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| "AMERICA'S FUNNIEST HUMOR"TM
SHOWCASE
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August/ September 2007 Contest Results |
Congratulations to
all Finalists in our
August/
September 2007 Humor
Writing Contest!
(Listed alphabetically by author.)
I Hate
Shopping!
By Ken Bobrosky, Bahamas
I hate shopping! I would rather perform laser eye surgery on myself or
extract a wisdom tooth with a pair of pliers, than go shopping. On the
other hand, my wife believes that she was born at Harrods, is a graduate
of the JC Penney Academy and she is destined to become a founding member
of the Walmart Shoppers Hall of Fame.
My wife is a baptized, confirmed and founding member of the Shop Till
You Drop Fraternity. She'll shop in a store, in an airport, in the
street, on the Internet, from a catalogue or at a garage sale. She would
rather shop than eat. Her genetic makeup resembles an Irish Setter on a
quail hunt. Her nose is constantly testing the wind and she can sniff a
sale a mile away. Her radar continuously scans the universe for a
bargain or a Red Light Special. In fact, her skills are legendary. I
have seen her stand outside of a shop, peer through the window, and in
ten seconds tell me that this store does not have the red short sleeve
shirt that she is searching for. She hasn't even crossed the threshold,
but she knows! The next time the US government is searching for a WMD,
they just need to show my wife a picture and turn her loose!
As a retired couple, our needs are really quite simple. I'm sorry, "MY
needs are quite simple". My wife's goal in life is to purchase at least
one of everything. For example, we have dozens of specialized kitchen
gadgets that are designed to enhance our lives. We have slicers, dicers,
graters, strainers, pitters, peelers, juicers, scoopers, pounders and
openers. I hide my corkscrew in my sock drawer for fear that it will be
lost forever in the bottomless clutter of our cutlery drawer. I maintain
that a basic Boy Scout knife or a hammer and screwdriver will perform
every kitchen function necessary.
Often my wife tells me she just has to pop into the grocery store for a
quart of milk. I prefer to remain in the car and just wait. Thirty
minutes later, she emerges lugging four or five plastic shopping bags
straining to contain their booty. The one bottle of milk has
miraculously multiplied, like the loaves and fishes, into the essential
supplies for a dinner party for six. Now I always bring a book to read
in the car for when she has to just ‘pop into the store’ for a loaf of
bread. In fact, I just finished reading War and Peace this summer while
sitting in my car waiting!
The worst consequence of going shopping is that it leads, naturally, to
more shopping. You need to acquire more storage containers to safeguard
essential items like the jumbo set of Winnie the Pooh toy dishes that
our still unborn granddaughter may need in four or five years. (They
were marked down 50%.) Our closets have space saver dividers, our
cupboards have turntables and extra shelves and our former TV room has
become the miscellaneous and duplicate set warehouse. Our house is a
featured stop on the guided bus tour of the city for other addicted
shoppers who are bargain hunting. We often get calls from eBay to see if
we stock a specialty item like a 1953 Mickey Mantle baseball card or a
set of commemorative Jimmy Carter election ashtrays. The sad truth is I
know that we have them, somewhere!
The ultimate nirvana for members of The Fraternity is a shopping fix at
one of the monster Discount Outlet Malls, scattered across America.
These giant appendages to the freeway system are usually located in such
desolate sites that their remote locations have even been rejected for
nuclear weapons testing. Acres and acres of scrubland are surrounded by
dozens of football field size outlet stores. When my wife leaps from our
slowly moving car to get a 'head start' shopping, I remind her she only
has eight hours until the batteries on the GPS, that I use to track her,
will expire. I remain in the car with the complete works of Shakespeare
and settle in for a day's reading.
Even if she does not return to the car after two or three days I don't
worry. I know that I can eventually track her down by following the path
of perspiration and drool that marks her route. And for emergencies, I
have the entire Harry Potter collection in my trunk!
© Copyright
by author, used with permission by Humor Press. No unauthorized reproduction or redistribution is allowed.
