Okay, I KNOW I said that would be my last post for a few days, but I couldn't help myself. It's an addiction, see. A compulsion. A reward for getting my work done today.
So this morning I turned on the television to determine, by number of local school closings due to the snowstorm, whether or not I’d be commuting to work today. Good Morning America was on. And lo and behold, Charlie Gibson, Diane Sawyer, and Robin Roberts were doing a “blind” taste test of frozen lasagnas. In honor of the Olympics, of course. Because a law has been passed that until February 26, everything will revolve around the Olympics.
And of course the cheapass Stouffers and Michelina's Italian-flavored death patties came in first. I was practically shouting at the screen: “Of course you liked those budget bastards the best! They contain the lifetime RDA of delicious sodium for eight people! And thanks to those saltcakes, you will be dead in two days! Everyone KNOWS that foods that will kill you in two days are the most delicious, you idiots!”
Ah, delicious sodium. It’s a well-known historical fact that mummy’s faces ended up all stretched-out like that because they had just eaten a fatal dose of sodium in the form of Tostitos and processed cheese dip. You see, they were having orgasms. In their mouths.
And then it was too late. Their bodily fluids had evaporated and they died.
Here’s another food that can kill you in two days: old boxed wine. I’ve been aging mine in the fridge for going on three years now, and it’s still delicious. Because bacteria makes mouths happy. And here you thought it was Twizzlers!
But back to Good Morning America. After the sodium-industry sponsored taste test, they showed a clip for an upcoming broadcast in which tiny cameras would reveal, for the first time, the insides of Diane Sawyer’s arteries, Robin Roberts’ heart, and…Charlie Gibson’s brain. Because Katie Couric’s colon wasn’t enough.
I don’t know about you, but this kind of crap makes me want to consume a deadly dose of cured ham, Salt n’ Vinegar chips, pickles, and Bloody Mary mix poured over bouillon cubes until I end up like Shrinky McCharcoalcheeks up there. I know, I know…they’re raising awareness so we all make appointments for important medical tests. But I dream of a world in which people schedule their own routine medical procedures and eat a high fiber diet without Katie Couric subjecting me to the smooth, pink interior of her poop chute. Together, we can make this happen. Won’t you join me?
Now, I’m off to watch some Olympics.