Rutabagas

Rutabagas are root vegetables grown in Poland by peasant women who wear kerchiefs tied about their head. If you like, you may think of rutabagas as turnips on steroids. Most cookbooks have a deficiency of recipes that use rutabagas. I don’t quite know why this is, but it is deucedly inconvenient. The other day I had a craving for a rutabaga sandwich and, do you know, I haven’t the slightest idea as to how one would go about preparing such a thing.

Perhaps there should be a contest with prizes for the best rutabaga sandwich recipe.

And I sometimes wonder, what would french fried rutabagas taste like?

The object of their hatred

One of the remarkable things about our dearly beloved President is the hatred he inspires among so many members of the left. Whilst in one of my visits to the People’s Republic of Massachusetts I had the pleasure of listening to otherwise sane and rational people rant about the misdeeds of our Commander in Mischief.

It is not entirely clear why he is so hated. Granted that he uses the pablum talk that passes for Republican rhetoric. Granted also that he supports the usual Republican objectives. These sins are more than enough to make him morally unacceptable in the eyes of a good liberal. Even worse, he is fairly competent at gaining those objectives, something that is really offensive.

Such is more than enough to earn him Democratic scorn, but seems not enough, to earn him that remarkable hatred. Democrats may despise Republicans and hold them in comtempt, but they do not generally passionately hate them.

Explanation may lie in the marvelous election of 2000; it is only natural for Democrats to believe that “We wuz robbed”. Being snookered by someone you contemptuously view as a consumate boob is not the most pleasant of experiences; it is one that necessitates considerable agility in rationalization.

I am reminded of an incident in chess. In the early twentieth century the grandmaster Nimzowich was playing a game in a tournament with a distinctly inferior player. Distinctly inferior, that is, to Nimzowich – I expect that he could have polished off you or I quite handily. Nimzowich was famed for the originality of his openings and of his lines of play. In this particular game he had experimented and had lost his way in a calculation. His opponent seized the moment. Nimzowich stared at the board, tore his hair, and screamed, “Why am I losing to this idiot!??”

Mr. Slick

Last month I described my adventures in buying a new car. The folks at Harr Motors read my page and were highly amused. In real life Mr. Slick is a rather nice chap named Kenny Hix. If you are in Aberdeen SD and happen to be looking for a car, give him a call at Harr Motors.

Dating

Dating is like the lottery. To play the game you have to buy her dinner, er, a ticket. Just because you bought a ticket doesn’t mean you get a prize.

My contribution to social consciousness

I opine we should all be very very kind to humor challenged. It’s not their fault they’re humor challenged. Maybe what we need here is a new cause, a new program of social sensitivity. I mean, what we got here is a bunch of folks with hypertrophied pomposity glands. Now ain’t they a minority. Don’t they suffer when some jackanapes comes along and makes them look foolish. Is that right, fair and square? Seems to me like a feller ought not to suffer embarrassment that way, being made to look foolish just ’cause he’s naturally stuffy. What we need, here, is a new category of socially disapproved modes of thinking. We all knew it’s bad to be racist or sexist. The way I see it, we need to add humorist to that list. And you know, there’s a lot of that stuff going on these days. Why I hear the big cities actually have clubs, called comedy clubs, that are just snake pits of humor. Yep, time for a new crusade. All this humor going on makes it tough to keep the old crusades up to snuff.