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 Law
and Order: Missing Body Parts
By
Laurie Fabrizio,
Minnesota
“911 operator, how can I help
you?
“Help… I’d like to report a robbery,” I said wiping the tears from my
eyes. “The address is 36-40-36 Flabby Way.”
Next thing I knew, I was explaining what happened to Officer Barney Fife
from the “Missing Body Parts Unit.”
“Ma’am, can you describe what’s missing?”
“I went to bed last night and awoke this morning and they were gone.”
“Exactly what has disappeared?”
“My boobs.” Sheesh…what a moron.
“Your, ahh…what Ma’am?”
“My boobs,” I said impatiently.
“Could you describe them?” he said as he prepared to write.
Part of me wanted to shout…they were perky “DD’s” and yes, they were
real. Instead, I mumbled,
“Well, they are a size “B”. When I wear a push-up bra, the girls appear
larger.”
“Girls?” He said with alarm. “You also have missing kids?”
“Don’t you ever watch Oprah? Women call their, er, chest ‘the girls’”
“Oh. Well is there any chance you could have misplaced them?”
“Sure doesn’t every woman misplace her breasts? Look, I had them
yesterday and when I went to get dressed this morning, they were
boob-napped.”
“Is anything else missing?”
I panicked. What if Barney decided to frisk me for any other missing
body parts?
Men! Should I tell him that my smooth legs, girl like figure and libido
had taken a hike.
“No, isn’t that enough?”
“You receive a ransom note, ma’am?”
“Oh my god, could someone be holding them hostage? Look, I’ll offer a
reward. Please don’t let them harm the girls.”
This wasn’t making any sense. I was not a voluptuous woman by any
stretch of the imagination. When God handed out breasts during puberty,
I received mosquito bites. Why would anyone want my barely “B’s”?
How about the Tooth Fairy? I’d seen her working at Victoria’s Secret
plenty of times. Perhaps business has been slow. She wanted to spark up
her love life with Tom Thumb, and Tom had been giving Tinkerbelle the
eye. Ole Tink had implants and was working at the “Never Never Land”
Hooters. I bet she grabbed the flab to boost her bust.
“Ma’am, have you by any chance been on a diet recently?”
“Are you saying I’m fat?
“No not at all Ma’am.”
Now, Barney looked as defensive as my husband when I asked him if my
pants made my butt look like a barge.
“It’s not bad enough that my boobs are gone.” I glared at Barney. “Now I
have to deal body image issues too? For your information, officer, I
have been on the ‘Thunder Thighs Be Gone’ diet.”
He nodded. Know –it –all. “Yep. Ma’am, it all fits. Dieting, then your,
er girls go MIA. This is definitely ah, boob job. I’m afraid you are the
victim of the ‘Seattle Glutton Bandit.’” Has his hand prints all over
it.
Clearly, this officer had eaten one too many donuts.
“The what bandit?”
“The Seattle Glutton Bandit. He preys on unassuming women who are
desperately trying to lose weight. His MO is that he absconds with any
excess body fat that women lose while on fad diets. Unfortunately the
bust area is one of the first places women lose weight. My guess is that
he nabbed your breasts by accident.”
“No….I can’t afford to lose what little I have.”
“I’m sorry ma’am, but we haven’t been able to catch the perpetrator.”
He quickly handed me an artist’s sketch of the alleged ‘Seattle Glutton’
bandit.
The thought that I could help catch this guy was titillating until I
glanced at the drawing. He looked like a cross between Snidely Whiplash
and Bart Simpson.
“What am I supposed to do in the mean time? I have no boobs. My bras
won’t fit. This can’t be happening.”
The room started spinning and I was being strangled by bra straps and
falsies were coming out of my ears. Next thing I knew, I was falling
into a pit of used training bras.
