Da-da's OTHER Secret Burger Recipe of HORROR

A great cheeseburger would really help right about now.

Da-da's OTHER Secret Burger Recipe of HORROR (here's is the first one) isn't that secret or horrifying, but if you smear it all over your face and stumble down the street moaning, you might serve as a serviceable zombie... which won't keep you from getting sucked into that pesky vortex. What? That's right, Da-da's talkin' 'bout Labor Day. Speaking of barely tenable workaday segues, your best Labor Day zombie burger experience will have as ingredients some or all of the things you normally put on the exterior of your burger, like ketchup, mustard, wombats, adamantine steel, etc. Many places use this simple recipe, though adamantine steel is only available from select wolverines, and even then, it's a tough harvest.

Da-da was reminded of all this while trapped in a possessed evil dead cabin in the woods over the summer, though mostly because he planned poorly and found he had NONE of his regular Da-da Burger ingredients. (Not having shallots or Dijon was the real horror, seconded only by Da-da's electric scalp massager gaining consciousness.) Trumping that, the giant mosquitos, 90-degree heat and bleeding floor boards, this impromptu burger recipe really helped. It seems overly simple, but works well.
Da-da's OTHER Secret Burger Recipe of HORROR

4 lbs ground beef
1/2 onion, minced
2-3 T. yellow mustard
4 T. ketchup
dash of garlic powder
Mix with your hands and squish until homogenous. (Da-da loves that sentence.) Form into patties and dust with a little garlic powder, S&P and GRILL, grill like THE WIND. Even zombies will think twice about eating you if you've got a Da-da Cheeseburger in your gnarled paw.
So, what do werewolves, burgers and Labor Day have to do with one another? [spooky music UP] Da-da's pretty sure you're about to find out.

Labor Day and werewolves and cheeseburgers go together like ham and ster.

That All-Day Look of Parenthood


That Handy Look of Parenthood

The handiest made-by-hand back-handed look, hands-down.
Sorry, Da-da's pretty sure his meds have worn off.


That Midnight Look of Parenthood

"The worst kind of insanity is that induced by children." -Sigmund Freud

Oak Island Mystery SOLVED? [PART 1][UPDATED]

Arrrr, solving mysteries be better than gold, mateys... or not.

Allow Da-da to flex his 20+ years research into arcane subjects a moment. You all like stories of gold and buried treasure, Da-da will wager, so let's dig into the overblown oxymoron that is The Money Pit, better known as The Oak Island Mystery, arrr. [Spooky music UP.] Aye, this be the island where untold treasure lay buried, just off the weary coast of Nova Scotia. An 18th Century teenage sighting suggested that pirates had buried it there, and folks have been digging the crap out of this flat little nowheresville island (now devoid of oaks, denuded by treasure seekers) ever since, crazed by what they're sure is billions in chests of looted gold, yawning untold fortunes and run-on sentences... fortunes that have yet to turn up in the 216 years that investors have been losing fortunes trying to locate them. Money pit, indeed. Da-da recently read about yet another tragic band of suckers investors sinking yet more moolah into the aptly named Money Pit, this time electrocuting the island in hopes of divining underground tunnels that will lead to the promised land of arrrr. Whatever.

Da-da's pretty sure that few of his readers have probed The Oak Island Mystery in any great detail, but since you all like a good probing, a quick look at the initial facts will yield the near-certainty that there is no treasure -- not anymore, anyway. This from wikipedia:


The Apocalypse Has Been Temporarily Postponed While We Give It a Fresh Coat of Paint, Please Stay Tuned and Very Afraid

Da-da's had enough. Some kids on a playground told Da-da's oldest that the world was ending soon, and that nothing mattered anymore, so why do anything your parents or teachers say? They invariably synthesized this nonsense from phlogiston their parents (who should know better) were slinging. So. Let's get this over with.

Historically, there have been an untold number of schmoops (schmoe-groups) who have camped out beneath smoking volcanoes, or the bases of hills populated by bloodthirsty bandits, or "sleeping" in bunkbeds awaiting a comet, or shacked up with millennial fever... the schmoops' common denominator the anticipation of the END OF THE WORLD, which never seems to transpire according to anyone's schedule. Alas, the Insane Vending Machine that's calling the illusory historical shots wants you to be afraid 24/7/365, as it adores unpleasant surprises and lowering the boom, so it would never give you advance warning; it just keeps on delivering cheap shots, usually early in the morning when you're stretching and having that first cup of coffee, or while you're in bed all warm and toasty. Suffice to say that whatever terrible catastrophes await the Once and Future Schmoops are going to be complete surprises, followed by three-inch headlines.

