Ask FWG, not Jeeves - 2nd edition

I think this went over well last time. Let’s answer some more questions for the good folk who inadvertently googled their way to this web site, shall we?

1. pianos mavis eglinton
Well – I know there’s a Dollar n’ Value store at Mavis and Eglinton but I think they only sell tiny miniature pianos – suitable for 12-inch pianists.

2. canadarm taking off
1. Fully extend arm away from space shuttle.
2. Remove bolts E and F using hex wrench provided.
3. Pull Canadarm socket housing away from shuttle wall.
4. Plug holes E and F with chewing gum to prevent precious oxygen from leaking into space. Or if Dutch, use your fingers.

3. caesar salad boston pizza food poisoning
This will certainly work but there are easier methods. Try licking the floor at No Frills or French-kissing a turtle.

4. how much do you need to pass a written g1 test
Let’s add it up, shall we?
Ontario Driver’s Handbook…$5
Test Fee……………………..$10
Provincial tax……………….$0.7
Blue flex-grip pen…………..$1
Crashing into a lamp post causing road-test inspector to poke his eye out with his own pencil……..priceless.

5. where to give G1 written test in Mississauga
5555 Eglinton Avenue. Ask for Jason. He’s nice.

6. oakville G2 drive test track
Sorry. I don’t know Oakville. Any town that re-elects Bob Runciman, slimiest filthiest sub-human politician since Hitler is a place to be terrified of and to keep the hell away from at all costs.

7. G1 test Ontario
Look, I’m not answering any more questions about G1 or G2 tests so just knock it off.

8. MTO drive test center brampton G1 road test route
What did I JUST SAY?

9. g2 driver license exam Ottawa
Stop it, people. I’m not kidding.

10. exercises for G1 written test for drivers in Canada
STOP IT! STOP IT! For the love of god, you’re killing me!

11. ontario g1 test cheats
(I’m not listening I’m not listening I’m not listening…)

12. poem when mother tacked a confort to the door
What the-? Well, okay. I’ll give it a try…

There are just three things I vehemently deplore,
Which I pray should plague my doorstep nevermore.
One is wondering what has washed ashore;
Two’s to do with sisters named Gabor.
But the occasion I most stridently abhor,
Is when mother tacks a confort to the door.

13. god of war 2 cheats codes soluces usa
What is that? A video game? Look, we don’t use words like soluces around here. What kind of place do you think we’re running here? Oh, and no more ‘confort’ either.

14. sylvie ruel
Who’s asking? Is that you, Reliance-home-comfort? You little turdburgers! Stop mailing me! I swear, don’t make me come over there.

15. chinese apetizer with herbs and spices
What is Kung Foo Noodles. Things you slurp into your mouth for 200, Alex!


The information provided above is in no way expected to be useful. The author bears no responsibility, financial or otherwise, for any manifestations of the use or misuse of the above counsel, including but not limited to: financial loss; obesity; hemorrhoids; noodlephobia; pinworm; OCD; cauliflower ear; identity theft; saddle-ass; runny nose, mass hysteria or Tourette Syndrome.

Bad FWG makes the grade

I took my road test this morning. The inspector was a very nice young man named Jason. I feel bad now for suggesting his ilk be turned into slaves or dog food. He gave me a passing grade even though I didn't know to put my emergency brake on after parallel parking or after making an emergency roadside stop. The latter threw me for a bit of a loop, I'll tell you.

"When it's safe to do so, I'd like you to make an emergency roadside stop," said Inspector Jason.

'What does that mean?' I wondered. 'Should I slam on my brakes?' Instead I broke down the phrase. Emergency. Road-side. Stop. Then I stopped at the side of the road and put on my emergency blinkers. Apparently that was close enough.

His only other comment: "You could drive a little bit faster. The safest speed is the speed of the other traffic."

Yeah, okay. He should see me when I'm not trying to impress an inspector. How does he think I ended up in this mess?

