O. Mayer Invents Bread-free Bologna

My Sammich has a first name, it’s O.S.C.A.R. My sammich likewise has a second name, it’s M.A.Y.E.R. Introductions aside, where in there do you see a mandate for any kind of bread?

Seen here taking a tour of the lab.
Seen here taking a tour of the lab.

I’m not sure if the happy, mad scientists at Oscar Mayer intended this, but here’s my deepest and sincerest thanks to them, I’ve discovered their new and wonderful kind of sammich; one of the bread-free variety.

As of writing this, the photos have not yet been taken, so I hope you can, no less, see my great vision. Do you know the balogna-n-cheese* sammich? The one with Miracle Whip and the fairest of bleached bread? Imagine this very one, if you can, but without all that silly bread nonsense getting in the way.

non-bread2LEFT: Here you can see me demonstrating how one eats a bologna-n-cheese sammich, even if there isn’t any of that pesky bread stuff getting in the way.

 

 

 

 

This is what they have discovered, but I have discovered a use for. I peel the port and starboard from my Wonder, then abscond with just the bologna and cheese. Ain’t it great? It’s so crazy it just might work.

If you wanna see the glory of what I’m explaining, just give up on your bread, regardless of quality. Oscar Mayer made the bread-free bologna, now it’s up to you to experience and enjoy it. Can’t you just thusly pay it it’s due tribute? Can’t you?

Take a slappy of bologna in you right hand and a processed schtook of cheese in your left. Forget the bread, it’s little more than an auxiliary distraction (on its best day). You don’t need it. Just take the cheese and the bologna and gobble it right on up or right on down, as you prefer. That’s all of where it’s at, don’t you get it? Can’t you see it’s flawlessly simple beauty?

* I’m lactose intolerant, that’s right, I won’t put up with it and neither will my otherwise robust constitution. This slice is actually rice cheese.

 

Christmas Review in Re-Review

You may have noticed we took a couple days off for the holidays. Maybe you didn’t notice, but we did it, so there you go.

Us gaggle with some old guy, whatever.
Us gaggle with some old guy, whatever.

Rather than leave you high and dry or up some wet creek without a kayak, here’s a re-cap of some wonderful Christmas stories of months and years past to tide and greet you over.

Click any link to see a past Christmas article.

This year we only ran a pair of pieces. One about the season of kitsch hitting the Target and another about those megalomaniacal snowmen who haunt window shoppers at every turn. It was a light season this year, what can I say?

Last year we went a bit more wild with our Yule tide hogs. We covered;

  • Our Minimum Security Christmas Tree, which brought both joy and mischief.
  • How their should have been more security before the geriatric guy in the red suit escaped,
  • How I had Christmas Cheer Written All Across My Face,
  • How the B Lighting Ceremony was Truly Electrifying,
  • How the Christmas Hat Failed to Seal Season of joy,
  • How Mom & Dad were Cheap; Got Each Other Me.
  • How I somehow became the Merry Taxman.
  • The fact that I was Wearing Antlers
  • and the ever-critical Christmas in Review; from Huh to Wow.

So happy everything to everybody and to all a grand and prosperous new year, except to our Chinese readers who must wait until February when they too can have a happy new year.

Forgive our brief absence and enjoy our past work. Even us junior journalist folk need time off to visit our parents at such Hallmark-mandated times, I hope you can understand. Of course if you can’t, you’re probably the same people who didn’t notice we were gone, so my sympathy is limited.

Please, sir, can I have some more… and to all a good night.

 


 

What Gives w/ All the Abject Cousins?

Hey man, I’m no stranger to meeting new aunts, uncles and even one from a many myriad of “grand” or “great grand” whatevers. This latest turn of familial events, however, has me believing far more in association dedicated to my fame than my actual blood, if you catch my meaning.

As if there weren`t enough of them.
As if there weren`t enough of them.

