I’m excited for lunch today. I brought homemade chili!

It is loaded with plump beans, savory hamburger, and zesty chili-spices. No doubt about it, I am going to enjoy eating this chili for lunch.

Did you bring in chili for lunch?

Why not?

Huh. It’s just that my chili is warm and delicious, and I find it curious that you chose not to bring any chili of your own. Trust me, there’s no way I’m sharing any of my hearty, luscious chili with you.

Hey friend, there’s no need to raise our voices here. The fact that I’ve got a fat bowl of thick, spicy chili in the employee fridge and you don’t doesn’t mean we need to become adversaries. It doesn’t bother me at all that your wife left you and now you eat at Hardees every day.

No, I’m not insinuating anything, as a matter of fact. I think Hardees is a perfectly fine resturaunt, and their sourdough bacon cheeseburger is the tops. Maybe a little on the unhealthy side, but everybody knows you’re not afraid of packing on the ol’ poundage. That’s why we call you beluga-lips when you’re not around.

Calm down! I think you’re really overreacting here. So what if we secretly compare your physique to that of a massive sea mammal? Belugas are beautiful creatures, swimming around the ocean, eating plankton and whatnot.

Fine then. Take it to HR. It won’t bother me. I’ve got a fat, sloppy bowl of chili waiting for me at 11:45. It has kidney beans in it and everything.

I do not like people who drive too slow!

I also do not like people who drive too fast. Both types make our roads dangerous.

I do not like people who make dangerous lane switches without looking!

I also do not like people who never change lanes. They are annoying.

I do not like people who talk on their cell phones while driving!

I also do not like people who look at me when I’m passing them. It bothers me.

Let’s go to Dairy Queen!

This has been a post by Brett, a mentally handicapped man who has illegally procured a Minnesota state drivers license.

You are so friendly!

I have been watching you lately. You are kind to children and puppies, and you have joyful eyes. You call people by name and your smile brightens the heavens! You are a sincere person with kind intentions for all.

And I love you.

I want to cuddle deep into you and be held in your arms! I want you to make me feel safe and secure by comforting and protecting me from life’s troubles.

I’ll admit that I’ve had my fair share of infatuations before. And I’ll further admit that most of them have gone unrequited. Currently there are restraining orders out for me in 14 counties. But none of those people was quite like you. None of them had a laugh that sparkles like yours, and none of them was a sweetheart like you. You are as cute as a fluffy pillow!

Do you like me?

Why not?

What?

You know what, you make me sick. You’re a fat, pathetic donkey of a person.

You’d better watch your back. I have a knife. I’m going to stab your spine someday when you least expect it.

I loathe you.

So Bridgette and I close on our new house Thursday morning.

It’s been a long, convoluted, and frustrating process thus far, but we’re finally nearing the end of this odyssey. We’ve dealt with scheduling difficulties and unexpected loan complications, and it feels good to be nearing the end. Unfortunately, the closing process has become far more difficult than is usually necessary.

Apparently, the location for our closing can only be reached by crossing a rickety rope bridge suspended precariously over a lake of boiling fire. We must dodge the missiles of hellfire being shot from the searing anuses of the Realty-goblins, flying through the air with their leathery wings. Once we reach the far side of the lake of fire, our character will be tested by the omniscient Oracle. This powerful blue orb will peer deep into our souls in search of fear and weakness. If we show even the tiniest hint of trepidation the Oracle will cause our hearts to explode and our bellies to burst open with mice. If, on the other hand, we show that we are virtuous and true, the Oracle will let us pass and grant us a Dairy Queen coupon for our efforts.

Then we have to pass through a corn maze.

Once we are near the end of our journey, we must engage the seller’s agent in mortal combat. Fighting him with my broadsword (Bridgette gets a crossbow), I must defeat him before the sands pass through the hourglass and we become frozen in crystal for seven eternities.

After that, we sign a couple papers and that’s basically it.

Come and sit with me. I would like to speak with you.

I want you to know that I find you an exceptionally good person. You are kind to others, and your grooming leaves no doubt as to the quality of your caliber. Your smile makes birds sing songs of finest beauty and your forearms are firm and muscled, though not to the point of unsightliness. Your eyes meet my gaze evenly and your mouth parts slightly as you await my next words. You are, in short, as fine an individual as I have come across.

Are my kind words making you uncomfortable? Perhaps you would like it if I didn’t lean in so closely to you when I spoke? Is my breath hot on your face? Do you dislike being able to see individual pores on my skin? Am I breaching your personal space by placing my nose two inches from yours? Are you uncomfortable with the fact that my hand is currently placed on your left thigh?

Do not misunderstand me. I do not intend this as a sexual advance in any way. I simply find you a remarkable person and desire closeness with you. As I lean in to softly kiss your lips, I want you to understand that this will merely be a lingering kiss of friendship and respect. I believe you will find it both supple and refreshing.

Let’s begin.

“Hey buddy, you’re cruisin’ for a bruisin’.”

Cruisin’ for a bruisin’. What a great phrase. Why has it fallen out of our contemporary vernacular? Was it simply too awesome? I feel a great societal injustice has been done.

Many of the greatest men in American history have used this phrase deftly and to great effect. Abraham Lincoln, frustrated with the inaction of General George MacClellan told him that if he continued on his current path, he was, “indeed cruising for a bruising.” Later in the same telegram, he promised, “to beat the living shit out of [MacClellan]” if he did not see immediate action.

Americans haven’t been the only ones cruisin’ for a bruisin’. The phrase has its roots in Roman times, when the Emperor Diocletian, visited by Golgorath (a Visigoth cheiftan), told his adversary that he was “travelling speedily down the path toward a thorough pummelling”, a quote widely believed to be the ancestor of its more popular decendant. Diocletian was later soundly defeated by the Visigoths and his severed head was placed on a pike at the gates of Byzantium, but his wonderful phrase lived on.

And so, in conclusion, I would like to voice my support for a resurgence of “cruisin’ for a bruisin’”. It has been far too long since toothpick-biting, greasy-haired roughians have had their way with the American populace through their brandishing of the formidable phrase. I, for one, welcome a return to those good old days. I invite you to join me in my efforts.

And may all of you be cruisin’ for a bruisin’ today!