Peeps and Blogs

"I don't want to hear, 'Dad, dad, anymore. Just SHUT UP and play nicely! SHUT UP!'"
This is what I just heard as I came from the basement next door where I sometimes do my laundry. This is where the coin-operated washer and dryer are located. My landlord, a nice and gentle man, is also admittedly cheap. One day I was walking home and saw him hanging things to dry in the basement. Goddamn, he's cheaper than I thought, I thought. Fucking washing things in the basement basin. Later, I realized he has his own washer in our building! The cheapskate keeps that for himself! But there is no dryer, as I saw him hanging his gray, but-used-to-be-white jockeys on a clothes rack.
When I heard the man yelling at his child(ren?), I did the thing of forcing myself to pretend that I heard nothing and briskly locked the door next door and opened the one to my building.



I've looked at some of the other blogs that blogger.com offers. All you have to do is press the "next blog" button at the top of the page. So many of them are the same! Are they cutting and pasting the ABOUT ME part?
Basically they read:

I am a God-fearing and loving Christian woman who is sooooooooo lucky to have three wonderful children - Bradley Lou, Brianna Lynn, and Brittany Lee - even though they all have leukemia. I am happily married to my husband, Todd, who fucks me whenever he wants, and sometimes fingers my daughters! What are ya gonna do - he's a man! :) I home school the kids here in Whitesville, Kentucky, and belong to a rifle club! :-) Sarah Palin and Laura Bush are my heros [sic] and I collect Precious Moments figurines because they are soooooo cute!

All the followers of those blogs have essentially the same profiles and their comments are about each others children (I cannot BELIEVE how BIG the TWINS are GETTING!) and what websites are best for finding gross recipes that use canned vegetables.



The other day I was flicking channels whilst eating but before watching a subtitled flick (because I am a cosmopolitan man of the world). I ended up on the Food Network. It was some show that I've seen before, fun to watch wherein they film the goings-on in a factory. There is something fascinating about those enormous machines, mindless, moving on their own, huge dull-silver contraptions repeating the same movements and producing masses of products. This show featured a segment on the delicious marshmallow Peeps. (Note: when one says "Peeps," they should say it like a baby chick in a falsetto voice; it's more fun that way.) Before I could watch my Spanish film, I had to scurry to the neighborhood CVS and buy several boxes of Peeps, both the bunny and chick varieties.
These days there are many colors of Peeps. Unlike the plain old yellow that I had to endure as a youngster, there are now blue, orange, green, gray, black, invisible, glass, rust, vomit, and blood colors.
I made a brood of Peeps pooping:



If Martha Stewart were smart, she would have me regularly featured doing a segment about CRAFTS FOR KIDS.