I awoke with a start and groped for the “girls” as might have after a
college kegger. I sighed with relief as I discovered they were still
intact and I wouldn’t be relegated to doing commercials for “Padded Bras
R Us.” They may be small, but they were mine, and definitely weren’t
worth stealing.
www.fabrizios.com/laurie
© Copyright
by author, used with permission by Humor Press. No unauthorized reproduction or redistribution is allowed.
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Becoming
One of "Those People"
By
Chris H.,
Ohio
I fear that I am becoming one of “those people”. You’ve probably heard
of “those people” before; they partake in a particular activity that for
whatever reason you find a bit odd. Rather than attempt to understand
why “those people” choose to behave the way they do, you shake your head
and walk off, labeling the whole lot as “those people”.
I’ve been labeled as one of “those people” before. I am one of “those
people” who choose to take their car in for an oil change rather than do
it myself. I am also one of “those people” who doesn’t like their food
to touch. My fear isn’t being labeled as one of “those people”; my fear
is that I am joining a group that I had labeled myself.
This particular group of “those people” I have elected to join are
“those people” who bring their laptops into coffee shops. Even though it
is common practice now for coffee shops that sell 5 dollar lattes to
also offer Wi-Fi to their laptop ladened masses, still I hesitated. I
finally made the plunge one day after circling the parking lot,
uncertain if “those people” would accept me. After getting my drink
order I took up camp in the furthest corner booth and cracked open my
laptop, keeping a wary eye on the crowd to see if anyone was giving me
the head shake I had given “those people” on many occasions.
“Those people” should not under any circumstances be confused with
“Them”. Becoming one of “those people” just means you have adopted an
eccentric character trait. Becoming one of “Them” means you are now in
league with all that is wrong with the world. Most people become one of
“Them” when they enter college and start questioning the closely held
family political or religious ideologies. In that regard, I’ve been one
of “Them” for as long as I can remember. As a member of “Them” you can
expect to be accused of being brainwashed or misguided for daring to
hold views so different from your parents. You will not heed this
accusation because obviously your parents have been brainwashed by a
different group of “Them”.
And of course neither of these groups should be confused with the all
knowing “THEY”, which stands for Trancendant Hawkers of Empirical Yarns.
THEY have been around for ages giving unsolicited and untested advice
about nutrition (THEY say an apple a day keeps the doctor away),
neurology (THEY say humans only use ten percent of their brains), and
nuclear holocaust (THEY say the only things that would survive a nuclear
explosion are cockroaches). While some of the advice from THEY is
factual, THEY have a tendency to delve into distributing conspiracy
theories and myths. You’ve probably heard what THEY have said about the
Kennedy assassination, the moon landing, and the dangers of flashing
your lights at an approaching car without its headlights on at night.
THEY also say you shouldn’t believe everything you hear, which I assume
would include what THEY say.
As for becoming one of “those people”, I think I will eventually be at
ease with the idea of the laptop in the coffeeshop. I still hide myself
away in a corner booth, but I no longer circle the parking lot before
heading in. Despite the excess caffeine, “those people”, now my people,
are quite an easy going bunch and have accepted me into the fold. My
membership card arrives next Tuesday.
I will say that on my most recent trip to the coffeeshop, I passed by a
guy in line at the counter who was one of “those people” that I hope I
never join. He was one of “those people” who talks loudly on a cellphone
headset while standing in line. I couldn’t help but shake my head as I
walked past him.
You know what THEY say about “those people”, don’t you?
www.chriscarlisle.net
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A
Tart With All That Tea
By
Judy LaSalle,
California
Middle age has lowered my body’s center of gravity and taken some of my
self esteem with it. In fact, a simple incident at the grocery store
confirmed how the mighty have fallen. By that I refer not only to my
flesh, but also to my husband, because the entire incident revolved
around him. He would insist it was not a reflection on me, but I didn’t
need a full length mirror, to get the picture.
I was concentrating on various blends of tea when my husband suddenly
crashed into me with our grocery cart. It was an accident, but it
happened because, while I was weighing the merits of a zesty blend, he
was checking out other spicy goods. Naturally he apologized profusely,
but then he did something he never does – he sputtered.