FWG has an amazing hair day

It seems like any other Monday but I’m taking my shampoo’s word for it that this is a special day. I’m not sure what possessed me to actually read the label on the bottle this morning beneath the spray, but I assume it wouldn’t lie to me.

My shampoo says that it’s ‘taking me back to that amazing hair day!’ and that this ‘vibrant’ and ‘juicy’ shampoo is ‘unleashing the power of beautiful hair!’

Wow, eh?

Furthermore it assures that it is taking my hair to a place it has never gone before.
Does that seem a little incongruent? It’s taking me, on one hand, back to that amazing hair day and on the other hand, to a heretofore unknown place? Hmm. I’m sure they wouldn’t lie. I presume you have to know a bit about quantum mechanics, string theory and the bending of time-space in order to understand this and while my scientific knowledge is low-to-middlin’ in these affairs I get the idea. I have super-power Buck Rogers galaxy hair. I’m down with that.



Look out Gil Gerard! There's a new head in town!

Ho hum. What to post...

It's the lunch hour. I need a distraction. I've been working and blinking all morning. And cursing. Working, blinking, cursing and sticking my finger in my eye. I've got something in my eye and it's a killer. It stings. Been trying all morning to find it and extract it. No luck. My eye is as red as... as... (Come on, FWG - you call yourself a writer? Red as what?) Red as... red as... I don't know. Firetrucks; hellfire; my bank account - take your pick. I'm posting for the hell of it. I really have nothing to say.

My little desk friends are looking at me. They feel very sorry for me and my red eye. Here - I'll introduce you:

Meet (left to right) R2D3, Halooza Diamondswinger and Bobble Brian Fantana. Deskfriends, meet the good people of Blogland. Okay. There you go. Networking. Don't you love it?

R2D3 has whipped out all her R2 gadgets for the occasion. She loves to ham it up for the camera. Halooza is the one with the blue smartie in her right hand. She never goes anywhere without it. And Brian - well - we're not really getting along at the moment. He's really pissed that I don't remember him from the Anchorman movie. What can I say? I don't remember him. I'm not going to lie.

Here's an email chain from this morning. I'm really sorry for all the vulgar language. I really need to cut back on that, I know:

From: FWG
Sent: Tuesday, April 10, 2007 10:52 AM
To: Steve-o
Subject: my fucking eye


Why'd you have to drive today you $#&%^#$ ^U%#&%$ Maltese #$^%*#&^$*^%$er? I'd go to the fucking doctor if I could!!

%%^Y%##&%%^%^#$%&^%##^^%^!!

FWG
Jr. Client Information Analyst
Mosaic Sales Solutions Canada

From: Steve-o
Sent: Tuesday, April 10, 2007 10:53 AM

To: FWG

Subject: RE: my fucking eye

want me to take you to the house at lunch? I may have to work late tonight, or go home early.

From: FWG
Sent: Tuesday, April 10, 2007 10:54 AM
To: Steve-o
Subject: RE: my fucking eye

No. Fuck off.

Okay. I'm done. You can go now. Thanks for coming by!

Ask FWG, not Jeeves

It amuses me now and then to see what sort of search strings people have googled that led them to finding this web site. The providers of the site counter software publish this kind of reporting. I'm now stealing a page from the playbook of the most excellent unholy Flumadiddle (sorry Babs!) and providing the answers to the questions that unwittingly led folks here. It's the least I can do. But check out Flumadiddle's Desperately Seeking article to enjoy the true master at work. It's a hoot!

1. chevy silverado rumbling noise
It’s nothing to worry about. It just means your truck is about to explode. This is what you get for buying a vehicle from a bunch of creepy white-supremacists. No one will miss you when you’re dead.

2. cheats for "The Vision Test" presented by hall pass
Don’t bother. You won’t prosper.

3. fantasy writer guy
That’s my name. Don’t wear it out.

