Welcome to Wednesday, wayward wanderers and wayfaring workers! The drive is without notable concern… try as I did to find something, I can only report that the incidence of reportable incidents on my drive was nil. There are no rocks, rain isn’t falling, fog isn’t fogging things up, and the temps are balmy. I got nothin’.
At least today is National Pigs in a Blanket day. I can get wrapped up in that… heck, I’ll admit to going hog-wild over it! I love those things. I mean, not so much because they are delicious, but you know, for the health benefits (sodium, triglycerides, fat, turkey beaks, nitrates, nitrites, nitwrongs, HCAs, advanced glycation end products, PAHs, PCBs, VCRs, STDs, whatever!)… that’s why I eat piles of them whenever I can. I like all different varieties, too: ones made with spicy lil’ sausages, or ones made with cheese. Call me crazy, but I actually really love the ones made with vegetarian weenies, too! (Don’t knock ‘em ‘til you try ‘em… they’re NOT the wurst!) Sometimes they’re good for dipping, while other times they are just fine as they are. It’s essentially impossible for a pig in a blanket to not be delicious. Unless, I suppose, it was like a REAL pig, in a REAL blanket. That would be a little difficult to masticate.
Another good thing about National Pigs in a Blanket day, is that it opens the gate for pig jokes… to flow from my pen… and that’s no hogwash.
Say, anybody know the difference between a politician and a flying pig? Why, the letter “F,” of course!
My buddy taught his pet pig some tricks. He taught that pig some martial arts… that thing could deliver quite a pork chop.
I recently saw a low-budget remake of Star Wars. They got a few things way different than the original. Like, Ham Solo didn’t even have a spacecraft… he drives a pig-up truck. And he drinks wine.
Bububbudabubbubbubuddabubuhhhh… That’s all, folks! It turns out, after searching the whole entire Internet, all the way to the freakin’ end, there are no more pig jokes (at least none suitable for this classy column). You’d think pigs would provide great, uhhh, fodder, for joke material, but there’s nothing else out there. Weird.
I’m just so baffled by airports. Security is intense… you get x-rayed and ID’d and your bags are searched. Dogs sniff you out, and sometimes you’ll even get cavity searched (no, not by a dentist, but by a dude nicknamed, “Mr. Big Hands,” who wears rubber gloves that go all the way to his shoulder). You have to prove your innocence over and over for something you’ve never even considered doing, but just to be sure you aren’t going to bomb the plane, you can’t even carry a water bottle aboard… (with liquid water anyway; turns out it’s okay if the water is frozen, though. Go figure.). Your shoes will come off, as they inspect your footwear for bombs. And all of this, only if you are already lucky enough to not be on the terrorist watchlist. Anyhow… ALL of this security, until, baggage claim. At that point, well, whatever. Take any bag. You can even come in from outside, and take one or two… as many as you can carry, really. We don’t care. We’re not checking… help yourself!
Hey, here’s a weird thing: the only part of your reflection that you see in a mirror, that you can lick, is your tongue.
I hear that Michael Jackson is being canonized. Well, not exactly… they’re not going to make him a full saint, but there seems to be enough evidence to make him a priest!
One of our teenagers recently had a bout of the flu. The doctor’s advice? Do drugs, and stay out of school.
Clearly, today’s column just went all “freestyle,” which is another way of saying it lacked direction. I hope it didn’t boar you, or give the impression that I’m trying to hog all of the puns. I don’t feel sow guilty… but it’s made me realize just how much I ham distracted by looking forward to them ol’ pigs in a blanket. What’s the term… twitterpated? Yeah… I think I’m that, about PIBS. Or PsIB? Or, PsIAB? PiaBs? Whatever. Little pig, little pig… LET ME EAT! Let’s have ourselves a lil’ PIGNIC!