“You see . . . no, I guess you didn’t see, but there was this young lady
over there, standing by the mustard, and she was wearing this . . . I
don’t know how to describe it, but it was clear down to . . . I mean . .
. and it caught my attention for just a second too long, you know?”
I knew, but he couldn’t stop. He was in verbal free fall,
over-explaining as he unconsciously sped past me, spun around and
pointed the cart in the direction of her retreat. Oblivious to the fact
that I was more interested in a tin of decaf Oolong, he persisted.
“I think you would have stared too,” he said. “In fact, I think she went
that way. If we hurry, you can get a good glimpse of those, I mean, of
her, and you’ll see . . . oops, sorry. I got you again, didn’t I?”
Right then, in the middle of all that tea, I woke up and smelled the
coffee. Tabloid headlines blazed in my imagination. “OLD FART FLATTENS
WIFE WITH CART WHILE EYEING YOUNG TART IN FOOD MART.”
I was mortified. Since my ego had taken a direct hit, I knew that was
proof positive it had plunged, along with everything else, to my hips,
which is where the cart got me. Still, I was a wee bit curious about the
girl with the . . . you know. But I wasn’t going to admit it – not just
then, and certainly not to him. I couldn’t have anyway, because he and
our cart were already turning the corner at the far end of the aisle.
I started to follow him, if for no other reason than to watch him ogle
certain goods while pretending to read the label on others. It’s an old
trick with which I’m familiar because it’s what we do when we’re acting
as if we don’t hear the other one suggesting we try some nutritious
redwood bark biscuits.
I quickly lost interest, though. After a few steps I gave up the chase
entirely when a carton of caramel corn hailed me from a shelf.
Absolutely nothing can compete with butter glazed popcorn with macadamia
nuts – not even a bedazzled husband on the loose in a public place.
Let the man charge up and down the aisles in search of nirvana – it
would be good exercise, especially with the four bags of sugar and flour
I had already put in the cart. That would make him pant a little, and
possibly alert her to his approach. She might even recognize the sound
if she makes a habit of over-amping vulnerable middle-agers.
Besides, I wasn’t afraid of the competition between myself and a nubile
young goddess, even though I might as well be a pickle barrel by
comparison. I knew he would choose me, when push came to shove. At our
ages, there is more to marriage than meets eye level and, even though
I’m a little short on sexy these days, I have a universal and timeless
appeal . . . I’m the one who keeps our checkbook.
www.judylasalle.com
© Copyright
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Good
Night?
By
Mary McCarthy,
Maryland
Three-Year-Old Apple of My Eye Sweet Baby Girl: "Mommy, can I sleep in
your bed?"
Exhausted Mother of Four: "No, honey, you have to sleep in your bed."
Apple: "There's scary shadows on the wall."
Me: "Do you want me to turn out your night light?"
Apple: "No, then it will be dark and I'm SCARED of the dark!"
Me: "Your night light is what is making the shadows."
Apple: "If you turn it out, the shadows will still be there but then I
can't see them and then it will be MORE SCARIER!" (tears)
Me: "If you don't sleep in your room with your sister she will miss
you."
Apple: "She's SNORING!"
Me: "Can you sleep in your big sister's room upstairs?"
Apple: "She told me to leave because I was TALKING TOO MUCH!"
Me:
Apple: "Can't I just sleep in your bed OOONNE TIIIMME?"
Dad: (snores)
Me: "You slept here last night and you promised you would sleep in your
bed tonight and Mommy's so tired, honey, can't you just please sleep in
your own bed?"
Apple: "I ALREADY TRIED AND I CAN'T SLEEEEEEP!"
Me:
Apple: "I will just get my purple blankie and lay with you just for a
minute, ok, Mommy?"
Me: "How about if I take you to McDonalds for breakfast if you sleep in
your bed tonight?"
Apple: "I can't sleep in my room because I think there is an ANT IN
THERE and SCARY SHADOWS and I CAN'T SLEEP!!" (tears)
(8 month old baby boy begins to cry)
Me: "Mommy will take you to the dollar store in the morning and let you
pick out anything you want if you sleep in your bed tonight, ok, honey?"
