The more you know: Essential addendum

Arbys-Smokehouse-Brisket

Maybe an hour after eating the Arby’s Smokehouse Brisket Sandwich, you start sweating Arby’s Smokehouse Brisket Sandwich Sweat out of the pores of your nose, which is not a terribly pleasant experience.  Note that the Arby’s Smokehouse Brisket Sandwich is not actually terribly oily (I’m blaming the gouda, for no damn good reason) so the Brisket Sweats I’ve been experiencing for the last couple of hours are both confusing and somewhat inexplicable.

Perhaps this is one of those rare “wash your face after eating” types of sandwiches.

Oh: fingers, also.  My fingers smell like brisket. I swear I’m generally clean.  It’s the sandwich.

Still tasty, though.

The more you know

memphis-bbq-beautiful-ladies-closer

First, a brief public service announcement:  the Arby’s Smokehouse Brisket Sandwich is… how do you say it?  “Mad tasty, yo?”  Is that right?  I think that’s how the kids talk nowadays.  What I mean to say is that I enjoyed eating it.

People who respond to this by suggesting that I should buy a smoker and make my own brisket and stop eating brisket from Arby’s are going to be alternately mocked, ignored, or set on fire, depending on my mood, just so you know.  🙂

(The young ladies in the picture to the right are not eating an Arby’s Smokehouse Brisket Sandwich; that appears to be some sort of cheeseburger.  Hey, it’s what Google gave me.  Blame Google.  Not me.)

Public service announcement ends.


Apparently we have hit the point where all of the students who understand that I break up fights immediately and prejudicially have left the building, because I’ve broken up three in the gym so far this year, after going an entire school year without having to do it once.  The one yesterday was particularly bad since the rest of the seventh and eighth grade girls behaved as if they were at a goddamned WWE match, causing me to hold every last one of their asses in the gym after dismissing everyone else and read them the riot act, including the phrase “I am sick of your shit.”  While it might surprise you given my vocabulary in other situations, I don’t often swear (by which I mean, I almost never swear) in front of my kids, and when I do do it, it’s fully calculated and for effect one hundred percent of the time.  “I am sick of this,” they wouldn’t have heard.  I am sick of your shit made it into every teenage skull in the room.  I dispelled another situation this morning before it escalated to the level of a fight, and I think I was able to do that mostly because of the tongue-lashing from yesterday.

Hopefully, tomorrow will slide by with little to no drama.

He said.

(An aside:  I’ve been listening to Gnarls Barkley while writing this– I’m not a huge fan and don’t listen to the CD often, but it popped into my head the other day so it’s still up on iTunes.  One of their songs begins with someone chanting “wake up wake up,” which reminded me that I really like Bone Thugz-n-Harmony, and now I’m listening to 1st of tha Month.  Which kind of entertains me.  Also: Your rent’s due, motherfucker.)

(A second aside: One of the tags on this post was suggested by WordPress, and I’m predicting this post gets twice as many views as normal because of it.  See if you can guess which one!)

I think that’s about it so I’m going to close with a picture of Seth Greene and his wife, because HOW THE HELL IS THAT HIS WIFE.

Seth-Green-and-his-taller-wife

So here’s a thing I learned today

1184977_10151794781033926_2107143779_n

If your first egg looks like the one on the right when you try to fry a couple of eggs, you should probably dump the pan and start over.  It’s not, as you think it might be, because you overcompensated for the last time you made fried eggs, when they looked beautiful and perfect and then were sticking to the pan.  You didn’t put too much cooking spray in; the fact that the pan has effectively no surface friction has nothing to do with this.  The egg’s bad.  Dump it and start over.

Trust me, please.

This has been an infinitefreetime public service announcement.