4. dollar'n'value
It’s a store at Eglinton and Mavis in Mississauga, Ontario. Every single item in the store either A) costs a dollar – or B) costs some amount other than a dollar. Kind of like every other store in existence. While there – why not pick up some FWG bedroom candles? They make great Chanuka gifts.

5. oink moo cock-a-doodle-doo barbecue sauce
Try aisle 5 – Should be right next to the HeeHaw-Ribbit donkeyfrog sauce.

6. sylvie ruel streetsville
Who the hell knows? I’m looking for her too. Join the club.

7. "This is our philosophy" "this is our purpose"
This is our knees. This is our toes. This is our eyesearsmouthandnose.

8. buy gibby's salad dressing montreal
Yes! By all means! And pick up a couple jars for me while you’re at it! I loves the Gibby’s salad dressing!

9. crazy for marma glaze
Well I guess you’d have to be, wouldn’t you?

10. cadbury and wonderbars
I’ll tell you one time: Wunderbar. With a ‘U’. Get your shit together.

11. soupcanblog.blogspot.com
Yes. That’s the correct address. Next time just type it straight into your browser’s address bar and skip the middle man.

12. Philippe Yostos
He was a merry old soul, he was. He had a pipe and a something-er-other and three fiddlers and – oh wait. That’s old King Cole, not Philippe Yostos. Never mind. You stumped me.

13. cowboy coffee kamloops jesus
Krazy brand. That’s right. When in Kamloops, Jesus drinks Krazy brand cowboy coffee, ground fresh by real Kamloopian mountain cowboys. Because nobody grinds like a mountain cowboy.

14. wedding speechers
Yeah. Um. You might want to go back and take your grade-one speeching over again and then try your search again.

15. birthday "couldn't ask for a better brother" but i think mom's too old
Dear brother: Stop googling everything I say or do in order to find my blog! Just bookmark the bloody address already!

16. streetsville crazy people
Please refine your search. All people in Streetsville are crazy.

17. where is xiphisternum
Should be about 16 inches north of your naughty bits.

The information provided above is correct to the best of the author’s knowledge at the time of this release. The author bears no responsibility, financial or otherwise, for any manifestations of the use or misuse of the above counsel, including but not limited to: financial loss; hair loss; spontaneous combustion; spontaneous orgasm; jet lag; alien abduction; death; near-death; rigor mortis; split ends; anal fissures; potato blight; bubonic plague; binge shopping or thermonuclear inversion.

Steve-o's Greatest Hits

1. Oops. There goes one stupid idiot that wouldn’t let me in. Oh – and there goes the other stupid idiot that wouldn’t let me in. I guess they’re racing home to have sex together.

2. Some people are like, ‘I wuvs you, pookie pookie pookie pookie stink-stinks.’ I’m not like that.

3. Hands on my sprocket, hands on my sprocket, hands on my sprocket.

4. Look at me! I make spicy salad dressing! I was in Bullet! I’m Paul Newman! I’m old!

5. There’s nothing like a good meal topped off with some nuts.

6. Peanut butter and jelly time. Peanut butter and jelly time. Peanut butter jelly with a baseball bat.

7. Oh boy oh boy oh boy! We got mail from the cable people! Oh boy oh boy it says ‘Attention resident!’ It must be awful important! Oh boy oh boy, I better open it right away! Oh boy oh boy oh boy oh boy! It’s a file! It’s a confidential file from the president of TV, Ron Purdy! Well gawwwwwwlleeeeeeeeeee! Thanks Mister Purdy!

8. This bread is harder than my vagina.

9. That sweet salty goodness goes right through you… when you chew it… so say goodbye a little longer…

10. The jig juice is coming out all over the place! Hold on to your jig juice, chicken!

The sentiments expressed in the preceding article are in no way sharable.

THIS WEBSITE IS (not entirely) BANNED IN CHINA!

