Thursday, May 28, 2015


(The Penny Dreadful witches are pure evil.)

Yesterday, the Dragon Lady made beef and French fries for dinner.  The meal wasn't her best effort.  The fries were soggy.  But I didn't complain.  I just smiled and ate my vittles like the village dullard.  I'm wonderful that way.  I drank several glasses of generic cola.  Sugary soft-drinks bring me much happiness.

I watched the latest episode of Penny Dreadful.  The witches are still after Miss Ives.  They manage to steal a lock of her hair.  Their plan is to torture the poor woman with a voodoo doll.  I normally don't scare easily.  But Penny Dreadful's very graphic and disturbing.  You've been warned.

I paid homage to the Christ God.  I said the Lord's Prayer on bended knees.  No big surprise.  I'm not some filthy pagan.  I asked Jesus to let me live for another nineteen years.  After that, he's free to kill me.  I want to give my sons a good start in life.

I went to bed at 10 p.m.  I dreamed about California.  I was walking toward Bakersfield.  I got lost in a forest.

I woke up at 6 a.m. and turned on Fox News.  Rick Santorum is running for president.  Rick has no chance.  First of all, he's boring.  I'm tired of looking at his goofy sweaters.  The joke just isn't funny anymore.  Secondly, there aren't enough white men in America to vote him into office.

I read the paper while enjoying a bathroom break.  Korean couples are getting divorced at an alarming rate.  I'm not shocked.  I've been married for sixteen years, and my Korean wife is sick and tired of looking at my ugly face.  If I were to die tonight, she'd dance with joy.

Anyway, it's time for the song du jour.  Here's Kid Charlemagne by Steely Dan.  God bless.             


  1. Steel Dan Mr. Smith.

  2. Soggy fries?!? Was she not using your Philips?

    I signed up to work a 10-hour midnight shift at the psych ward in the main public hospital in town Thursday. Nurses often have impromptu food parties during the wee hours (if patients aren't wigging out.) I brought the Air Fryer with me on the tram. It's not too heavy and I've got a big laundry bag to carry it in. I've been wanting to put it through its paces more, but I just don't eat enough food by myself to go wild with the thing at home. This gave me a chance to try cooking a number of things in it, be generous to my work mates and also burnish my rep as the eccentric American. "He did WHAT? Brought a kitchen machine to the ward and made hot chips for everyone? What an odd Bukk!" Frozen chips are a bargain at the grocer -- only $2 Aussie (which is about $1.60 American at the current exchange rate) for a kilo package. Cheap as chips! But I can't eat them too often or I'll be as fat as you describe yourself, Mr. Smith. Ass cancer is not how I plan to die.

    Anyway, I made a batch of crinkly fries, some "potato gems" (what we Merkins call "Tater Tots") onion rings and a bunch of pastizzi I bought frozen at this Maltese bakery I've been wanting to try. Those were fun. I got varieties with pizza filling, green peans and corned beef (that's the British influence on Malta) and apple. The latter were the best -- like a Mediterranean ethnic version of McDonald's hot apple pie.

    My next step is going to be hand-crafting recipes like croquettes and samosas for the Fryer instead of buying already-prepared things. And when I've got that mastered, I'm going to buy a Thermomix.

    1. The Phillips Air-Fryer is a true delight. I love it.

      You'll be the most popular nurse in the psych ward. Even the loonies will love you.

      Happy cooking.

    2. I was going to give some chips to the patients, particularly this drug-addicted African Muslim fellow from one of the desert countries. He had stopped being an incoherent, staggering yet violent maniac, and he was no longer drooling excessively and choking on food as a result of all the meds we injected him with to damp down the madness. He even slept from midnight until 0430 that night due to the Immovane I gave him. He's a friendly guy, in a brain-damaged sort of way, when the insanity lifts. I get on with him fairly well (he is a frequent flyer) because I talk to him as I would with a wayward dog -- firm but not aggressive tone of voice and make tea with honey for him (as long as he takes his tablets.) Many people are scared of his black azz, especially when he starts screaming at other patients and trying to attack them because he believes they are djinns trying to suck out his soul. (At least that's what the interpreter who knows his language tells us that he is saying.) Bloke is srsly messed up. I find that if I speak in a soothing tone of voice, even though his English is not too good, and step in between him and the person he is threatening to hit, he can be redirected.

      But I didn't, because if it looks like I'm getting too chummy with any of the patients, some other nurse might dob me in for inappropriate behaviour. I fear my co-workers (especially the cunty power-hungry female ones) as much as I do the loonies.

    3. I've known lots of loons in my day. For some reason, I attract them. I used to be "friends" with three paranoid schizophrenics. I talked one of them out of joining a dating site. Ha ha ha. I'm like a crazy person magnet.

    4. That would explain why I'm a regular reader of your blog.

    5. It's always good to hear from you, Bukko. And keep those loons in line.


Thanks for stopping by. Smith.