Skip to main content

Sauce: An important news item.

I heard a story on the news yesterday, about a man who got caught in a terrible traffic jam.  He could have sat there and eaten Cheetos and grumbled to himself, but did he?  No.  He calmly stepped out of his car, grabbed his conveniently stored bagpipes from the back seat, and began to play some soothing Scottish marches.  Was his goal was occupy his mind, or to distract his neighbors from their feverish, strangled haste?  Either way, he succeeded.  Those who heard him not only forgot about the traffic jam, but were also united under a collective banner of hateful rage.  And he’s probably no longer with us on this earth, so I’m sure boredom is the least of his worries.  (Unless he made it to heaven, where bagpipes are allowed only on every fifth Monday.)


Disclaimer:  I personally enjoy the bagpipes, but can’t help but feel that this man showed an alarming lack of discretion.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Noodles: It’s autumn, all of you.

Hi world.  It’s me, your favorite super sheltered, extremely Scandinavian, strangely endearing pile of soggy, tomato-drenched crinkly noodles! Otherwise known as Baby Swedish Lasagna under an Inadequate Tent. The reason I bring up my origins is this: I grew up without hearing anyone say “y’all”.  I believe the contraction never crossed my path outside of a book until middle school, when it became trendy among my equally sheltered, pale-skinned friends. I started saying it often, with little understanding of its pronunciation, spelling, or proper usage. At some point, perhaps in a fit of cultural sensitivity, maybe after the madness of middle school had seeped out of my neurons, I stopped using it. Except in emails. Yes, my friends, I am an email y’aller.  It just works for the already-awkward group conversations.  There’s honestly no equivalent in northern dialect.  Check it out. “You guys.”  Offensive to feminists. “You girls.”  Offensive...

Noodles: I’m not easily suede, butt...

My house is currently being shown by a realtor to an average of two potential buyers each day.  They come and they go, and, in real estate as well as trail etiquette, they take only photographs (as far as I can tell) and leave only footprints.   Technically. Not to abruptly change the subject, but have you ever sat on a suede* couch?  If you did, I bet you drew pictures on it with your finger, because the material shows light when you brush it one way, dark the other.  It’s a very impressionable fabric.  I have one of those couches.  It’s tan-ish, it’s comfy, and I like it very much.**  It’s in my living room, because it’s a couch and that’s where couches seem to prefer to live.  They like it dry and temperate with a little bit of soft lighting and a nice view of their territory, as well as easy access to the street in case they have a conflict with the armchair*** and need to make a quick getaway.   But I digress.   All you rea...

Sauce: Peeved - A Ditty.

Hello world, welcome to the dumbest thing I’ve ever written.  It helps if you sing it with gusto.  (Hint: UIKEYINPUTDOWNARROWgive “favorite” and “chocolate” three syllables.) Dun dun dun... ...If you’d rather eat spaghetti  With butter, And if petting armadillos makes your bitty heart flutter, If you wear twenty-three inch plugs  And you snack on creepy bugs, And you turn off the radio before  Your very favorite song ends, If you dance to rapping only  And you never just be lonely, Then I think we cannot ever quite be friends.   If you like to play the tuba And get thrills at going scuba Diving with a pack of grumbly-tumbly sharks, If you stick Q-tips up your nose  And knit socks for all your toes And deface all the bathrooms in the parks, If you get joy from picking peanuts  Out from every tin of mixed nuts And don’t laugh at jokes that center on Depends, If you run away from cats And feed cho...