I'm so disappointed. I so wanted to be censored in China. All the cool kids are banned in China. Even china.com is banned in China. Figure that out. But not FWG. No, we're only blocked. Blocked, people. Not officially banned. I feel so... marginalized. They won't read me or ban me. What a letdown.

Read me or ban me, Chinese! Play me or trade me!

Here. Test your web site. I hope you get better results than I.

http://greatfirewallofchina.org/test/

What's black and blue and 'red' all over?

That's right! FWG! You clever little sod.

Okay, so Arkansas, Michigan and Southern Ontario doesn't constitute "all over" but you get the idea.

So... just a little update on the injury situation. No - wait. First a quick update on the Bad Bad FWG Nasty Driver situation. I went back to the DriveTest centre, waited in line, paid another ten bucks and took the test again. Only it was a different test! They switch them up you see, because they're clever little buggers. Not clever enough to know that their lives were in terrible danger would they had flunked me with that hogswoggling G1-G2 crapola again - but clever. Luckily for all of us I got one or more of the requisite hogswogglers correct, passed the test and left peacefully.

The actual road test is slotted for April 18. Here's what I'm thinking. After returning to the test centre parking lot post-exam I shall wait until the inspector signs off on the test form and announces that I've passed before I restart the truck and drive us both merrily through the DriveTest centre's big floor-to-ceiling window. That's the plan thus far.


Okay - the injury situation: The wrist is fine. The knee - just a simple abrasion. The ankle and forearm are both painful at times but full recovery is anticipated. The right shin - however - is a rich tapestry of blue and black with a splash of purple thrown in.

"Shin?" you say? Oh yes. Shin. You see, last night upon leaving the aunt and uncle's place after some jolly good dinner and conversation and packing grandma into the passenger seat, I tried walking between the front of the banana buggy and the back of my aunt and uncle's Lincoln Behemoth - or some such thing. It looks like a truck only seven times bigger. I recall while at the dinner table referring to it as the Rolling Death-Star to my uncle - known as Big John to all who know how to play ball when a big man instructs them to call him 'Big John'. He didn't seem amused. Probably because he hasn't seen Star Wars in at least thirty years and hadn't the faintest idea what I was alluding to.

Anyhoo - This Lincoln is made on the same assembly line as aircraft carriers and is large enough to hold Big John's fleet of snowmobiles and to bear a trailer hitch the size of the Canadarm - only black and perfectly invisible in the dark night - until you march into the thing and splinter your shin to pieces.

Apparently one or more of the 88 expletives I was screaming under my breath must have slipped out because Big John at that moment popped out the door and hollered "Oh by the way - that truck has a trailer hitch on it! Be careful!"

Um... Thanks.

It's now eight o'clock and thus far nothing injurious has befallen me today so I'm hoping the streak is broken at 2. I'm nervous about heading outside though. I'll be watching the sky for falling pianos or safes.

FWG takes a tumble

Ouch.

I went down today. Like the proverbial cheap whore.

Like a lead balloon. Like a startled groundhog. Like a homesick mole. Like a domino, a rock, a bottle of Drano. Like Alexei Flop-house Kovalev. Like the Ottawa Senators in April.

In accordance with the De-Tub initiative I went for a walk at lunch today. I stopped at the awesome Gemelli's (Matheson and Orbiter) for a mucho-excellent heaping home-style plate o' roast beef, meatballs, broccoli and asparagus. That and a drink for under ten bucks!

Tummy full of protein and not-so-many carbs I marched back out to the street and headed up Orbiter Drive, gazing at the planes taking off and landing at Pearson Airport and thinking heavy thoughts about the likelihood of the human race lasting long enough - and our dying sun eventually growing hot enough (in it's inevitable red-giant stage) that Triton, ice-covered moon of Neptune, might possibly thaw and become the centre of life for a migrating humankind. Yes. This is the kind of stuff I think about. Call me what kind of freak you will.

So while I'm contemplating the final chapter of human existence in this particular solar system and idly watching a descending plane with a giant green maple leaf on the tail, I'm not watching the sidewalk before me nor the football-size chunk of non-sidewalk mysteriously carved off the edge of it.