We went to visit “the cousins” last month for some “Thanksgiving Dinner” or something. I was skeptical from the drowsy get-go, so don’t look to me to legitify it. We got there (perhaps late?) and everybody was staring at us. It was a long drive and these people said they hadn’t seen me and the brothers before, but no less, the staring was totally, completely out of line… I know I’m handsome as all get out, but please, keep your gawking to a minimum.

So anyhow, after a good ten minutes (which in Brendan world is about five days) they calmed down. We played air hockey and other sundry games aplenty, then we did the obligatory family photos… hang on a second, I never concurred that these oddly-style clown-folk were my family, who authorized these pictures?

No less, before I knew it, me and the (previously certified) brothers were included in a “family” photo. Despite the many attempts, you clearly will not find a single one in which all of us are consenting to the photo. Perhaps now you’ll see the very outer edges of the cusp to which our hesitation extended.

At any rate, I’m young so I care less than I should. I’m many decades too young to run for congress, so consider these rapscallions my couslings, my blood, my brethren in militant Irish arms, or whatever you like. They were nice enough, they paid attention when demanded and gave me lactose intollerable foods when requested. Regardless of what my head of state* may say, these are good people.

* The state of my head is "woozy", mostly due to unauthorized milk products, such as dry, smoked cheese. Tasty at the time, but miserable for the duration of my intestinatl passage an diaporic disaster... long story, don't ask, if you don't mind.
* The state of my head is “woozy”, mostly due to unauthorized milk products, such as dry, smoked cheese. Tasty at the time, but miserable for the duration of my intestinatl passage an diaporic disaster… long story, don’t ask, if you don’t mind.

 

 

Couch Aids Defiance of Gravity, Death

I can only pretend to know much from much else, but that’s what I do best. I tell what I know and fill in the other 95% with wild speculation. Today I speculate on the fun of the couch.
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The elder types keep telling me I’m not allowed to jump on the bed, the couch, from the tables or chairs, nor onto any of my many assorted brothers. I’ve never understood why the rules were in place, but now I’ve got a pretty good guess about it.

If you aim for the stars, skeptics will cut you down at every chance they get. They’ll say “you don’t have wings” or “the ballistics are all wrong” or “I’ve been to the moon landing site in Arizona, it’s nice I guess.” You can’t let them quash your dreams. If a cause faces so much opposition, it must be a noble one. My cause of jumping and bouncing is just such a cause. Nobel, opposed, and just so crazy it might work.

When no one (of the authoritarian persuasion) is around, I practice. I take the cushions off the couch and get right to the springs. Know what I found? They’re not looking out for my safety, they’re trying to “keep the man down,” and by the man, I obviously mean me. Look at these beefy thighs and lack of girlishly-shaped waistline. If you want to argue the semantics, let’s say that “they” are trying to keep a brother down. As you know, I am a brother to two, so that would also be me. And down? Yep, that’s exactly where they’re trying to keep me.

We clear on all this so far?

So what’s this “down” I speak of and what’s the alternative I’ve stumbled upon? Oh it’s something alright. It’s a stepping stone to the stars. More of a leaping stone, really. Okay, more of a leaping couch, but it’s a giant leaping couch for mankind.

With the aid of this couch, I am able to suspend the effects of gravity and experience total weightlessness for fractions of seconds at a time. It’s the same sensation astronaughts get when they’re being, you know, astronaughts. And this, I’m sure, is just the tip of the Titanic-smashing iceburg, as it were.

By increasing my vertical momentum (the uppy-downy motions) I am able to get farther and farther into the air. That is how the damaged springs* in the couch have been imperative to my experiments.

couch-defying-wide
As you can see here, despite my much terrific into-air jumpery, there can be hazards to leaving the ground.

Then the elders come in and hear my glee-ified happitude and steal my dreams of soaring on angel wings. They say I’m not defying gravity, but more like I’m defying death. Whatever man, I’ve come loose from my tests before and suffered fantastic bumps to the noggin, but nothing on par with this “death” phenomenon they speak of. Crazy talk, I say, crazy!

