(Long-time MySpace friends may recognize this one. Thanks to Jamie Dektas for reminding me of it.)
I'm
often asked why I'm seemingly always single. Rarely does a day go by
when I don't hear: "Joe, how can someone as charming, handsome, sweet,
modest, and adorable as yourself possibly not have a girlfriend?" It's
certainly quite a conundrum, and I'm as mystified as anyone else. A few
naysayers have tried to hint to me that I've perhaps set my standards
too high. Come on. I don't think holding out for a six-foot-tall
neurosurgeon/former supermodel with an Eastern European accent is too
much to ask.
Okay, okay. Maybe I am being too choosy.
This is why, solely as a service to any potential mates out there,
I've developed a multiple choice test that determines your
"Joe-worthiness". Now, I'm sure your immediate reaction is, "Wow, Joe!
This looks like it was a lot of work! Thank you so much!" Think
nothing of it; I constantly deliberate about nothing but helping out my
friends. Now, let's begin:
1. Look inside your pants right now. What do you see?
a) A vagina
b) A penis
c) It's too hairy to tell for sure
Note: If you answered anything other than "a", you may go ahead and put your pencil (haha!) down.
2. What is your opinion of high heel shoes?
a) They're painful to wear and designed to make women look like sex objects. I don't own any.
b) They're fashionable and fun to wear for short periods of time.
c) I think they should enact a law that women have to wear at least four-inch heels at all times, even during labor.
3. How soon is sex appropriate in a relationship?
a) I would only feel comfortable having sex after we're married.
b) I think sex is fine at a point where we both feel committed to each other.
c) I'm getting horny just reading this test.
4. What kind of work habits or employment are you seeking in a mate?
a) I expect that he work fairly hard to provide for his family.
b) I have a career as well, so we just need to strike a good work/life balance.
c) Work? As soon as I receive this multi-million dollar divorce settlement, you and I can travel around the world!
5. What is your opinion of threesomes?
a) They're disgusting. Sex should be between one man and one woman.
b) Though I prefer just to have sex with my mate, I'd be willing to experiment with another woman.
c) I plan on bringing home a different hot babe for us every night, if that's okay.
6. What is the most important thing in your purse right now?
a) Mace
b) Cell phone
c) Condoms
7. What is your opinion of pornography?
a) I detest it. It makes women out to be nothing but sex providers.
b) I enjoy watching it with my mate from time to time.
c) It ain't as glamorous as people think, but it pays my bills.
8. What is your opinion of football?
a) Professional sports are idiotic. The time spent watching them could be better used in a relationship.
b) Football is okay. He can watch it while I do my own thing.
c) Football is fantastic! Not only will I watch, I'll fetch the beer and pretzels during commercials!
9. How do you feel about masturbation?
a) The Bible says it is a sin, so no masturbation will be allowed in my house.
b) I am comfortable with my man meeting his own needs when I am not around.
c) If he can find time to masturbate in between the seven times a day we'll be having sex, bully for him.
10. What is your tongue?
a) The part of your body that discerns taste.
b) A playful way to kiss.
c) A sex organ.
d) All of the above, all at the same time.
Now,
all you have to do is write down your answers and mail them to me. All
those with passing test scores will immediately be sent the "Joe
Simmons Dating Preparedness Pack", which includes advanced testing
materials such as:
* A tape measure, with handy markings on
it that illustrate important relationship values such as "your waist
should not exceed this mark", "your thighs should not exceed this mark",
"your breasts hopefully exceed this mark", etc.
* A username
and password for a YouTube account so that you can upload a video of
yourself (from head to toe) vocalizing why you should be my girlfriend.
* And a copy of the bestseller "He's Just Not That Into You" by Greg
Behrendt. (Trust me; it's a real timesaver for me when girls own this
book.)
If, after the advanced testing, you are deemed the best choice: you win! However, you should know that I hate dating so we'll pretty much just be hanging out at my house. Or yours, if it's nicer.
Geez, I'm such a great guy. Why on Earth am I still single?
Sunday, August 09, 2009
Wednesday, August 05, 2009
Would You Like a Side of Sucralose With That?
Dammit. I’m in the breakfast aisle in Publix, and I have no idea what the hell is good for me. I’m trying to eat more healthfully, but once I’m in a grocery store, I’m a complete tool. And reading the ingredients is no help, because for some reason it is always in Russian or French or some damn language that I can’t decipher. Well, I did once manage to memorize that high fructose corn syrup (HFCS) means Instant Death (ID). If you ingest it, you actually collapse right there at the table. At least, that’s what my sister Lori thinks.