Therefore, using Da-da's Adamantine Logic-log of Friendly Advice-ity, Da-da can say with great authority that absolutely nothing will happen on December 21st, 2012... except maybe the horror that is fighting total strangers for the latest Ben 10 Ultimate Alien Bathroom Fixture or that puce muffler for grandma. Sure, you'll sweat and tighten those sphincter muscles those last few days before Christmas, no matter how much sense Da-da makes... or doesn't make... that little fish in the back of your mind taking the doomsday bait, then spitting it back out.

There's one question, one that Da-da consistently asks of many schmoop reps after the world fails to end for them (Cold War Apocalypse, Y2K, Hale-Bopp, 9/11, the recent Rapture-FAIL, etc.): what are you gonna do with your life when the world fails to end in a Mayan 2012 Apocalypse of Doom, like when it failed to end all the other times? Anyone? Buehler? What will you do with your life? Whatever you do, try hard not to give the fear a new coat of paint and a new deadline (PLEASE STOP), or it'll be yet another self-fulfilling prophecy clean-up on aisle nine again and again till that volcano blows the comet into the thing and the boom and the bing.

Newsflash: the world will one day end -- officially in about 5 billion years when the sun expands into a red giant into the orbit of Mars. In the meantime... what, Da-da worry? Howbout if we all band together and take a thousand year sabbatical from fear and, well... smile after the ellipsis and get some coffee and try not to take everything so seriously.

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A Humble, Ham-laced Apology to the Faithful

Da-da is thinking of a recompense-y ham about this big. That work for everyone?

Hi, all. Please accept Da-da's apology for all the posts. Seems every time he edits an old post (Da-da can't help it, he's an EDITOR), the blind and insensate Blogger Subscriber Engine sees it as a new post and spams you all. Such is not Da-da's intent, and he will personally make it up to all of you one day... far away... you all like ham, right? Oh, wait... Da-da forgot about the Ham Rapture. Damn. Da-da will have to try an adjacent universe for sourcing.

Some hams curve to the left, some to the right... hmmm.

A Little Aperçus Into the World of DA-DA

Yes. Well. Da-da received back-to-back invites asking him to hawk something or other. One was a funny, "Sabermetric Look at the Little League World Series," the other... a skinny guy who made a music video about wanting someone to, "Lick [his] Bum Bum," in an '80s David-Byrne-on-Redbull-and-scotch video sorta way. Yeah. It's quite unlike Bob Log II and his most excellent, NSFW music video, "BOOB SCOTCH" (Da-da's still mad that he didn't come up with the fuzz-box-mic-in-the-helmet thing)... well, Da-da has no idea where this was going, but see for yourself into Da-da's moment of inertia. Or don't, and go paint an elementary school in Nicaragua. Either way... enjoy.


Da-da's Handy Earthquake Advice


Da-da is a West Coast native (though everyone pegs him for an EastCoaster), and has subsequently been in a few big (7.0+) earthquakes and tons of little ones. Those on the East Coast will invariably be faced with countless, 'What to Do in an Earthquake' articles in the coming months, but the most important thing you need to know is: don't run outside. There's a whole world of stuff outside (no, really) that can fall on you, stuff that's heavy and sharp and pointy and made of metal and concrete and compressed bunnies that will be very mean to your sad, hominid cranium. Most earthquake injuries occur when folks run screaming into the street -- obviously, remaining calm is paramount -- so, instead, STAY INSIDE AND SCREAM. Actually, yelling, "YAAAAHOOOOOOO!" during the event really helps a lot, and the people around you will love it. Some people say you should hide under furniture, while others suggest standing in a doorway. Da-da is of the latter opinion, only because it's easier and faster, and Da-da is nothing if not easy and fast, but yelling, "YAAAAHOOOOOOO!" is... well, you'll understand when it happens. It just feeeeeels good, like being in a disaster movie WITHOUT Charleton Heston (that's the feeling good part).