Luckily this fascinating sidewalk character-blemish did not permanently escape my notice. Luckily my right foot encountered it, rolling my ankle and pitching me headlong onto the pavement. Three alarms went off immediately. Right ankle. Left knee. Left wrist. Big boys - though big - and this is counter-intuitive I realize - are in many ways more fragile than pulchritudinous normal-sized boys. There's more mass thus more force to the impact.

So I just lay there assessing the damage (Scotty, damage report! Shield status? Hull breach...? Captain, I'm just an engineer! Not a doctor!) while footsteps rapidly approached. Someone was running - actually running - to my aid. She probably thought I'd just had a heart attack or something. She was probably trying to remember which technique would save my life - CPR or the Heimlich maneuver - or else which might be the least unpleasant to attempt on this fallen bearded spheroid.

I'm sure she was relieved to find I'd only taken a tumble and the lending of her cell phone would be the extent of aid required. I thanked her profusely and called my work buddy, Afro-Squeege, to come collect me with his car.

Through the afternoon I realized the knee was not the major concern after all but had suffered merely a flesh wound and that the wrist was rapidly recovering. The ankle though - was clearly swelling and was clearly gonna be a problem. Also my left shoe - a dress-shoe - was scuffed beyond repair all over the toe. I stupidly did not change into runners before the trek as I usually do - so not only did I ruin a pair of office shoes but the runners would have offered much more support and I probably would have come out of the crash in full walking condition.

Loser is me.

Here's the kicker though. You ever injure something but don't feel anything until you finally move some appendage precisely the wrong way?

It's five PM and I limp to the banana cruiser and head on out. I'm singing along to REM's Losing My Religion as I hand-over-hand a tight right-turn out of the parking lot when all of a sudden I'm taking a radical departure from the Michael Stipe lyrics, screaming OWWWWWWWMYFREAKINGJESUSWHATWAS-THAT??? and then looking down to see whether my right forearm is still attached to the elbow or not.

It was. But I drove one-handed from that point on and didn't even play any air-guitar on the way. Not even when Shiny Happy People kicked in.

I'm still shiny and happy, mind you, so don't fret about me, but I'll be licking my wounds for a while it seems.







Please note that the above image is not actually FWG and that FWG did not in fact have both feet severed in the accident. The above image was captured from Werner Herzog's self-described poetic interpretive documentary film titled FWG Versus the Sidewalk.

The magical dancing sea-creatures in the orange Neptunian sky represent the alien-antenna-like-asparagus from Gamelli's and of course the bowl of cereal represents the life-saving cellular network that was FWG's link to Afro-Squeege and eventual salvation.

Okay - it's late. I'm tired and getting stupider by the paragraph. Toodles.

FWG

Breakfast with Steve-o: the sequel

FWG: ‘Morning.

Steve-o: Sure is. Coffee ‘ll be ready in a minute.

FWG: So – uh – you got a sleeping beauty in your room right now?

Steve-o: No. Why? ‘Cause my door’s closed?

FWG: Hmm. We must have had an overnight intruder then.

Steve-o: Why?

FWG: There’s a hair in the bathroom sink and it’s too long to be Baby Bear’s or Papa Bear’s. Know what I mean?

Steve-o: That’s freaky. But I don’t know who’s it is.

FWG: You sure? No one’s been eating your porridge – so to speak?

Steve-o: Nope. No Goldilocks in my bed. I swear.

FWG: Alright.

Steve-o: I’m making crescent rolls.

FWG: I see that.

Steve-o: Crescent rolls! Crescent rolls! Sie auf meinem brot nicht scheizen!

FWG: What the hell does that mean?

Steve-o: I think it’s German for ‘Don’t poop on my crescent rolls.’ Or else, ‘My crescent rolls are made of poop.’ One or the other.