Since I can’t afford a personal nutritionist, Lori serves that function, albeit by phone. She lives in northeast Ohio, where her husband Doug hunts and fishes for all of their meat and she tends to a garden for all of their vegetables. They also scour the Internet daily for the latest conspiracy theories, like how HFCS is an example of big corporations trying to kill us.
There’s not a whole lot to do in northeast Ohio.
Nutty theories aside, Lori is a good resource for all things diet, so she’s gotten used to phones calls like this from me:
Ring! Ring!
Doug: “Lori, answer it!”
Lori: “I’m doing the dishes! Why don’t YOU answer it?”
Doug: “I can’t hear you over that phone ringing! Answer it!”
Lori: (drying off her hands to answer it) “Damn lazy ass.” (Into phone) “Hello?”
Me, yelling over the sound of a loud bar at Happy Hour: “IS RANCH DRESSING LOW CARB?!?”
Lori: “As long as you don’t go overb—”
Me, to someone else: “Dude, shut the hell up. I’m talking to my sister. Just because I don’t want to be a lard ass like you doesn’t make me a homo. Now get me a beer, Fat Boy.” (Into phone) “What was that, Lori?”
Lori: “If you’ll eat it you’ll die”.
Me: “Thanks!” (click)
She actually usually gives me accurate information, but I guess over the years she’s grown a little tired of administering this free service. Which is why I’m standing here right now trying to figure out which hot cereal will lower my cholesterol and which ones will assassinate me.
I give up. I’ve been staring at this stupid shelf for ten minutes now. It’s time to call my nutritionist.
Ring! Ring!
Lori: “Areyoubleeding?”
Me: “Uh, what? No!”
Lori: “Ihaveguestsseeyoulater!”
Me: “Wait! Didn’t you say sucralose is the same thing as HFCS?”
Lori: “Noyouidiotbutit’sbaddon’tbuyitloveyoubyebye!” (Click)
Well, I guess I learned two things: One, don’t buy anything with sucralose. And two, when it comes to nutritionists, you get what you pay for.
Since I can’t afford a personal nutritionist, Lori serves that function, albeit by phone. She lives in northeast Ohio, where her husband Doug hunts and fishes for all of their meat and she tends to a garden for all of their vegetables. They also scour the Internet daily for the latest conspiracy theories, like how HFCS is an example of big corporations trying to kill us.
There’s not a whole lot to do in northeast Ohio.
Nutty theories aside, Lori is a good resource for all things diet, so she’s gotten used to phones calls like this from me:
Ring! Ring!
Doug: “Lori, answer it!”
Lori: “I’m doing the dishes! Why don’t YOU answer it?”
Doug: “I can’t hear you over that phone ringing! Answer it!”
Lori: (drying off her hands to answer it) “Damn lazy ass.” (Into phone) “Hello?”
Me, yelling over the sound of a loud bar at Happy Hour: “IS RANCH DRESSING LOW CARB?!?”
Lori: “As long as you don’t go overb—”
Me, to someone else: “Dude, shut the hell up. I’m talking to my sister. Just because I don’t want to be a lard ass like you doesn’t make me a homo. Now get me a beer, Fat Boy.” (Into phone) “What was that, Lori?”
Lori: “If you’ll eat it you’ll die”.
Me: “Thanks!” (click)
She actually usually gives me accurate information, but I guess over the years she’s grown a little tired of administering this free service. Which is why I’m standing here right now trying to figure out which hot cereal will lower my cholesterol and which ones will assassinate me.
I give up. I’ve been staring at this stupid shelf for ten minutes now. It’s time to call my nutritionist.
Ring! Ring!
Lori: “Areyoubleeding?”
Me: “Uh, what? No!”
Lori: “Ihaveguestsseeyoulater!”
Me: “Wait! Didn’t you say sucralose is the same thing as HFCS?”
Lori: “Noyouidiotbutit’sbaddon’tbuyitloveyoubyebye!” (Click)
Well, I guess I learned two things: One, don’t buy anything with sucralose. And two, when it comes to nutritionists, you get what you pay for.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Revenge of the Facebook Survey
(Because I seemingly get tagged in every single facebook
survey ever written, I finally did one myself. Unfortunately, this one
got a little out of control. The ones who are tagged can do this one if
they like, but I'm warning you: You may die. Also, MySpace friends may
recognize a few questions on here. Hey, it's okay for me to plagiarize
myself, okay?)