One more serious thing... if you're driving and it suddenly feels like you're driving through deep sand (for those who've done this), you're actually driving during an earthquake. Slow down and move yourself slowly away from the main course of traffic -- AND if it's a bad quake, watch for falling power poles and power lines. Don't jam on your brakes. And again, SCREAM.

Really, the most important thing to do in a quake is the, "YAAAAHOOOOOOO!" scream. Moderate earthquakes are fun, c'mon (immoderate ones are not), and they give everyone a common thing to talk about later, basically serving as a unifier, which hardly ever happens anymore, so... enjoy.

That's right, remain c-a-l-m. Easy, now, E-A-S-Y...

Back to School, You Flying Nun Knights of NI

It's Back-to-school fashion time. Yes. Well. Welcome to the... future? The past? The Medieval Apocalypse? The something. Anyway welcome, you Flying Nun Knights of NI. Please accept this humble shrubbery, already in progress. And no gum chewing.


That Midnight Look of Parenthood

Uhng, man... Da-da's too bleary and misshapen to even caption effectively. At least that fancy new Chernobyl face and hand cream is working wonders.


Giant Robots of the Rich and Famous

The GRV "Crusher" comes equipped with headlights! Yay!
Traffic around Da-da's town is some of the worst in the world, mostly because all the parents have fallen asleep at the wheel, exhausted from ferrying small beings here and there and there and here, multiple parental unconsciousness episodes snarling traffic for miles. While sitting in one of these traffic snafus, Da-da's oldest son, Nagurski, had the perfect solution to future traffic jams: (see the title). Just then, on the radio, came a burst of zietgeist-y near-synchronicity (the likes of which poor Da-da will never be able to afford):
Announced today, AcmeVaporware's Advanced Physical Layer Transport Section debuted the world’s first Gynormous Robotic Vehicle (GRV) for high-congestion cities, in an effort to eliminate nightmare commutes from the tortured lives of billionaire CEOs, bailed-out bank executives and venture capitalists living in dense urban environments. Intended to grossly empower an already heady cyber-elite plutocracy, the enormous, two-legged monstrosties tower a full 100 feet above the road surface and can run at well over 120 miles per hour. The first 20 sport utility models of the GRV Robot Series have already sold.

"Behold the beginning of a whole new era of driving satisfaction," Dr. John Smallberries, CEO of  AcmeVaporware, bellowed via the shoulder-mounted loudspeaker system of the GRV as he stomped across stalled traffic. "This sucker virtually eliminates traffic as we know it. And you haven't lived until you've crushed a Lexus at 90 mph." 

Developed in close cooperation with paroled engineers from Area 52, Caterpillar and Siemens, each GRV weighs 1200 tons and is powered by 30 specially designed Briggs & Stratton Hellfire gas turbine engines, developing a cumulative 1 billion lb.-feet of torque. The GRV’s mechanical-drive/Cherenkov locomotion lugs the engines under load rather than running at constant maximum horsepower. This makes the mechanical powertrain highly efficient and productive in a wide variety of jumping and traffic-stomping conditions.

With electronically controlled transmissions, integrated axle lock-up clutches, blast-resistant titanium-steel alloy bodies, fast hydraulic actuator cycles and traditional robot-head-style cabs, AcmeVaporware's GRV Series sets giant robot standards for performance, durability, operator comfort and errant headiness. The GRV "Crusher" Sport Utility model features on-the-go inter-axle and cross-arm inter-axle differential locking, and represents the most productive articulated giant robot arm and mecha-claw in its class. All GRVs offer proven, oil-immersed hip-disk brakes and fully automated and integrated 256-speed transmissions, well-suited for heavy stomping. The soon-to-be-unveiled GRV Crusher II stands 200 feet tall, and is almost entirely classified. The GRV Mark III is only rumored to exist, but should top out at well over 500 feet. Dick Cheney has already purchased one (his brain is rumored to have already been installed).

All of AcmeVaporware's giant robots provide the quickest route possible in a congested world. And because of unique Vibram-designed foot tread patterns, all are operationally destructive over a wide range of all-weather underfoot conditions, to include: cars and trucks (foreign and domestic); military and police vehicles; government offices and military installations; strip malls; casinos; convenience stores; skyscrapers; as well as all IRS central and field offices. Each Giant Robot is also bomb- and rocket-resistant, and sports exceptional EMP shielding in the instance of penultimate CHP nuclear intervention.

