Panera Bread has a dish called “Fiesta Con Queso.”

Sadly, I wasn’t in the mood today for a party with cheese. But next time, man, all bets are off. Although it sounds entirely too much like something out of a bizarre fetish catalog. Or a hard-core fondue mag.

Is it a bad sign when you’re settling down to lunch just as a deliveryman drops off lunch from some other restaurant for all the cooks and waitstaff?

- or –

Bonds Pre-Emptive Strike (out?)

Should you be worried when you realize that your last word(s) will probably be, “Finally”?

So sue me, I spent a lot of time thinking physics and mathematics before I was legal.

I guess it’s still 1:59 somewhere.

As a wise man once said, “All I need now is the milk.”

Courtesy of Coop:

. . . the first shot of Darth Vader will be interrupted by some cutesy farting CGI robot breakdancing in the background. LLUUCCAAAASSSS!!!!

Can anyone provide me with a definition of “Involuntary Deviate Sexual Intercourse?”

I can reason out the “Deviate Sexual Intercourse” bit, it’s the Involuntary part that gets me.

Surely an homage to Scottish shepherds is not involutary? “Sorry officer, the sheep, she just sat down.”

This name makes me inordinately happy:

Ludicrousness T. Forest

I can not even begin to imagine what the T. stands for.

This site makes me so unreasonably happy I am downloading it so as to be assured of its presence for all time. Man, the mid 90s were a heyday for afternoon cartoons, between the Animaniacs and Batman: The Animated Series I wasted a lot of time watching TV.

Uh … yeah, Brain, but where are we going to find rubber pants our size?

Call the pol-eeeee-ce.

Lileks has the funniest rant I’ve read in ages:

An Open Letter to Bath and Body Works:

If you have set foot in your stores recently, you will notice the accentuated preponderance of floral and spicy scents, as though someone had swabbed the walls with an expensive prostitute.

I can’t get the image of swabbing the walls with an expensive prostitute out of my head. And he’s right, those stores wallow in a stench that gives me a headache from fifty yards away.

Last on Modern Drunkard’s list of ways to survive the holidays is not to go negative. To wit:

. . . instead of blaming yourself for all those failed relationships, think about that time you walked to your ex

From The Corner

The disparity between the initial exit polls favoring Kerry and his subsequent loss to W tells me one thing: Most people voted for Kerry…….before they voted against him.

For the record, it took precisely six minutes for the first “Yankees Suck” chant to break out after the Red Sox finally won the World Series.

“This,” laughed Kevin Millar, “is the Red Sox. I don’t know why, but nothing comes easy for us. Maybe that’s not a good thing. But it’s just good enough to beat you.”

Bug-eyed Earl says what we’ve all been thinking:

I still have nightmares about them scary underwear people.

I have actually done the above. Oddly enough, I am proud of that fact.

We need to drink. Serious drinking. The kind that leads to blackouts and support groups.

“No one is above the law.” — Kofi Annan

Why that cheeky bugger. Hasn’t he read his own press lately?

Once in a rare while NPR comes through with a classic:

I don’t know whether to brush my butt or wipe my teeth!

The subject line of an email I got this morning:

SEXUALLY-EXPLICIT: Re: Scott Pictures of your ex wife

I thought that a neat trick. Unless they were referring to a different Scott.

Kerry’s seeming prediliction towards moving in for a kiss with his possible/real running mates is really starting to bother me. I thought President Bush took a damned bad picture but this Skeletor-loving is positively unnerving.

“C’mere Eddie you beautiful trial-lawyer you. Let me show you my patented “pick the lint off the lapel” move.”

And while we’re contemplating the utter weirdness of the presumptive Democratic nominee, how about his other prediliction for scaring young children with his hi-jinks?

As the two families milled around the airport tarmac waiting to board the campaign plane now emblazoned with both of their surnames, Kerry rumpled the blond hair of Edwards’ 4-year-old son Jack

By now I suspect everyone’s seen the NY Post cover goof of yesterday.

Yeah, sure, funny gaffe. But look closely at the picture – is Kerry coming in for a good luck smooch or what?

“Sorry Dick, but Edwards has better hair. Come on, give us a squnch.”

From Toole:

One time there was this baby on the train. He was black. He was smiling and making faces at a black man on the train. That guy got off the train, so now the baby was looking at me. He stopped smiling and was making mean faces at me. And I think at one point he even gave me the finger. This baby was barely a year old, but I am pretty sure was a racist. No one likes a racist baby.

In reference to the latest tax bill to come out of our fair friends on the Hill:

Congress, spending like a drunken sailor for the last four years, has finally come right out and subsidized rum and whaling.

From Mike Toole

Anyone who, on the subway or bus, plays a game on their cell phone, a Game Boy, etc. without turning the sound off, will have the item confiscated and replaced with a monkey (who is also mute) that will only be trained to punch you in the groin.

A moment of zen, courtesy of Primal Purge

Approximately one hour after consuming [plantains], you have the ability to shit through a screen door at forty paces. Which, you know, could be an excellent power if you’re inspired to become a Superhero.

They’re also exactly what you’d expect the color green to taste like.

I have often toyed with having my very own moment of Zen feature on this site but always got hung up with the need to make it my very own patentable variation of angry Zen.

Bollocks to that. I prefer funny to angry although I do believe strongly in angry Zen. So, I’ll throw up some things to contemplate from time to time: some funny, some angry. You decide.

Here’s today’s installment:

No longer need mankind open the door to get ice. The ice comes to you. . . And here is a switch for the light, in case you wake in the middle of the night with a desire for clean, fresh ice, which you will probably dump in your pants because you are sleepwalking.

Now, if that’s not something to meditate on, I don’t know what is.