1. Where did you take your profile pic?
I was performing standup at Reserve. Also, I was on fire. I mistakenly thought it would make me funnier.
2. What exactly are you wearing right now?
The same clothes I wore out last night. Though I did change into a thong for comfort.
3. What is your current problem?
I am currently looking for new employment but have absolutely no motivation to be employed. Unless, of course, you are a potential employer scanning my profile, in which case I'm extremely motivated to work hard in order to achieve the goals that will make your company great.
4. What makes you happy most?
Writing humor, whether it is standup, a humor essay, or a shitty survey like this.
5. What's the name of the song that you're listening to?
Listen, you dumbass survey: I’m male. That means I can’t multitask. So I can’t have music on when I’m writing any more than a typical girl can talk on a cell phone while driving. Unless this is a potential employer, in which case multitasking makes me stronger.
6. Any celeb you would marry?
Who created this survey? A middle schooler? This is a stupid, silly, immature question. And, Keira Knightley.
7. Name someone with the same birthday as you?
Nobody. This is true. I’m the first and only person every born on January 23rd.
8. Ever sang by yourself in front of a large audience?
No, but I have simulated sex with other species on stage. I bet that so-called “entertainer” Justin Timberlake has never tried that.
9. Has anyone ever said you looked like a celebrity?
Yes. I get Keanu Reeves and the lead singer from Hoobastank, which I’m cool with. Then I also get Jerry Seinfeld and Gilbert Gottfried, which makes me want to dunk my face in a McDonald’s deep fryer.
10. Do you still watch kiddy movies or kiddie TV shows?
Why did you spell “kiddie” two different ways? And why do say “kiddie” in the first place? Use “children’s”. “Kiddie” makes me think that answering this question will earn me a sit-down with Chris Hansen.
11. Do you know any languages?
Ooog. Ungff. No me know no language. Me hungry!
12. I’m getting the feeling you are starting to mock me.
Um, what? That’s not a question.
13. You think you’re better than I am, don’t you?
Yes, but only because I am an actual human being and you are a stupid shitty survey. And I mean that in the nicest way possible.
14. You are really starting to annoy me. Us facebook surveys are a little tired of all you dumbasses responding to our questions with half-ass or smartass answers, thinking you're funny when in general, most of you really suck at humor.
Okay, hang on a second here: how are you responding to me?
15. Sorry, dickhead. I'm the survey, I ask the questions. Speaking of, let's turn it up a notch. Honestly, why aren't you married yet?
That's none of your business. Besides, I just haven't met the right—
16. You're gay, aren't you? You're a flaming homo!
NO I ABSOLUTELY AM NOT. Not that there's anything wrong with that! But I assure you I'm 100% heterosexual. Listen, I don't have to finish this stupid survey—
17. Whatever, queerbait. Honestly, when was the last time you got laid?
I generally don't talk about my sex life on—
18. Chicken.
I am NOT a chi—
19. BWAWK BOCK BOCK BOCK!!!
What the hell kind of crazy survey is this? You're making fun of me?
20. Stop dodging the question.
I'm not answering it! Up yours! I only started this stupid survey because I was bored!
21. Ohhhh…"Mr. Hot-Shot Comedian" is too good for us lowly facebook surveys unless he's reeeally bored.
Listen, I've got nothing against surveys. It's just that I usually focus my creative energy on my material.
22. Yeah, I've heard your stuff. You really should stick to surveys.
Screw you. I like my work. Now I insist you answer my question: How in the hell is a facebook survey responding to my answers?
23. Oh, that's easy.
So? What's the answer? How are you doing it?
24. The answer is: you're not right in the head.
What?
25. You know I'm right, don't you?
Shut up.
1. Where did you take your profile pic?
I was performing standup at Reserve. Also, I was on fire. I mistakenly thought it would make me funnier.
2. What exactly are you wearing right now?
The same clothes I wore out last night. Though I did change into a thong for comfort.
3. What is your current problem?
I am currently looking for new employment but have absolutely no motivation to be employed. Unless, of course, you are a potential employer scanning my profile, in which case I'm extremely motivated to work hard in order to achieve the goals that will make your company great.
4. What makes you happy most?
Writing humor, whether it is standup, a humor essay, or a shitty survey like this.
5. What's the name of the song that you're listening to?
Listen, you dumbass survey: I’m male. That means I can’t multitask. So I can’t have music on when I’m writing any more than a typical girl can talk on a cell phone while driving. Unless this is a potential employer, in which case multitasking makes me stronger.
