Find the Old Posts
- If Only Stephen Paddock Were a Muslim via @NYTimes nytimes.com/2017/10/03/opi… 2 months ago
- The Coming War on Business via @NYTimes nytimes.com/2017/09/22/opi… 2 months ago
- RT @JJWatt: $1 MILLION! New Goal: $1.5 Million YouCaring.com/JJWatt https://t.co/YUzbCLWgBa 3 months ago
- RT @cgrand3: Each game, I wear my socks high in honor of #JackieRobinson. Today I did it in a @dodgers uniform -and it felt really special… 3 months ago
- RT @Channel4News: This footage shows a jogger 'pushing' a woman in front of a London bus. Police are urging anyone who recognises the man t… 4 months ago
On December 24, 1961, six-year old Fast Eddie was interviewed in the Journal American newspaper and asked “What did you ask Santa to bring you this Christmas? He replied: “Nothing. I’m afraid of Santa Claus unless my sister is with me. I guess I’ll get something anyway. I’d like to get an electric train set, but I was afraid to ask him. Besides I wasn’t a good boy. I forget what I did but I know it wasn’t good. I think I didn’t look when I crossed the street.”
Fifty years later, I still conveniently forget what I did when I know it wasn’t good.
There is nothing like a good heavyweight fight live from Las Vegas. The only thing missing from last night’s rock ’em sock ’em Republican Presidential Primary Debate was the heavyweights (all of whom have decided against running). Last night’s debate was the eighth Republican Presidential debate in this campaign and was the liveliest so far with the candidates screaming at each other like the Real Housewives of New York City. After eight debates with still three months to go before the first primary, the Republicans are going to have to get creative about their debate formats to keep viewers interested. Perhaps adding Ryan Seacrest as the moderator with Simon Cowell offering immediate feedback would help. Or they could add a performance night like America’s Got Talent so we could hear Herman Cain sing Imagine There’s No Pizza. Or they could have all the candidates live together in a Big Brother house so we could see how long it takes Mitt Romney to put on his make up in the morning and we could watch everyone mix up their blue suits and red ties. Or they could send them all out in the jungle for a week without food and water and see if they eat Newt Gingrich. Or maybe one week they could each come up with a plan to cut spending in the Kardashian household. Or maybe we could just start voting now by telephone or text message and start eliminating one each week.
I hate strawberries. They conjure an image of the red, bulbous, pockmarked nose of a rheumy-eyed weathered and wizened old sailor or, worse, Bill Clinton. I hate it when restaurants use strawberries as a garnish, cut and bleeding all over an otherwise perfect fruit plate or slice of cheese cake. I hate it when I sit near a woman wearing strawberry-scented lip gloss or perfume; I would rather be sitting on a packed airline flight in economy class with a cabin full of unwashed refugees. Hating strawberries and living in England is like an Eskimo living in Barbados. They really should have strawberry tasting as part of the UK citizenship test. I can’t go to Wimbledon, Henley, Royal Ascot, a dinner party or business/charity event without being faced with strawberries everywhere. And smoked or poached salmon too. Which I also hate!
What foods do you hate?