FWG: Part of the Hitler musical, obviously.

Steve-o: Obviously. Hmm. Should I make pancakes too?

FWG: Don’t even talk about pancakes. Christ. I’m having bacon and eggs and that’s it...


Which reminds me - I’m way overdue for a much-dreaded…


Detubberization Update

God – how I frigging hate this. I’m bound to doing it but please – don’t read it! Just skip to the next segment if there is one.

February:

Food & drink cheats: 65 (2.3 per day)
Mild exercise: 90 minutes walking (3.2 minutes per day)
Serious exercise: Null (0.0 minutes per day)
Mental exercise (writing): 13800 words (493 per day)
Weight: unknown. never weighed-in all of February!

March:

Food and drink cheats: 49 (1.6 per day)
Mild exercise: 255 minutes (8.2 minutes per day)
Serious exercise: Null (0.0 minutes per day)
Writing: 14980 words (483 per day)
Weight: 314 lbs (down 4 lbs in 2 months. Whoop-de-farking-doo)

Conclusion: I’m inclined to confess to being a total loser and beg to be shot please. In the head. Make it clean and quick – please. But I’m gonna go this route – the positive route – instead.

While all the numbers are strictly pathetic – at least they’re improving. A morbidly slow rate of improvement, granted, but I shall save the giving-up-on-life scenario until progress actually stagnates. A word on the writing stats: While the numbers are painfully low – I’ve been doing a ton of research, note-taking, contemplating, etc. I’ve got a major project in the planning stages that I’m wildly excited about. Unfortunately I’ve also got two major projects half-finished that I’m no longer excited about but that I feel I absolutely must finish. If for no other reason then just to know that I can.

You know – when I started writing I actually worried that upon finishing I might never get another good idea again! What an idiot I was. Now I get ideas constantly. Way faster than I could ever keep up with on the page. I need a clone. Or five.

Clones, people! Where are the damn clones!

Send in… the clones…

Oh – speaking of what a great writer I’m not – here’s a little poem I wrote the other day. I’d never submit it anywhere seriously because it’s structurally lame (though, for a reason). But it contains some messages that I believe are very useful – so I’m letting it see the light of day. I haven’t bothered with a title. Hey – if you have a suggestion for a title – by all means! Don’t be shy. There are no bad suggestions! Even ‘Twenty Lines of Juvenile Rhyming Couplet Shit-crap’ would garner serious consideration! In fact – we’ll make that the working title for now. I give you:


Twenty Lines of Juvenile Rhyming Couplet Shit-Crap

There’s so much to learn ‘bout the universe, Dad! That’s why I like to read!
You got too many books, Son. That’s not the kind of learning you need.

Did you know we can’t live on the moon, Dad! It’s got no atmosphere!
We can’t live in foreign countries either, Son. They’re not like folks around here.

We can’t live on Venus either, Dad. There’s always a terrible storm!
There’s lots of folk to steer clear of, Son, who fall outside the norm.

We can’t live on Mercury either, Dad. The temperatures are too extreme!
And watch out for the Jews, Son. They’re up to some kind of scheme.

And we couldn’t survive on mars, Dad. It doesn’t have good enough air!
And stay out of that big city, there Son. Folks can’t be trusted there.

There’s moons of the outer planets, Dad, might be made the way Earth’s made!
And stay away from San Francisco, too. They got perverts on parade.

But it’s much too cold out there right now, Dad. They’re covered all in ice!
And don’t lend no ear to no stranger, Son. Even if they seem to be nice.

There has to be other friendly worlds, Dad! Somewhere out there in space!
And stay away from the North, Son. They’re coloreds don’t know their place.

But we can’t leave the solar system, Dad. The next one’s too far away!
Oh and stay away from the neighbors, Son. They go to the wrong church to pray.

We’re sure lucky livin’ on Earth, Dad! It’s a paradise of water and air!
We’re best to keep here in Hometown, Son. It’s an ugly world out there.