"I think we've really hit upon a niche here," noted Dr. John E. Socko, chief engineer of AcmeVaporware's Advanced Robotics Section based in San Nowamon, CA. "We've made 20 robots -- and have sold all 20. And we have pre-paid orders for the next 1000. At $50 million each, these things aren't cheap, but they are surprisingly affordable for a certain class of executive." Dr. Socko added that the Giant Robots have a pronounced psychological effect, in that they almost totally eliminate sloth in all but the most severely medicated of human drivers.

"Fear is a fantastic motivator. People run like hell."



Parenthood Means...

...not having to follow the world's silly 24/7 pageant anymore. And no, you won't miss it. Quite the opposite.


Gravity Has Been Drinking

Da-da rolls all his eyes (mutants have lots of eyes) whenever "experts" talk about the universe. How can you be an expert on something you only see a teeny part of, while dangling participles? Huh? It's like when Da-da was in physics classes and instructors waxed insouciant about physical "laws." There are no physical laws, Dracula. A physical law is merely someone saying, "Hey! It happened again!" It might not happen that way next time. This in mind, would it surprise you to know that gravity, typically 9.8 m/s^2 (or 32 feet per second per second) is different everywhere you go? Yup. It changes from place to place. It even changes IN those same places, fluxing up and down and sideways, changing every picosecond where you are right now. Why? We have no idea. But look at this gravitic satellite view of the earth:

Isn't that cool? Red is higher gravity, blue is lower gravity. Of course, we're talking about a very small change in what keeps you from flying off the earth, but it's a change nonetheless. (Note that this is just a snapshot of that moment; gravity changes all the time. Be fun to see this as a live view during extreme solar activity.) So, why is gravity lower over Hudson Bay versus the Aleutian Islands? Do Aleutians grow taller than Canadians, on average? Da-da doesn't know. No one else does, either. Sure, we're talking microgravities, but no one's ever put sensors in a high gravity locale and a low gravity locale and noted the differences. Is it easier to think in lower gravity? Grow plants? Move pianos? Win at bowling? Da-da will try to locate a UFOnaut and get back to you on that.

No one ever talk about this stuff. Why? Because we don't understand gravity or the inner workings of our own planet -- or how to get politicians to jump into that volcano. (Damn.) Speaking of that, would it surprise you to know that the universe is neither expanding nor contracting... that is, until you look at it? Weird, huh? One of the ancient's biggest secrets was, "The universe is mental." Quantum theory says the same thing. The presence of thought changes everything. Luckily, there's not much of that permeating the planet earth these days.

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You Can't Park That There


That Midnight Look of Parenthood Yet to Come

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You Can't Park That There

Fred's wondering what genius came up with this POS and
whether or not his helmet can hold more barf.
Note: This was a notoriously bad, jet-powered VTOL prop design that caused problems for all concerned, pilot and crew alike. Every time they fired this puppy up, everyone concerned -- pilot, landing crew, technicians, scientists -- got violently nauseous, to the point where everyone was adding their lunch to the tarmac. They eventually discovered that each prop tip (there were six, counter-rotating) was spinning so fast that each was instantly going supersonic, multiplied by six, the sextuple sonic shock waves coming off the prop tips making everyone hurl (human bodies apparently don't like that kinda thing). The fact that the pilot was barfing and couldn't see where he was landing (he faced forward, that is... UP) was also more than just a little annoying, if not incredibly dangerous. Yes, this makes the operation of this vehicle actually WORSE than being A Man Called Da-da. Not many jobs like that. But at least the military contractor made a bundle.

You Can't Park That There

You Can't Park That There

Note: This week, Da-da's parking himself in a stasis field to do some writing (blogging and book writing don't mix), so this week is dedicated to incongruous parking anomalies. Enjoy.


