“Honey, you know what the problem is with the perfume you women wear?”

“No, John, please enlighten me.” (obviously dreading another dented can diatribe I am famous for)

“The scents may be pleasing, but they’re not particularily effective as what they ought to be, and that’s bait.”

“Wait, you want me to smell like fishing tackle and worms?”

“No! Well, if your intended mate was a bass or muskie, that’s what you want to go with. But since it isn’t, you girls might want to think about what you’re representing.”

“I’m not sure I like where you’re going with this, John.”

“When was the last time you saw me or any other guy smelling a flower? It just doesn’t happen. Go to Sam’s Club on Saturday mid morning and watch the response of the men when they get near the women handing out samples of bacon, sausage, pizza, and other savoru delights. Moth’s to a flame I tell you!”

“You think women should wear perfume that smells like sausage?”

“Absolutely. All the primary staples. Bacon, pizza, grilled meats. Hell, you could make a scent each of Weber and Kingsford and you’d get guys beating down your door.”

“…”

“You know why I know this? I’m the greatest mother-f’er here.”

“You sure are, honey. You going to get the kid’s room painted today?”

That’s usually how it goes. I’m sure she’s learned to tune me out until that sentence happens and she knows it’s safe to move on, but still, it’s a great proclamation to make for yourself. Anyway, that’s how that got started and what it means. The point I wanted to make was I caught another Lewis Black bit and I thought I would share it with you.

I love Wisconsin. I love coming here. I perform here a lot, because I’ve discovered that you people apparently have some sort of federal grant for drinking. It’s – you’re insane! You pay less for liquor than anybody I know anywhere in the country. Nobody pays less for liquor than you! What’d you, wh- ho- HOW? I don’t know if you’re using that farm subsidy money, or if you’re just hijacking liquor trucks, but this fuckin’ insane. (from the audience) “It’s volume, Lewis!” Is it volume? It’s unbe-fuckin’-lievable. It’s staggering! I come here ’cause basically if I spend four days here drinking, even with the plane ticket it’s cheaper than drinkin’ in New York! How do you know when it’s New Year’s? That’s the big mystery to me! What’s the difference? I’ve been in bars here, and it’s like New Year’s every fuck night! Oh, New Year’s, that’s when w-w-we drink with hats on. Now I’ve been drunker here than anyplace else I’ve been in my life. And remember this: you are not, you are not alcoholics. You, and my hat is off, are professionals.

What I find simply fascinating is that there are people on this planet that still essentially live in the stone age. The Sentinelese, as these people are known, live on this island and refuse to communicate with any outside people. We don’t even know what language they speak. In fact, when a helicopter tried to recover the bodies of the dead fisherman, the Sentinelese responded to the attempt with a hail of arrows. There isn’t much we know about them. What we do know is conjecture. There could be anywhere between 40 and 500 of them. The effect of the Indonesian earthquake and resulting tsunami of 2004 remains unknown. We know they hunt and gather, but we don’t know if they get into gardening. We don’t even know if they can manufacture fire.

Fire!

This absolutely blows my mind. I mean, I know there are people who are a bit backwards, such as aboriginal people, the Amish, democrats, Britney Spears and other trailer park denizens, but this culture may or may not have mastered freaking fire yet! They still walk around in loincloths (or less), scavenge metal flotsam from the beaches of their island, fish, hunt pigs, eat and reproduce. That’s it. When someone from the outside world approaches, they turn to each other, share a knowing wink, then they savagely kill them.

I brought this up with Matt, a coworker and good friend of mine, and we ruminated over this lifestyle. To each issue that seemed ideal, a contradictory reality appeared.

• Barbecue and bacon, every day.
• Then again, no pizza.
• Since we are all wearing loincloths, boobies!
• Unfortunately, you will probably see your mom’s, sister’s, aunt’s and grandma’s boobies everyday as well.
• Every civilization, since about 3000 B.C., has pretty much all had beer. Odds are there’s beer on the Sentinel island in some form.
• The aforementioned beer is not cold, ever.
• A typical day’s to-do list may include things like “wake up, scratch ass, get food, mate.”
• A typical to-do list would never include “get toilet paper, gas up jet-ski, watch football, keep sand out of ass-crack.”
• Corporate ladder climbing? I don’t think so! Debating politics? Not here, my friend!
• What does “sleep inside” mean? What is this “swim up bar” you speak of?
• No taxes, no traffic, no elderly people confused by, well, everything, in front of you, no deadlines, no lawyers, no chick flicks, no telemarketers, no smog, no dentist appointments, and I could go on and on.
• But then again, you have to see your grandma’s boobs and you wipe your ass with rocks and leaves.

1. You are receiving this automatic notification because I am out of the office. If I was in, chances are you wouldn’t have received anything at all.
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1 cup of water 1 tsp baking soda 1 cup of sugar 1 tsp salt 1 cup of brown sugar Lemon juice 4 large eggs 1 cup nuts 2 cups of dried fruit 1 bottle Jose Cuervo Tequila

Sample the Cuervo to check quality. Take a large bowl, check the Cuervo again to be sure it is of the highest quality, pour one level cup and drink. Turn on the electric mixer. Beat one cup of butter in a large fluffy bowl. Add one teaspoon of sugar. Beat again.

At this point it’s best to make sure the Cuervo is still OK, try another cup just in case.

Turn off the mixerer thingy. Break 2 leggs and add to the bowl and chuck in the cup of dried fruit, Pick the frigging fruit off floor. Mix on the turner. If the fried druit gets stuck in the beaterers just pry it loose with a drewscriver.

Sample the Cuervo to check for tonsisticity. Next, sift two cups of salt, or something. Check the Jose Cuervo. Now shift the lemon juice and strain your nuts. Add one table. Add a spoon of sugar, or somefink. Whatever you can find. Greash the oven. Turn the cake tin 360 degrees and try not to fall over. Don’t forget to beat off the turner.

Finally, throw the bowl through the window, finish the Cose Juervo and make sure to put the stove in the dishwasher.

CHERRY MISTMAS!!