My dear, fellow, experimenting junior scientists. I implore you to seek out couches and beds and give them the jumping of a lifetime. Even if it’s one such jumping leading right up to the end of one’s lifetime, it’s all part of your journey through (if not “out of”) life. Pay no heed to the cries of your guardians, I know I never do.

Jump. Defy gravity. Be free and embrace this thing called life while destroying those things called springs.

* Beats me how the springs got damaged. They were fine when I started, couldn’t even guess what might have happened to them.

 

Ghosts of Christmas Past (articles) Here to Haunt

With Christmas here and in full, choked up swing, we’re only barely winding up for our fun. So to properly kick off our accidentally abridged dozen days of Christmas, please enjoy these articles from seasons past, as we look forward to the coming days of joy.
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And while this may seem little more than a gallery of work we already did thrown back together in a single place for one final hoorah, I assure you nothing could be further from the truth.

No, we plan to recycle this stuff year after year for as long as it makes sense… as for the other part of your doubting? Well, that’s not very yuletide joyous of you to bring up, is it?

2004 Articles

 

All I Want For Christmas Is Some Publicity

Man, this trek to fame is painfully slow. Every time I think I’ve got something good going and that all fame is about to break loose, something goes wrong and it all comes grinding inconveniently to a halt.

This is me looking all set to go for my interview that hasn`t happened yet, thanks to acts of God.
This is me looking all set to go for my interview that hasn`t happened yet, thanks to acts of God.

When the paper was only a few weeks old, some Yahoo decided to feature it as the Pick of the Day. It was a huge honor but so many people came that I ran out of bandwidth and most of the new people couldn’t come see it, and never did. I lost a lot of potential readers and exposure from that. It was my first experience with a “big break” getting all mooked up. Pity.

Then there was the book deal. A really great publisher (whom I don’t think I’m allowed to name just yet, though I promise they have a name, and it’s a doozy) asked us about adapting a book back in October. Exciting stuff, except that it’s been a quarter of my life and nothing is ironed out yet. We’re closer, but I’m not getting any younger, for those of you just tuning in.

The picture you see here was going to be used for my big interview. Maybe that was supposed to be my Kit-Kat style break. There’s this guy from KIRO Radio who’s really neat here in town. Seems someone tipped him off that the world’s youngest newsman lives in his area… His people called my people, an interview was scheduled, and guess what happens? A blizzard, a flood, Thanksgiving, another flood and then a 50-year windstorm. All acts of God and pilgrims, but still a wrench in my machine.

Worst part is, as rumor would have it, I may not be the youngest journalist in the world anymore. You see, I’m already getting so old. Where does youth go?

So what do I do now? I can’t redo a day like Yahoo Pick of the Day. I can’t magically force a book deal that’s still as far up in the air as that balloon my brother set free. I can’t make Jim Valley call my people back to do the interview. Where’s the love? Where? Show me! And to think I used to be cute.

If you want to help out, feel free. Tell a friend, email somebody or open the window, even right now, and yell. I find yelling to be an effective means of drawing attention, but again I iterate (or re-reiterate if you prefer) that I ain’t getting any younger. I’m automatically aging and growing. Yes, thickness, as you must all know, comes with age.

 

Star Zero Pound is on the Case

There’s a new hero in town. When crime rears its ugly head, do not fear for Star Zero Pound is here! He fights for justice with his super powers, clever disguise, and of course his incredible gadgets and charm.

With his mask and trustee beacon, he is always close at hand.
With his mask and trustee beacon, he is always close at hand.

He defies convention and stands up for what is right, without ever stepping back nor forward for that matter.

When the mayor of Cityville has trouble, do you know what he does? He picks up the phone and dials directly to *0#, but he does not press send on his mobile phone because then it gives an error message, which does not help to thwart crime nor criminals.