Apple: "I will just lay here for a minute while you get Bobby."
Me: (nudging Dad): "Can you get me the Tylenol PM?"
Dad: (grumbles): "How many?"
Me: "6 for me, and then figure out what the dose is for an 8 month old
and a 3 year old."
Apple: (snores in parents' bed)
(Mom, red-eyed, snoozily nurses baby while three year old and Dad
continue snoring next to her. Mom looks at clock which reads 5:58 am)
10 year old daughter enters: "MOM! It's time to wake up!
www.marytmccarthy.com
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The
Three-Ring Circus Of My Life
By
Ian Samalya,
Virginia
They all say it’s easy, and in the
beginning it is, trust me, it is. But what they don’t tell you is at
times things can get rough, things change, and people can grow apart.
And all that happened -- but, unfortunately, mine grew a beard as well.
I was just like any other average 450 lb. teenager. I loved to eat,
sleep and lift heavy things. But there was one thing that was different
about me -- my job. While all the “cool” kids were out selling ice cream
cones, delivering newspapers and making pizzas, I was having fun
entertaining drunk hillbillies all around the Deep South. Are you
jealous yet? If you asked my best friend (Clown #4) what I love the most
he will probably tell you in his high-pitched, giggly voice, “Meatloaf,
scaring villagers, and his job.” HONK HONK. That’s right, my job. There
is nothing I could love more... except, maybe, her.
She was the newest attraction to the circus and I could see why. With a
beard like that, no sideshow freak could resist. I had to introduce
myself to her.
“Hey, I seen the way your beard frightened away those annoying group of
3rd graders tonight, it was really sexy.”
“Oh you’re so sweet,” she said. “My name’s Lucy, what’s yours?”
“Well, I’m Thomas, the Strongest Man,” I said in a deep, manly voice.
“Well, how about me and you doing something tonight?”
Oh my god, a girl with a beard just asked me out on a date! Dreams do
really come true.
“OK! Pick you up at 8!”
Wow, I am the strongest guy probably in the whole world and I’m nervous
over a date. Well I am 19 years old and this is my first date, so I have
every reason to be. I wonder how old she is. With a thick beard like
that she has to be at least 21.
Later that night I picked up Lucy in the cotton candy wagon I borrowed
from the vendor, Sticky Hand Steve. Good old Steve, he was addicted to
sugar and affection. He would do anything for a Snicker’s bar and a hug.
First I took her to my favorite
place to eat the Pork and Sort. Some people like to call it a “ham
factory” and that I’m just poor and like to eat out of the “garbage,”
but what do they know. It was magical, as me and Lucy were chewing on
the hooves of a decapitated pig, I knew she was the one. She hopped in
the wagon and I knew just where I'd run to next, make-out peak.
Thing’s got a little hot and heavy if you know what I mean, it was like
a 100 degrees outside and I was getting tired of dragging her around in
that wagon. I proposed to Lucy that night and to my amazement she said
yes. I thought from here on out it can only get better. Oh, to be young
and naďve.
We got the standard-issue ranch in the middle class suburban
neighborhood full of ignorant snobs. And the miniature dog with its
annoying yelps that you just want to stomp into the ground. And let’s
not forget the lovely 2.5 children, which 1 of them you don’t even think
is yours because he looks like your best friend (clown number 4). No
baby of mine would be born with a red nose! I’m not bitter about things;
things could just be a whole lot better.
I can not even enjoy my everyday breakfast of 4 dozen eggs without her
nagging me about something.
“YOU NEVER NOTICE ME ANYMORE!” she yelled.
“What are you talking about?” I said with a sigh.
“I’m wearing a new dress, I got my nails done, and you do not even
care.”
“Maybe if you shaved that darn goatee I would look at you twice,” I said
softly.
“Excuse me?”
“Nothing, I love you and I’m off to work.”
