When the Going Gets Weird, the Weird Turn to New York

Crazy frigging tornadoes, eh?

Whew. Mother Nature's had a burr in her bum this past month or two. Hollywood producers everywhere are wondering when it's finally all going to rain down on New York so all their stupid fucking "volcanoes in New York!" and "twister pandemonium in New York!" and "asteroid hits New York!" fucking melodrama might have an iota of credence.

Jesus Christ. If I see one more major, totally implausible, never-gonna-fuckin'-happen catastrophe hit New-fucking-York, I'm gonna blow a realism gasket, man. Lightning bolts on steroids come raining down and quakes are rocking goddamn Broadway and a giant lizard's climbing up the Empire State Building and the governor's getting blown by hookers, and all these has-been actors are standing around, looking overwrought, saying lines like "I never would have imagined I'd be in this horrible situation!"

Of course you didn't! It's New York! Why would you ever imagine a massively thick cloud of electrical disturbance to centre itself immovably EXACTLY ABOVE MANHATTAN? Why does a gorilla go there? Why do tornadoes start appearing? All in fuckin' Manhattan, too, right. Like, not Buffalo, or someone slipped a couple degrees and landed in Jersey, eh?

How in the hell do THOSE writers get work? I mean, what is this, "Bong-Hit Cinema" or something? "Bong-Hit Cinema... Movies inspired by hits off the bong! Smoke up, Johnny, it's 4:20! And FUCK, does it suck to be in New York! Tonight, plagued by rare African killer bees, New Yorkers ain't gonna take no more! Put AWAY the honey!"

Goddamn lame-ass waste-of-celluloid pieces of unimaganitive shit.

So, that came from out of nowhere. Ahh, the proverbial literary enema.

My hand is better. Tomorrow I will be in a world of pain. Friend from work is coming by to climb the stairs with me and assist me in pigging out on mufffffins and other fabulous morning eats. Then I work. Then I play soccer for, yes, 2 hours.

Shoot me now. Then I won't have to do any of it. No?

Bah. Fine. I'll behave and go to bed.

Mm, muffiny dreams. See, I think my friend can use muffins. Everyone has times when muffins make everything better. They work for me. My mother was a firm believer in the mighty, might power of muffins. My brother sang "I am the muffin man" for the first 16 years of his life. Me, I make muffins, and pretty nice ones, too, and always healthy!

But muffins are always nicer when you're sharing them. Yes, and thus the power of muffins.

(And 170 calories, 4 grams of fat per muffin? Fabulous! And, no, they're not an inch big. They're real-sized. I'll dig the recipe out for you people next time. My secret ingredient is blueberry yogurt.)