His name is more than just his number, it is also his power. For he has a gross total weight of fewer than 25 pounds even when he’s soaking wet which periodically he is. His low curb-weight gives him near-weightless dexterity unrivaled by those weighing perhaps more than 50 pounds. His size makes him able to crawl under all but the smallest of obstacles, such as chairs.

Evil-doers, you’ll know when you’ve been defeated because the only thing sharper than his newfound incisors would be his perfectly honed victory-wit. If you have doubts, bear in mind that when he says he’s “on the case,” you can see from the photos here that he’s really “on the case.” That, my friends, is a victory pun.

His only weaknesses are the ladies, a fine meal and pretty objects. With so few weaknesses he can easily rival the likes of James Bond, Philip J. Fry and even Ted Kennedy.

When you are in trouble and need the help of the illusive Star Pound Zero, just pick up your phone and dial… But again, if it’s a cell phone, don’t hit send. Oh, and if it’s a land line then you probably don’t want to dial it at all because you might get like an emergency connection or something like that. I don’t know, never really tried it out.

Now justice can bring itself to your city without need for corrupt police nor costly “fair trials.” Once cleared by the Federal Trade Commission and assigned a theme song he’ll take to the streets and you’ll finally be safe at night.

Of course, he will also need to find his socks first.

 

75% Stricken by Infectious Epidemic

You may have heard that flu season has come early this year and with a savage sort of wrath unseen in years. Of course what the mainstream media fails to say is just how many years. I may not know that answer, but I can tell you firsthand just how yucky the whole experience is.

I can admit when I don`t look so hot. This is one such instance.
I can admit when I don`t look so hot. This is one such instance.

It seems like the same week the news announced the flu epidemic, it swept through our neighborhood like a Zamboni at halftime. Initial infection rate was reported at 25% which quickly doubled to 50% and then climbed to 75% before leveling off. No two ways about it, 75% qualifies as an epidemic.

This isn’t just your run-of-the-mill cold either. I’ve had those colds, they’re no fun for sure, but full recovery rarely takes more than a couple days. The only confirmed case that has resulted in full recovery took eight days. Other cases still unresolved have been ongoing seven to nine days now with slow improvement.

sick2This whole sickness experience is pretty new to me and I can’t say I fully understand it. I do know I don’t like it and I’m not sure why I’m being punished like this. For those of you who have never suffered a cold, let me share the symptomatic experience.

 

  • Runny nose: It’s an odd faucet phenomenon, really. The darn thing just pours out constantly. Fortunately, your mouth is right beneath your nose, which can effectively catch the runoff.
  • Sneezes: Kind of hard to explain, but just wiggle in close to me and hang out about ten minutes. I’m sure you’ll understand it once I show you a live demonstration all over your sleeve or face.
  • Coughing: Raspy squeaks frolic about the lungs as these uncontrollable spasms jolt your assorted sized bodies, smallish in my case.
  • Thick head: My head feels bigger and heavier than ever before, which says a lot on account of how heavy it’s been to me historically. My face is achy and it’s work to breathe sometimes. It’s like I want to have my head lanced to relieve some of this pressure.
  • Lethargy: I would love to describe this in detail but I just don’t have the energy right now.
  • Hyper Slumber Syndrome: I really excel at sleeping a lot. Amazingly, I was able to sleep so much more that neighborhood cats have reported jealousy. Makes it hard to do my job around here, but still feels so right.

 

While I’ve still not made a full recovery from this mess, I remain committed to bringing you the news. When it first struck there were already seven completed articles in the cue ready to publish. Sadly, that number has dwindled to zero. It’s been hard to schedule photo shoots on account of tiredness and how sick I look, so if the articles seem a little bit forced, you can be in the know as to why.

 

Young Rocker Masters Rocking Craft

Ever since I was little* I’ve loved time in my Baby Rock’n’go. Unless I’m hungry, it always takes my mind off my worries. But now, as a grown man,** I am not just a passenger, but rather the master of my own rocking.

