“It’s my anger.” – some guy on Rescue Rangers on why he can’t do something heroic or another. An explanation for everything. You have to love schlocky kids’ cartoons.
You hate what?
I hate cheese. It doesn’t even taste or smell like food. I have no idea how the rest of the world eats this stuff. I’ve never eaten pizza, fondue, Fettuccine Alfredo, cheeseburgers, or other yucky things. This, for some reason, elicits gasps of surprise and shock when people learn of it for the first time.
- “No cheesecake?”
- “Not even Cheetos?”
- “But it’s not even cheese!”
- Don’t care.
[Actually, I’m beyond hating cheese – I’m cheese paranoid, cheesophopic. I have to ask people if there’s cheese in any strange food, say sushi, before I eat it. People can chase me with cheese and I run for my life. What behavior for a 32 yr old, I know.]
I feel better about not liking cheese now. I know with years of therapy I can overcome this character flaw. But, you see, it’s my anger . . . .
Moral of this story: never tell your friends what you are going to blog. They will make fun of you. At least they’re not chasing me with cheese.