That Midnight Note of Parenthood

Da-da's Smokin' '81 Honda

Behold: The Ultimate Chicken Magnet -- 1300 ccs of RAW POWER.
Sure, it smoked, but you'd have a right to smoke, too, if you had 180,000 miles on you.
Ok, Da-da's starting sentences with 'OK' again. He can't stand it anymore. Nearly all car manufacturers seem to brag these days about their latest vehicles getting up to 30 mpg. Wow. Da-da's '81 Honda Civic got 34 mpg city, 42 highway, held five people and was pretty darn perky, if not preternaturally sexy. (Hmm, think manufacturers and oil companies collude? Noooo, that would be wrong. Corporations -- and especially oil companies -- have only your best interest in mind. Jeez, what were you thinking?) Anyway, this is definitely gonna be the car Da-da's boys drive (in 2021 it'll be a CLASSIC). Good luck getting in trouble with that thing, boys. Da-da must admit, the venting system on that car was better than any car he's had since: open the vents and you got AIR like Nathan Lane channeling Ethel Merman. Or was it the other way around? Great car. And MANLY. Observe:

"Everything's coming up MANLY INTERIOR!" Makes your uvula vibrate like a jungle cat, right?


Trophy Da-da DROOLAGE

Oh, like a little alien dog collar is gonna stop Da-da. (Note: see Uhura laughing?)

Da-da finds the following almost unbelievable. In the one hour he has to himself once in a while, he was standing in line for a cup of coffee within earshot of two single 20-something, expensively appointed Marketing Amazons chatting loudly about how they had it all -- all, that is, except a "trophy da-da," or Mr. Mom, to raise their future broods. One jokingly said she'd put a, "collar of obedience" on her future Y-chromosomer, "if all the men I meet weren't all such spastic nerf-bags already. That [expletive] guy, Atticus?" she said, "he cries at the drop of a hat, [expletive expletive]."

"If only Django could cook," said the other, "but he's just not marriageable. Too many nasty habits. He did put a tampon in for me the other day..."

"God, I'll SO need someone to raise my kids for me -- if I ever have them."

"You need to get yourself on a baby schedule."

The hirsute javanarian clerk behind the counter was also listening. He happened to know A Man Called Da-da a little, as he sees him every now and again. He pointed at Da-da, who stood caught in the snide.

"Ladies? See that guy there?" The Power Amazons looked, clearly unimpressed with Da-da's shaggy exterior and wildeye-haggard. "He's an author, an artist, a great cook, and a full-time Mr. Mom. You should hit him up for some advice."

The Power Amazons stood there a beat, staring.

"We could always become lesbians," one said and they laughed, walking $7 cups of coffee to their black and silver Mercedes, respectively.

Yeah, well... the joke's on you, Amazons. Da-da's also a CYBORG.

Oh, man. Da-da just got tagged. Anyone got a hanky?


That Midnight Look of Parenthood

Fearless Monster Hunters Review... THE DAY THE EARTH STOOD STILL

"Klaatu... Barata... oh, screw it. Take THAT, Industrial-Military-Complex!"
This week, in honor of the U.S. Government almost coming to a complete standstill because politicians are like the seagulls in, Finding Nemo that squawk, "MINE MINE MINE," and because the U.S. is one Happy Meal from Jumping the Shark, the Fearless Monster Hunters (FMHs) have turned their pre-steampunk goggles to the retro-future with, THE DAY THE EARTH STOOD STILL -- the original version from 1951, not the darker, more recent one which had an arguably better Gort and an equally arrogant, shark-jumped military, jeez, will someone stake the VAMPIRE that is this run-on sentence? [stake noise; death rattle.] Krikey. Most notably for the FMHs, there were no characters that smacked of Star Wars in any way in this feature, so the boys could untether themselves from the gynormous George Lucas brand-zeppelin franchise floating everywhere (which is not to say that Da-da doesn't like George, he does; George even knows Da-da, though not biblically -- that's a whole other blog). Onward!
Fearless Monster Hunters Review... THE DAY THE EARTH STOOD STILL

Da-da: Ok, boys. Did this movie scare you at all?
Bronko(4YO)/Nagurski (6YO): [together] NO!

Da-da: What was the movie about?
Bronko: Gort!
Nagurski: A super robot that can disintegrate things.
Bronko: Spaceman warns earth!

D-d: Do you think flying saucers and aliens are real?
N: Yes.
B: No. [Nagurski and Bronko eyeball each other.]
D-d: Why do you say that?
N: Because there just might be some.
B: They're not real. [More eyeballing as a storm front develops.]

