Here's a clip of some fun we piggybacked when our neighbors Patrick, Autumn, P.J., Nick and Chooch launched some rockets the boys got for Christmas.
10:48 p.m. Christmas night.
Salad Wife is passed out from exhaustion.
Salad Dog 3.0 is passed out on Salad Wife.
Fully charged with his OCD inflamed by the new "Guitar Hero III" game Salad Mom bought him.
10:55 a.m. Dec. 26, 2007
This photo was taken approximately 30 seconds after Salad Boy awakened.
I got through Barney. I survived Thomas the Tank Engine and Jay-Jay. Somehow we escaped Teletubbies and were able to mute "Magic Schoolbus."
I don't know if I'm strong enough to endure six months of "Slow Ride."
Speaking of "GH3," someone got the idea to synch it up to Christmas lights while the boss was away:
If it is possible to be erotically attracted to a GPS device, it would appear that I have crossed that threshhold.
But then, I share too much.
The body posture says it all: the Christmas Sweater of Shame has returned.
Some things you never outgrow.
Let men their songs employ.
Please accept our deepest apologies for the dearth of ruffage to chew on in the Salad Bowl of late. A confluence of events - debilitating flu, familial responsibilities and a workload that would have puckered the bottoms of Egyptian slaves have all conspired against mirthful writing and free time of late.
That's not to say that I am any less in love with the Salad or its readers. It's not you, it's me. In the words of Lili Von Shtupp (pictured above), "I'm not a wabbit. I need some west." A man only has so much time for eating fried pig intestines, hanging out in creepy pinata stores, keeping the hibiscus watered (no metaphor intended), slicing sausage with baseball managers (again, no metaphor), and Frenching with reindeer.
There is no pennance for abandoning the Calendar of Disturbing Santas after only 11 days (a new Salad record, by the way). All I can do is offer this pittance of an offering to soothe your wounds. It's not exactly like having a naked, drunk and horny Scarlett Johansson nuzzle your ear lobe and say, "I'll make it all be better in 2008," (Or Ingemar Johansson, for that matter) but it will have to do.
So, in keeping with holiday tradition, here it is:
As we noted two years ago, Teacher of the Century Debra Lafave seems destined to have a movie made about her life. Today's news item that she's been bounced back to prison for violating parole only makes it more likely. New plot twist and all.
Anyway, it got me to thinking again about who will be playing her in "Too Pretty For Prison" or "Hot For Teacher" or whatever the name becomes.
As we noted, the perfect actress would exude a stunning visage on the outside while cloaking the tawdry desires lurking within. She'd have to look good in a blue bikini while, logically, riding a motorcycle, as well as demure enough to carry off a wedding scene.
You'd have to believe that she was outwardly pure and lovely while being full of vile and offensive urges, someone duplicitous and sexy and vivacious and evil. She'd be able to display lifeless doll's eyes one moment and a flash of flirtatious energy the next. She'd have porcelain skin and vermicelli-straight hair. She'd be the portrait of a victimized ice queen, and the embodiment of every schoolboy's dream.
The leading contenders, as I see them, continue to be ...
The last time we did this, Bea got 22 percent of the vote.
You can vote for your favorite here: