supposed to be starving in China


Anyway, since I already run around work like a horse, run at the gym like a gazelle and a metabolism which on it's worst day is still faster than Usain Bolt on his best day, I decided to follow some advice I was given and buy a tub of ice cream for myself. It's strange but considering what a sugar addict I am, I haven't really touched it. Perhaps I'm afraid I'll turn into some fat slob and just sit around watching soap operas.

Ben and Jerry's: The closest Rosie O'Donnell ever gets to having a threeway with two men

At the moments M'Lord and M'Lady are probably on their way back from vacation to...wherever the fuck it is they go. I'm being honest, I have no idea where they go or what they do. All I know is this: They ask me to watch the dogs and make sure they're fed...and then don't leave me any food to feed them!!!

It would be like if I said, "Hey, while I'm gone, feel free to use my car to go wherever you want" but then when you get in you find that I didn't leave any gas in the tank.
Their daughter has a word for that kind of arrangement: "Poop!"

Joke's on you...I don't even own a car

For some reason I want to write about MasterChef now that they just aired the season finale but I don't feel that I would do any good. Mostly it would be me bashing that smug jackass David Miller. Now, I know, I am the embodiment of the term "smug jackass" but I can turn it off. Plus I'm likable...at least I think I am.

And there's also the new season of The Apprentice. While I normally liked the show in the first three seasons, the more it went on the more tiresome it became. Plus when he's got his own kids helping him make business decisions...yeah, it just doesn't float. Sorry, Donald, but you and your kids and your bad hair have to go.

"Your mother-I mean, 'you're fired'!

More Kitchen Nightmares

I woke up this morning feeling like crap. I'm trying to remember everything I ate/sampled/tasted yesterday but nothing is coming up as something that would make me sick. After waking up much earlier than usual, I went back to sleep and my fever induced brain decided to produce another Hell's Kitchen nightmare for me. Though this time, Gordon Ramsay actually made an appearance...and cursed me out.

"Stop having nightmares about me; I've never met you, you DONKEY!"

I'm guessing that this must have been the first episode of the new season because based on the job I did in my dream, it would be a miracle if I made it to three episodes. First off, the kitchen looked nothing like it did on TV. In fact, it looked more like the dining room considering all the other chefs were sitting at tables and in booths.

So anyway, the maitre'd, Jean Philippe, came to the pass and dropped off the order. Either I had already pissed off Ramsay or this was a test but he demanded that I read out the first order. I was a bit nervous about the whole thing and to make matters worse, I couldn't read what was on the ticket. I once heard that it is impossible to read in a dream but I've been able make out words clearly before. However, tonight wasn't the case.

After getting impatient over my sudden case of illiteracy, Ramsay snatched the ticket out of my hand and snarled that he would read it himself. However while I was ready to listen, the rest of the kitchen was just sitting in thier booths and at the tables, chattering away while I was trying to get them to be quiet.

Suddenly Ramsay turned towards the dining room. "Ladies and gentlemen," he shouted, "if you'd kindly shut the fuck up for twenty seconds, I would like to get the first order out."
It was the first time I'd seen Ramsay yell at customers for making too much noise but, hey, it's his kitchen; I'll let him yell at whomever he likes.

"Look, I'm very sorry for yelling at you. It happened in a fever
induced dream. Now fuck off."

Normally on Hell's Kitchen, the appetizers consist of stuff like scallops, spaghetti of lobster, Ceasar salad but Ramsay called for "Two pear salads away."
Like most new contestants on the show, I didn't know the menu so the words "pear salad" were making no sense to me. What was also making no sense to me was that my section consisted of a small reception table that you usually see as you walk into a restaurant. I probably should have clued in that this was a dream at this point but my mind was focused on my work.

"Where's the lettuce?" I asked. It seemed that this poorly designed kitchen lacked all the things that makes a kitchen what it is. I was able to find the lettuce and get it into the bowls but then I noticed something was missing. No pears.

Never fear, however, since I quickly found a pear and began to slice it very thinly. Why? I have no idea. Remember, this was a fever induced dream. So anyway, I've got the salads ready and then Chef Ramsay comes over to see if they're up to standar.

Without saying a word he picked up one bowl and threw it against the wall, sending lettuce and pear everywhere. So much for the words 'never fear'. However instead of shouting at me, all of a sudden this other fat chef is getting a verbal beatdown from Ramsay. It was at this point that I started to realize, "Hey, something's aren't making sense here" and decided to bolt.

Sick

I usually don't get sick around this time of year. It always happens in the new year, around January or February.