Brendan pretends my rocky-controlitude means little, but I know best that it does.
Brendan pretends my rocky-controlitude means little, but I know best that it does.

My rocky chair has been like a babysitter to me. It’s got a belt and no clear way of escaping, plus it’s fun for me so I don’t even try. I’m not sure if it’s supposed to be a puzzle, but either way I’ve got it solved.

It all started about a month ago when I realized I could reach out and grab the bars. Support, safety or just a non-verbal invitation, I don’t know, but they’re right there for the grabbery. I reached out, latched on, and my rocker ceased it’s rocking. It was interesting but it made me sad. I liked the rocking. Still I couldn’t help myself. Once in the chair I’d reach right out and grind my ride to a dead stop.

Then I discovered something even more amazing. I figured out how to make it go again. Everywhere I sit, I practice my wiggling and rocking, and all that work has paid off. Now, when I’m in my rock-a-bye-me, I stop it, then lean for and aft over and over until it’s going full steam again.

So my days of free rocking have passed, but my days of controlled rocking have come. Softer or more vigorsome to my rocksome ways are here and now. Oh, that and I don’t fall asleep in it anymore, and my neck is thankful for that.

It’s all part of becoming a man,*** I think, and my time has come, I have passed from boyhood into manliness.

Editor’s notes:
* You’re still little, what are you talking about? You’ve always been little, ever since I’ve known you.
** You’re not a grown man, how can you even say that? I’m like ten pounds bigger than you. I’m a grown man.
*** Is this a joke? You’re not manly, you don’t even have a moustache! Who writes this stuff?

Here you can see me with my paws firmly gripped around the emergency stop bars. The brothers are in the background acting as if nothing special is going on, but that clearly is not the case.
Here you can see me with my paws firmly gripped around the emergency stop bars. The brothers are in the background acting as if nothing special is going on, but that clearly is not the case.

 

Tree of Giving Only Takes

Just like any man of my advancing years, I’m a big fan of shiny objects. I hear dogs like them too, but let’s stay on task here — hey look, a shiny penny on the ground!

Ooooh, pretty.
Ooooh, pretty.

What was I just saying? Oh yeah, the thing about the shiny objects. I totally like them and these Christmas trees with their assortments of ornaments are so distracting I can hardly explain it. We were down at this outdoor shopping center (which makes no sense since we live so ridiculously far north. I mean, it’s freezing people, what’s the big idea?) when I saw the so-called “Giving Tree.”

What a misnomer! The holidays are a time of love, but this forbidden fiber’s got no concept of it. Love is give and take, but despite it’s name to the contrary, the Giving Tree only takes. It doesn’t give ornaments nor cards nor money nor candy canes. I know this because I tried to do some taking and I got in trouble. Trouble? Oh come on people, it’s a giving tree for crying out loud (which I didn’t do, though I considered it.)

This holiday season I hope to impart just one bit of wisdom all over you people, and it’s likely the only one I have. When you see a tree, whether an alleged baum of giving or not, do not try to take from it. Though the décor may be festive, the aroma perfectly seasonal and the attendants away getting coffee you will find yourself on the outs with those purporting to embrace the season of love. Trust me in this, for despite my most subtle efforts — and I am indeed a master of subtlety — I fell victim to just such a trap.

It’s still early but I wish you the most joyous of holidays. See, I can give that freely and I’m not even a “giving Brendan.” Stupid trees. If I knew how to type the muttering under my breath I’m doing now, believe me you’d see it.

[Mutters something all disgruntly-like under breath.]*

* It would seem as though I found a way, but it still doesn’t properly convey my distress on the matter. [mutters something additional with increased ferver.]

All this giving and generosity, yet you try to steal one silly ornament and all the sudden I'm the one who doesn't get the spirit of the season.
All this giving and generosity, yet you try to steal one silly ornament and all the sudden I’m the one who doesn’t get the spirit of the season.