And with a kiss on the hairless part of her cheek that it took me
forever to find, I was gone.
Maybe I won’t drive home today I’ll go back to the circus and leave this
life of monotony behind. Maybe I will finally fulfill my dreams and
become the STRONGEST MAN IN THE WORLD. Maybe I will finally be free!
Maybe I should call the wife and
tell her what I’m doing; I wouldn’t want her to worry.
© Copyright
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The
Wedding Day
By
Cathlene Smith,
Utah
The day of the wedding finally came. It seemed like a lifetime had gone
into this moment; actually my entire life had gone into this day. I was
beautiful, Sally, my maid of honor, was enchanting and the whole church
was filled with well-wishers.
There was a knock at the door. I opened it, expecting to see my Father.
"Miss Jones, My name is Officer Kent, I'm looking for Johnathon Seville.
Do you know where he is?"
"John? That's my groom. He should be in the rectory getting dressed."
"I just need to talk with him." The officer took off.
"Aren't you even a little bit interested in knowing why that cop was
here?" asked Sally.
"Do you like this shade of pink on my lips?" First things first.
The music sounded. Now was the moment I had been awaiting for! I
clutched onto my Dad and slowly slinked down the aisle after six
bridesmaids and Sally. I looked lovely.
"Stop!" Officer Kent was running past me; down the aisle to the altar.
"Johnathon Seville, you have the right to remain silent."
"John!" I screamed, "Honey, can't this wait until after the ceremony?"
John bolted to the side door. He knocked over one of the groomsmen he
met that day. The Priest tackled him and brought him to his knees. The
cop ran up to the altar and started to handcuff my groom!
"Stop it! You are ruining my big day! I'm sure John is sorry, aren't you
honey?"
"Yes, I'm sorry," a muffled John said as his hands were bent behind his
back.
"You're not taking John until he says 'I do'."
"I'm sorry honey, really I am." He reached out to me and grabbed my leg.
"John! Stop getting your fingerprints on my satin pumps!"
"Look, you are under arrest for leaving the county jail before your time
was up!"
"He's an escaped convict?" screamed Sally in a high-pitched, but oddly
interested tone.
John got to his knees, flailing his arms around and kicking until he got
loose. He knocked over one of the floral displays. The really big one!
"John, get back here and say 'I do'!" I screamed.
One of the three flower girls was knocked down as the groomsmen ran
after him. John grabbed Sally, and held her up against him. Again, she
didn't look all that alarmed. She seemed to be 'blushing'.
"She's my hostage now," he pointed a pocketed gun at her back.
"Oooooh my!" Sally looked positively radiant!
"Now, John, let her go! Come with me peaceably." replied the Officer
Kent.
John grabbed Sally, who was smiling a bit too cheerfully, and running
with her to the door of the Church. My Father, hit him over the head
with my bouquet. John rubbed his head, picked up the bouquet and
smothered my Father, who happened to be allergic to all flora, with it.
My Dad engaged in a sneezing fit.
John got Sally and made it out the front door and halfway down the
steps, where his newly-met 'Best Man', hit him with the cage that
contained the doves. The force of the blow, caused the cage to open and
release the white birds. In their fear, they began pelting everyone with
yesterday's feed. The whole wedding party was covered in dove poop!
"Daddy, do something, and stop sneezing!" I cried for some kind of end
to this fairy tale wedding from Hell.
John and Sally ran to my car, Sally didn't appear to be struggling too
much. They got into the 'just married' decorated car and sped down the
street. Groomsmen, Dad, Father Hallihan and Officer Kent were running
after them. Officer Kent pulled his gun and shot into the air, hitting a
dove, sending it down in a thud on top of my Mother.
I sat down, waiting for tears of loss to occur, but then the laughter of
the whole event just took over. I laughed so hard, I busted two buttons
off of my ivory, off the shoulder, dress.
"What's so damned funny!" my mother asked.