6. Any celeb you would marry?
Who created this survey? A middle schooler? This is a stupid, silly, immature question. And, Keira Knightley.
7. Name someone with the same birthday as you?
Nobody. This is true. I’m the first and only person every born on January 23rd.
8. Ever sang by yourself in front of a large audience?
No, but I have simulated sex with other species on stage. I bet that so-called “entertainer” Justin Timberlake has never tried that.
9. Has anyone ever said you looked like a celebrity?
Yes. I get Keanu Reeves and the lead singer from Hoobastank, which I’m cool with. Then I also get Jerry Seinfeld and Gilbert Gottfried, which makes me want to dunk my face in a McDonald’s deep fryer.
10. Do you still watch kiddy movies or kiddie TV shows?
Why did you spell “kiddie” two different ways? And why do say “kiddie” in the first place? Use “children’s”. “Kiddie” makes me think that answering this question will earn me a sit-down with Chris Hansen.
11. Do you know any languages?
Ooog. Ungff. No me know no language. Me hungry!
12. I’m getting the feeling you are starting to mock me.
Um, what? That’s not a question.
13. You think you’re better than I am, don’t you?
Yes, but only because I am an actual human being and you are a stupid shitty survey. And I mean that in the nicest way possible.
14. You are really starting to annoy me. Us facebook surveys are a little tired of all you dumbasses responding to our questions with half-ass or smartass answers, thinking you're funny when in general, most of you really suck at humor.
Okay, hang on a second here: how are you responding to me?
15. Sorry, dickhead. I'm the survey, I ask the questions. Speaking of, let's turn it up a notch. Honestly, why aren't you married yet?
That's none of your business. Besides, I just haven't met the right—
16. You're gay, aren't you? You're a flaming homo!
NO I ABSOLUTELY AM NOT. Not that there's anything wrong with that! But I assure you I'm 100% heterosexual. Listen, I don't have to finish this stupid survey—
17. Whatever, queerbait. Honestly, when was the last time you got laid?
I generally don't talk about my sex life on—
18. Chicken.
I am NOT a chi—
19. BWAWK BOCK BOCK BOCK!!!
What the hell kind of crazy survey is this? You're making fun of me?
20. Stop dodging the question.
I'm not answering it! Up yours! I only started this stupid survey because I was bored!
21. Ohhhh…"Mr. Hot-Shot Comedian" is too good for us lowly facebook surveys unless he's reeeally bored.
Listen, I've got nothing against surveys. It's just that I usually focus my creative energy on my material.
22. Yeah, I've heard your stuff. You really should stick to surveys.
Screw you. I like my work. Now I insist you answer my question: How in the hell is a facebook survey responding to my answers?
23. Oh, that's easy.
So? What's the answer? How are you doing it?
24. The answer is: you're not right in the head.
What?
25. You know I'm right, don't you?
Shut up.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Target vs. Wal-Mart, the Cage Match
When it comes to spending your hard-earned dollar
at the best price possible, let's face it: there are really only two
choices anymore. Either you are one-stop shopping at the brainchild of
Sam Walton or you're doing the same at the newer*, cleaner, friendlier,
less deadly and certainly more red-colored Target.
* I don't know for an absolute fact that Target is a newer chain than Wal-Mart. Luckily, I am humorist and not a journalist so I can just make up shit and suffer no consequences. Nyaah nyaah nyaah.
Today, I left the house knowing I needed a few groceries, plus some wheel cleaner for my car. After about ten minutes I pulled into the Wal-Mart parking lot, found a safe spot, then asked myself what in the Sam Hell I was doing there. For whatever reason, I just drove, zombie-like, right to Wally World. I have no idea why, as I have a miserable experience every single time I go, usually punctuated by a wait in line that could easily eclipse a college semester. So right then and there I pulled out of the parking lot and headed over to the brand-new Super Target.
Holy cow, what a difference!
In order to illustrate the disparity in the shopping experience between Wal-Mart and Target, I'll reveal to you, verbatim, actual quotes I've uttered in each store:
About the hottie factor:
At Target: "That chick is so damn hot I'll risk pretending I'm actually shopping for nail polish to check her out."
At Wal-Mart: "How on Earth can a woman block an entire aisle by herself?"*
*This is a true story. A few weeks ago I witnessed an, uh, "fitness-challenged" girl and her shopping cart manage to block an entire wide aisle by herself. If we ever want to get serious about illegal immigration, we should just station Wal-Mart shoppers on the Texas-Mexico border. It'll only take about five of them.
