Tonight's a very big night at Casa del Ensalada. Lots of frivolity, merriment and silliness.
Yes, The King will make another appearance:
Excuse me for a second. I think that verse is appropriate here:
I thought that I would never see
An apple-bobbing Robert E. Lee...
Especially the finger food.
The Woopie Cushion never saw this coming.
Words-into-numbers substitution by Prince.
Ironic past-tense non-apostrophe by Pinellas County Schools.
Mmmmm, mommy. My team smells like cough syrup.
Can't wait to watch his DUI video.
I was told there would be no math.
Blue Man grandma.
White leather purse + ballpark concrete = World Series stain
Somebody needed stitches.
Got a little cotton candy on your chin, brother.
Our heroes have always worn high-top Cons.
Record-scratching deejay tattoo on layaway? Keepin' it reals.
For more photos, click here.
Saw this transaction proposed over on Craigslist. It reminded me that it's been five long months since any sombrero-related material was posted in the Salad Bowl.
Looking at this ad, I should have posted this one myself:
I will trade my sombrero for your kayak.
So, you finally realized that kayaks are work. You would much rather replace all that sweaty paddling with a cool, shady nap under a wide-brim hat dreaming of nachos.
You think about all the space in your garage that kayak's taking up and just start to count how many jars of salsa you could fit on that shelf.
You remember last Cinco de Mayo when you showed up to the big party sans sombrero. Someone threw a bell pepper at your head.
Don't you think it's about time you traded in that kayak for a nice comfortable sombrero?
Okay. How about I also throw in a pinata with 300 dollars worth of loose change?
Think about it... If you no longer need that 10-12 foot sit on top kayak, I have a sombrero that - and I'm not even lying - would look stunning on you.
You think you look good in that poncho of yours, you just wait until the ladies get a load of you in that sombrero. Meow, indeed.
Seen at a store at Universal Studios' Seuss Land:
I'm at the dining room table working on the laptop. Suddenly, I hear what I immediately recognize as a pre-vom convulsion by my dog Lincoln in the dining room.
I run. I scream.
“HERE LINC. COME ON, LINC. LET’S GO, LINKY.”
I turn the corner to see him crouching under a chair, his rib cage bobbing up and down. He sees me run for the door and creeps like Spider-man over to go out.
I let him out, and he’s crouching and convulsing as he’s making his way to the front lawn. He looks like a low-rider Labrador.
Then he stops to pee. The pee instinct is apparently stronger than the vom instinct because the convulsions stop immediately. He then starts to notice the weather and what a nice day it is for a sniff.
He begins to act as if he never had to barf. He walks around, he sniffs the tree. He takes a tour of the great outdoors. The aromas are so much better in fresh air.
Then, you know, because he’s out there, he pulls into a hunch to dump on my neigbor's property line. I marvel at this precision. A surveyor using a plumb bob and a tripod with a scope couldn't hit the lot-line any more dead-on.
Anticipating a massive dook, I recoil and look away.
Fighting my instincts, I turn back to see as a small rectal nubbin emerge and drop daintily – nay, I say, nearly float – to the turf.
He turns, trots back to the house, comes through the door and takes over a square dog pad, where he remains in near narcosis for the rest of the morning.
So tonight, Salad Boy and I go to Game 1 of the World Series for the Tampa Bay Rays.
::::::: pause for dramatic effect :::::::
Okay. All better now.
Sorry, but I can barely believe I'm typing those words in relation to the Rays, much less to the fact that the boy and I are going.
Hell, I can barely believe that I got to go to Sunday night's amazing Game 7 win against the Boston Red Sox.
When I got there, I couldn't believe what I saw.
I mean, there were people. Lots of them. In numbers I hadn't seen at the Trop since a Guns 'N' Roses concert back in the early '90s.
Just getting to see Carl Crawford take the field in the playoffs was a thrill. I thought the closest this guy would ever see the playoffs was from the stands.
I'll have to admit to having been taken aback a bit by Rob Schneider announcing that, in fact, we could do it. All night long, as well.
This guy was high-fiving everyone coming off the escalator from the upper decks.
The guy in the glasses looks like he's thinking, "Nuh-uh. No way. It's cold and flu season."
We all have our own signatures, it would seem.
For more photos, click here.
It's true. You never really know when something amusing will hit you.
PREVIOUS ADVENTURES IN TRAFFIC:
Brush it off.
Get me a truck and make it snappy.
Color me bemused.
Costom mods are cool.
It's great to be a Florida Gator. We think.
The ball cops are here. They have a warrant.
We've got wood.
Timing is everything.
Haten and hogs.
Jimi Hendrix Edition.
Sit on it and rotate.
I'm your private antenna dancer.
Yeah, yeah, yeah.
Welcome to Springfield.
Orange you glad you're not this guy?
Everything's better when it sits on a Ritz.
Porn as a windowshade.
Jonathan Livingston Redneck.
Buc off, pal.
Such a dirty mess.
How cheep can you be?
I'm super! Thanks for asking.
Would you like an apple pie with that?
Hearse so good.
Drive fast, take chances.
Riding with Fab the deejay.
Beware of the Death Explorer.
Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right.
My other car is a rocket-propelled grenade.
Live long and prosper. In an Altima.
Just two good ol' boys.
Nicotine is my crash helmet.
Jazz hands moms.
Ugly lug nuts.
My honor student can kick your ass.
Horse and buddy.
Went to the new Aldi discount grocery store that opened in Brandon to see what the hubub was about.
Apparently they cut back on the verbiage and pass the savings to you.
Mmmm. Love me some spheres.
They were going to label it "Carbohydrates," but that seemed extravagant.
It's the quicker-sizer-upper.
There's a woman at my workplace who would not appreciate this coincidence.