"I forgot to put gas in the car. They're not going to get more than half
a block." I pulled my knees to my chin and laughed in hysterics; as I
watched the men run after the car and into it when it shut down due to
lack of fuel.
I always wanted a wedding that no one would forget. I had pulled it off!
The wedding of all weddings!
www.writearoundtheblock.com
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Nutrition
Attrition
By
Christopher Yeager,
Ohio
A recent conversation with a nutritionist yielded the following dietary
conundrum. According to her I was eating too much starch, equal to a cup
of sugar a day, and thus could hire myself out as a Japanese beetle
trap. I was eating too much starch on the recommendation of another
nutritionist, to curb my craving for sweets.
Sometimes I think more contradictory blarney has been written about food
than any other area of human experience, including whether or not
Eleanor Roosevelt was gay. Anyone who knows cholesterol from carbs puts
a spin on it. The current state of nutritional mores resembles the
Russian economy after Communism collapsed, except that instead of
Arkady’s henchmen we have to worry about stuffing ourselves with junk
food wisdom.
We need to remind ourselves of a few basics about nutrition. (These
apply only in America. The rest of the world either has trouble finding
food to begin with or more affordable health care. You don’t think the
French would be stubbing out Gitanes in their bearnaise if they had
private pay, do you?)
FIBER-- Cleanses the system of toxins, such as the urge to voluntarily
help pay down the national debt. Recommendation: consume a minimum of
three nutritional guidebooks a week (preferably printed in soy-based
ink). They’re as tasty as rice cakes and, being paper, may eventually
serve a dual purpose.
FAT— Also doubly useful, storing energy and cushioning vital organs in
punchups after football games. Found in nuts, legumes, dairy products,
red meat, and the crania of headbangers. Should be overindulged only by
Elvis lookalikes and people who work in buildings with elevators.
SUGAR-- A form of carbohydrates, needed for energy and staying awake to
watch Conan O’Brien. Too much sugar can be life-endangering. I once
pulled a chocolate bar from my pocket while shopping at a natural foods
store, where carob—the nearest thing to edible charcoal—was the drug of
choice. I soon learned this was like a Muslim munching a pork chop in
the vicinity of the k'aaba. I escaped with all appendages intact, but
only after prostrating myself before a block of tofu.
SALT-- Nowhere has the prevailing wisdom about nutrition pivoted more
than with sodium. At one time it was on every table, in every recipe,
even for fruit cocktail. Now you practically have to go out in a field
with livestock to get it. Adding salt to anything you might as well, in
the eyes of nutritionists, be sprinkling tobacco over it. If you have a
real craving for salt, bear in mind that gardeners use it to kill slugs.
(They also use beer, but who wants their taste for that ruined?)
PROTEIN-- Absolutely essential to health, a true cornerstone of the
nutritional Giza pyramid. Consumed properly, it builds strong teeth,
bones, nails, and hair to die for. Too much of it, however, leaches
calcium from your system and could result in looking like a dromedary
camel in old age. To determine if you’re eating the right amount, book a
package tour to Egypt at the first opportunity.
FOOD COMBINING-- Ideally, this should extend beyond tequila and limes.
Combining foods correctly, such as complementary proteins (beans and
rice), enhances digestion and brings out their optimum flavor and
nutritive value. Eating protein with sugar (peanuts with lemonade), on
the other hand, will give you the grumblies and possibly lead to
ejection from the cineplex. The Hay Diet (not the one for horses)
maintains that protein and carbs are best eaten separately. So start
peeling your sushi.
YOUR IDEAL WEIGHT— A touchy subject, not within the scope of food
parsing per se, but crucial to its portioning. Dependent to a degree on
body type. If you’re ectomorphic—tending toward leanness—you’ll be able
to eat more chocolate cheesecake than if you’re endomorphic—built like a
rutabaga. Also affected by self-esteem. If you’re skinny but
weight-obsessed, you’re more apt to eat things that plump you up and
make you feel worse. Whereas if you’re sweet on size 16, you’re not only
heavy but happy. Even nutritionists won’t contest that.
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