About the parking lot:
At Target: "Wow, there are a lot of shopping cart returns here."
At Wal-Mart: "Exactly how many damn handicapped spaces does a parking lot need?"
About the stocking of product:
At Target: "There is so much selection, I'm not sure which one to buy!"
At Wal-Mart: "Great, they have every item here except the one on sale."*
*The display model was available, but since it looked like it had been dropped into the Grand Canyon, hitting every boulder on the way down, I passed.
About the availability of cashiers:
At Target: "I think they have too many cashiers available. I guess I'll pick the hottest one."
At Wal-Mart: "What the hell is at the end of this line?!? Space Mountain?!?"
I think you can now see why, after suffering for so many years with Wal-Misery, I will from now on drive an extra ten minutes and shop at Target.
Hey, I wonder if I can get Target to pay me for this blog.
© 2008, Joseph Simmons
This column is protected by intellectual property laws, including U.S. copyright laws. Electronic or print reproduction, adaptation, or distribution without permission is prohibited. Ordinary links to this blog at may be posted or distributed without written permission.
* I don't know for an absolute fact that Target is a newer chain than Wal-Mart. Luckily, I am humorist and not a journalist so I can just make up shit and suffer no consequences. Nyaah nyaah nyaah.
Today, I left the house knowing I needed a few groceries, plus some wheel cleaner for my car. After about ten minutes I pulled into the Wal-Mart parking lot, found a safe spot, then asked myself what in the Sam Hell I was doing there. For whatever reason, I just drove, zombie-like, right to Wally World. I have no idea why, as I have a miserable experience every single time I go, usually punctuated by a wait in line that could easily eclipse a college semester. So right then and there I pulled out of the parking lot and headed over to the brand-new Super Target.
Holy cow, what a difference!
In order to illustrate the disparity in the shopping experience between Wal-Mart and Target, I'll reveal to you, verbatim, actual quotes I've uttered in each store:
About the hottie factor:
At Target: "That chick is so damn hot I'll risk pretending I'm actually shopping for nail polish to check her out."
At Wal-Mart: "How on Earth can a woman block an entire aisle by herself?"*
*This is a true story. A few weeks ago I witnessed an, uh, "fitness-challenged" girl and her shopping cart manage to block an entire wide aisle by herself. If we ever want to get serious about illegal immigration, we should just station Wal-Mart shoppers on the Texas-Mexico border. It'll only take about five of them.
About the parking lot:
At Target: "Wow, there are a lot of shopping cart returns here."
At Wal-Mart: "Exactly how many damn handicapped spaces does a parking lot need?"
About the stocking of product:
At Target: "There is so much selection, I'm not sure which one to buy!"
At Wal-Mart: "Great, they have every item here except the one on sale."*
*The display model was available, but since it looked like it had been dropped into the Grand Canyon, hitting every boulder on the way down, I passed.
About the availability of cashiers:
At Target: "I think they have too many cashiers available. I guess I'll pick the hottest one."
At Wal-Mart: "What the hell is at the end of this line?!? Space Mountain?!?"
I think you can now see why, after suffering for so many years with Wal-Misery, I will from now on drive an extra ten minutes and shop at Target.
Hey, I wonder if I can get Target to pay me for this blog.
© 2008, Joseph Simmons
This column is protected by intellectual property laws, including U.S. copyright laws. Electronic or print reproduction, adaptation, or distribution without permission is prohibited. Ordinary links to this blog at may be posted or distributed without written permission.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
I'll Take the Bland Chicken with a Side of Embarrassment, Please
My mother gets every Thursday off from work. She’s
employed by the State of Florida, and some time ago they went to four
10-hour-a-day work weeks. In order to avoid a lot of office infighting,
everyone was given the choice of having a free Tuesday, Wednesday, or
Thursday. Nobody was allowed to choose Monday or Friday, because
everybody was going to want a Monday or Friday.
“But Joe,” you’re surely saying. “Certainly government employees are grown adults and can fairly agree on a way to assign who gets Mondays and Fridays off, right?”
Sure, and I just came home from a date with Keira Knightley. Government employees argue over everything. I worked for the government for two years, and if you “borrowed” someone’s stapler, you were risking getting shot. I can only imagine the riots that would ensue over trying to get the day you actually want off of work.
