Liquor in the front, poker in the rear

I was going to wait until I actually had a baby or was at least expecting a child sometime in the near future to say this, but I just couldn't hold it in any longer, it was eating me up inside, or maybe that's all the Goldfish I have been consuming. Whatever, today I declared my love to The Boy in the usual junior high fashion that I use to declare my love - I told him I wanted to have his babies. Mostly because I didn’t want him to be mad at me because I killed his keyboard (it was apparently not ok, it is now apparently defunct. Who knew keyboards don’t like cherry coke? Did you? Really?) I kept waiting for him to spontaneously burst into flames, because of the implication of an over-active, calculated and eager biological clock preying on his uncharacteristic submission to monogamy.
He never did, he was not impressed. He must get that a lot.

Anyway, now that I'm over that *Sob* two things occurred to me. (I know you're on the edge of your seat, your eyes are watering, your teeth are grinding, your stomach is in knots, well maybe you should up your meds, but this is about me, let's get back to me, me, me, and me, ending your suspense.)

The first thing that occurred to me was there are many, many uses for salad tongs, and yet this utensil gets very little recognition and this makes me want to weep openly for my mommy, I don't think this has anything to do with the fact that I was conceived with the help of some salad tongs, but my therapist says maybe. You can use them to toss salad, to get salad out of the bowl, to put place salad from the bowl onto your plate, to pick up monkey poop, to braid your hair (As Seen On TV), to scratch your back, to scratch your upstairs neighbor's giraffe's back, to keep wild cats away, to dig through the dirt if you get buried alive (this is why I have specified in my will that I wish to be buried with my salad tongs. In case a certain someone, who stand to inherit my millions someone "accidentally" buries me when I am really not dead), to get out of a speeding ticket ("Sorry, officer, these salad tongs fell on the floor of the car and pressed the gas pedal down"), to be your new best friend (BFF! Me and Salad Tongiee!), to jump start your car made out of salad, etc, etc, I think you see what I'm saying. You do, don't you?

The second thing is Mad Cow just means the cows are mad - angry mad, not crazy mad. This whole "deadly disease, infected cows, ban on beef" thing was something the cows thought up at a cow poker game one night while discussing ways to avoid slaughter (the band and the act of being killed, thanks for asking) and get back at those of us partaking of their beefy goodness.
Beau The Cow said "Hey, I know, I'll pretend like I'm going mental, remember when we saw Girl Interrupted on Movie Night? I'll just take my cue from that, and then Murray The Cow can shock my cow heart with the barbed wire from the fence over there when they're not looking and make me appear to die, like in that other movie we saw, Flatliners!". And that's how it all began. Worked like a charm, too. Good thing I'm here to tell you that it's all a big cow conspiracy and you can go get your usual quadruple bypass pounder with cheese at lunch today. Enjoy, and really, don't worry about getting holes in your brain. And even if say, it was true, which it's not, it's just the result of a few angry cows who saw a few too many movies, who cares, Keifer Sutherland and Julia Roberts would bring you back to life, and you'd have something to talk about at parties. Which is really all that matters. Isn't it?