Bring it on, Reliance... bring it on.

Okay - is it my imagination or are these mailings actually coming more frequently? Have those little turdmuffins at Reliancehomecomfort-adivisionofontariohydroenergy actually ramped up their operations against me?

Would they do that?

Fools! Don't they know that my capacity for bitterness and cynicism runs far deeper than their postage budget?

If they must learn the hard way - so be it.

As you can see, I had some difficulty with the letter 'a' there. I find that the 'a' in 'least' is one of the more difficult a's to print. It's an ongoing struggle.

FWG

A toast to Steve-o: Roommate of the Month

You want to know how great a roommate Steve-o is? Despite the constant bombardment of Pee-Wee Hermanesque sing-songery? He played hooky from work just so he could make me breakfast this morning! How thoughtful is that? What a guy!

Actually it went down like this:


Steve-o: [busy over the stove] Istanbul and Constantinople, Istanbul and Constantinople, Istanbul and Constantinople. BLAME IT ON THE TURKS!

FWG: [Scrubbing dishes in the sink - under the watchful eye of Dish Frog] I can't stand them either.

Steve-o: Who?

FWG: The Noples.

Steve-o: Istanbul and Cantstandtheinoples, Istanbul and Cantstandtheinoples, Istanbul and Cantstandtheinoples. BLAME IT ON THE NOPLES!

FWG: Bravo. Is that from your Life of Hitler musical?

Steve-o: Yep. Opening act.

FWG: I thought Que Sera was the opening act?

Steve-o: No way. That's in act three - in flashback though. How many pancakes you good for?

FWG: None. I had to weigh in the other night. I got a strip torn off me. Got read the riot act.

Steve-o: Oh no. You're not going backwards are you?

FWG: At the moment, yeah. I'm almost back where I started.

Steve-o: Excuse me. Gotta put this in the garbage.

FWG: I'll make some bacon and eggs though.

Steve-o: Garbage Man! Garbage Man! Does whatever a garbage can! Spins some garbage, any time! Catches flies just in time...

FWG: You want some bacon? There's tons.

Steve-o: No, man. Look how many sausages I got. Have some sausages.

FWG: I'll trade you a couple strips of bacon for a sausage.

Steve-o: I'm down with that. Spatula Man! Spatula Man! Lives inside a spatula can! He's a man! Spatula Man...!

FWG: Is that in the musical?

Steve-o: No way. Hitler hated spatulas.

FWG: Really? Why? They're white.

Steve-o: Not in Germany, Dude. Do your homework.

FWG: Oh.

Steve-o: Spatula Girl! Spatula Girl! Does whatever a spatula would! She's a spat! She's a tula! Spatula Girl! Spatula Girl! Look out! Here comes The Spatula Girl...! The sausages are done. You want me to put the bacon in this pan?

FWG: That pan's too small.

Steve-o: I usually cut the bacon in half.

FWG: You'd only fit four halves.

Steve-o: Whatever. Start a new pan then. It's not like we don't have a dozen of them.

FWG: Oh sure! You're free and easy with the frying pans when it's my turn to do the dishes!

Steve-o: Frying Pan! Frying Pan! Friendly neighborhood Frying Pan...!

FWG: I'll use that one when your done with the pancakes.

Steve-o: Where'll you do the eggs then? In the little one?

FWG: Sure, why not? Or maybe I'll put them all in-

Steve-o: OHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!

FWG: WHAT?

Steve-o: AGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH!! FUCK!!!

FWG: Jesus! What's wrong! Did you burn yourself!

Steve-o: I'm supposed to be at work today!

FWG: It's Saturday. You're working today?

Steve-o: I was supposed to run a training session at ten o'clock! I can't believe I forgot!

FWG: Oh man. It's ten-thirty. You're not gonna make it.

Steve-o: Not without a flux capacitor. SHIT! I gotta roll, dude. Enjoy the breakfast!


(I did.)

FWG