“But Joe, couldn’t they use seniority or—AAAUGGHHHH! MY EYES! MY EYES!!”
I apologize for using mace on you, but if you keep interrupting, I’ll never get this damn blog finished. Besides, the point of this essay isn’t shitty government employment; it’s the fact that my mother was off of work last Thursday, so she, my father (who’s retired) and I met for lunch at Olive Garden.
I hate to admit this, but I am a functional idiot when it comes to food. I don’t know what half the items are on any decent restaurant’s menu. The problem is exacerbated when the restaurant is a chain that supposedly makes food from a different country, because the shitheads in marketing are always going to make the dishes sound as “international” as possible. This is to convince you, the ordinary ignorant fat-ass American, that you are indeed spending your hard-earned money well. You see, you might not want to pay more than six dollars for “Baked Chicken Next to Vegetables”. But hey, ten bucks for “Venetian Apricot Chicken”? Sounds like a bargain!
To make things further complicated, I’m on a low-carb diet. That means I can’t have pasta.
Or tomato sauce.
In an Italian restaurant.
So, I have no idea what anything is, but I was secure in the knowledge that 95% of their food could possibly kill me. That’s why, when the server came, I just blindly pointed to a random item on the menu:
Server: “And what will you be having today, sir?”
Me: (Pointing randomly) “I would like this.”
Server: “You would like ‘Copyright Olive Garden 2008’?”
Me: “And please hold the tomato sauce.”
Actually, at her suggestion, I ended up ordering the Venetian Apricot chicken, which tasted like (surprise!) chicken. I tasted neither anything Venetian nor anything apricot about it. I did detect a hint of Swanson’s Microwave Dinner, though. At least my parents seemed to enjoy their meals.
One last anecdote before I end this pointless essay. Before eating my non-Venetian non-Apricot chicken, I excused myself to use the restroom and wash my hands. The first thing I said to myself upon entering it was, “wow, do Italians not have urinals in their restrooms?”
I’ll let you figure out what mistake I made and why I was apologizing profusely to several people about two minutes later.
“But Joe,” you’re surely saying. “Certainly government employees are grown adults and can fairly agree on a way to assign who gets Mondays and Fridays off, right?”
Sure, and I just came home from a date with Keira Knightley. Government employees argue over everything. I worked for the government for two years, and if you “borrowed” someone’s stapler, you were risking getting shot. I can only imagine the riots that would ensue over trying to get the day you actually want off of work.
“But Joe, couldn’t they use seniority or—AAAUGGHHHH! MY EYES! MY EYES!!”
I apologize for using mace on you, but if you keep interrupting, I’ll never get this damn blog finished. Besides, the point of this essay isn’t shitty government employment; it’s the fact that my mother was off of work last Thursday, so she, my father (who’s retired) and I met for lunch at Olive Garden.
I hate to admit this, but I am a functional idiot when it comes to food. I don’t know what half the items are on any decent restaurant’s menu. The problem is exacerbated when the restaurant is a chain that supposedly makes food from a different country, because the shitheads in marketing are always going to make the dishes sound as “international” as possible. This is to convince you, the ordinary ignorant fat-ass American, that you are indeed spending your hard-earned money well. You see, you might not want to pay more than six dollars for “Baked Chicken Next to Vegetables”. But hey, ten bucks for “Venetian Apricot Chicken”? Sounds like a bargain!
To make things further complicated, I’m on a low-carb diet. That means I can’t have pasta.
Or tomato sauce.
In an Italian restaurant.
So, I have no idea what anything is, but I was secure in the knowledge that 95% of their food could possibly kill me. That’s why, when the server came, I just blindly pointed to a random item on the menu:
Server: “And what will you be having today, sir?”
Me: (Pointing randomly) “I would like this.”
Server: “You would like ‘Copyright Olive Garden 2008’?”
Me: “And please hold the tomato sauce.”
Actually, at her suggestion, I ended up ordering the Venetian Apricot chicken, which tasted like (surprise!) chicken. I tasted neither anything Venetian nor anything apricot about it. I did detect a hint of Swanson’s Microwave Dinner, though. At least my parents seemed to enjoy their meals.
One last anecdote before I end this pointless essay. Before eating my non-Venetian non-Apricot chicken, I excused myself to use the restroom and wash my hands. The first thing I said to myself upon entering it was, “wow, do Italians not have urinals in their restrooms?”
I’ll let you figure out what mistake I made and why I was apologizing profusely to several people about two minutes later.
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