A note about comments. I love them, because I love hearing from you. Also, I just switched over my commenting to a new system. Older post comments might not be in the correct order, which means my replies are all jacked up. But I like the new system so whatever.

Monday, July 28, 2014

Deep meaningful conversations with myself

I drove by a herd of sheep grazing in a field. I thought to myself, if I were in a herd of sheep grazing in a field I would want to be the sheep in the front. Because if you're behind even one sheep there's a good chance of that one sheep taking a shit right where you're grazing. No one wants to eat sheep shit.

These are the things I think about.

I'm not wrong.

Thursday, July 24, 2014

You don't know love until you've spanked a butter cow

I received a letter from the Iowa State Fair Blue Ribbon Foundation. Gripping the envelope in my teeth, because my hands were full of crap I'd been meaning to bring in from the car for eons, I ran up the stairs and into my home where I ceremoniously dumped my crap so that I could properly admire my new mail.

I knew precisely what the envelope held. I was just certain it was a personal invitation to attend the Iowa State Fair, and a special request to take part in the ever so important carving, no sculpting, of the butter cow.

Perhaps I should explain. The butter cow is a cow made of butter, the size of a cow.

If you thought it was anything different we should talk because you fascinate me.

I was recently at the Iowa State Fair grounds for the Corndog Kickoff (yeehaw!) with friends. We ate everything fried and sugared and dipped in chocolate. It hurt so good. While admiring the silent auction items we couldn't help but be drawn to the opportunity to help carve the tail of the famous butter cow.

I dream of that cow, so deliciously creamy. I want to rub an ear of sweet corn down its back. I want to scoop a bit of its soft buttery goodness onto a delicious homemade biscuit. (Shut up, don't judge me.)

But alas, the bids quickly grew, and my butter cow was soon outside my reach. How much can one justify spending so they can carve the tail of a butter cow? What is it worth to have a go at that tail?

So I quietly walked away and stuffed my face with a corndog, snowcone, and cotton candy to ease my sadness.

This letter in the mail simply had to be the excellent news that the winning bid on that tail carving was unable to fulfill their carving duties, and that I, being the butter lover that I am, had been personally chosen to stand in for this momentous occasion. 

I carefully opened the envelope, extracted the letter, and began to read. At the end, I gently set it down on the counter and sobbed. Sadly, it was a simple thank you note for my donation to the Iowa State Fair Blue Ribbon Foundation. There will be no butter cow tail for me this year. 

If you need me, I'll be in the kitchen smashing sticks of butter together so I can carve my own miniature butter cow. And then spread it on my toast.

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