D-d: If UFOs landed everywhere tomorrow, what would you do?
N: I would say HI to them and then make them alien-humans, so they can live on earth with us.
B: I'd send a message to my birthday party. [Da-da and Nagurski look at Bronko, who blinks.]
D-d: What? What message?
B: I dunno. [Bronko's a little sick, so he's loopier than normal.]

D-d: What are UFOs, anyway?
N: Something unidentified. A UFO has all kinds of shapes.
B: It's just made of metal and dark and Gort made it.

D-d: What was your favorite part of the movie?
N: When Gort and the guy got out of jail. AND when Gort disintegrated things.
B: When he disintegrated and zaps those mean tanks that were not listening to the spaceman.

D-d: How did the movie make you feel?
N: [shrugs] Cool?
B: Unsafe. Because they might attack you.
D-d: Who might attack you?
B: The army. They're not nice.
D-d: What will you remember most about THE DAY THE EARTH STOOD STILL?
N: The UFO part, when it lands.
B: Gort and his spaceship and his white light thing. Does it work on cheese sandwiches?
D-d: I'd imagine it would make quick work of a grilled cheese sandwich.
N: I like Giant Robot better, Da-da.
B: Yeah! Can we watch that next?

"Giant Robot... go get Brad Bird!"


Da-da's Darwin Award #1: The ULTIMATE in Grueling Blender Horror

This is how you'll look after reading this.

What would summer be without a story full of grueling horror, blender idiocy, and nut-driver terror that freezes and frappes your blood into a chunky smoothie to drink while re-reading Encyclopaedia Britannica? NOTHING, that's what. So, having successfully made it through the first six-plus years of his children's lives, Da-da can now safely say WHY he occasionally scores so high on the Parental Anxiety and HORROR Meter. The answer is simple and, well... obvious to anyone within a few Astronomical Units (AUs) of Da-da's event horizon. Jeez, would you please stop hyperlinking and get on with it?

It's because Da-da himself has done so many stupid things that he's stuck in a kind of third-person auto-comment parent-blogging horror matrix and is convinced that his own kids are skipping down the same claymore-d path to State College Mediocrity. Da-da's lying, of course. He's actually quite fabulous (no, seriously) and has only done really one incredibly stupid thing -- except for his first marriage at 21 to that pineapple, that ugly pineapple). Yes, Da-da did a stupid thing. One that outranks all stupid things he's ever done... venturing perhaps into DARWIN AWARD territory, if not for the fact that Da-da survived. Strapped in? Here we go.

Picture Da-da at 30: OLD ENOUGH TO KNOW BETTER. He's alone in his apartment (so alone). A clock ticks loudly in the background, because his days are numbered. A nearby female mannikin with glowing red pressure-sensor LED eyes wears a polynesian grass skirt, football shoulder pads, and a marching band helmet. Da-da's vintage lime-green stretch-couch has salsa stains. His fridge contains only beer and mustard... yes, you see it, now... HE'S SINGLE. He also doesn't have a single gray hair. He's still thin and HOT, and has most of his gray matter and memory intact (um, no kids, hello?). And as usual, he's stubbornly trying to fix something that wasn't really broken. But not just any something, an important something: SOMETHING THAT MAKES MARGARITAS. Something like this:

Blenders can kill the cranially challenged.

An old Waring blender, though Da-da's was from the '60s, with thicker glass, top to bottom, sitting atop a one-horsepower chrome steel base, similar to the one above. Now, Da-da noticed that the blender's blades seemed kinda loose after too many margarita grinds. This is the blade:

Looks innocent, right? That's what it wants you to think.

See that hex nut? Looks simple, right? And this is the bottom:

See how thick the glass is?

Da-da got out a screwdriver-handled nut driver with a red handle -- the kind that looks like a screwdriver, but with a box wrench hex end -- and tried to tighten the blade while holding that spinning part at the base... RRRRGG... couldn't do it. Since he was in an apartment and didn't have a proper vise (or vise grips), Genius Da-da then got an idea... a terrible, awful idea. Can you see where this train will be wrecking?

Genius Da-da then placed the blender on its base, reached in with the aptly named nut driver, holds on tight and turns the blender ON, though only to LOW. The blender base hummed like angry bees and gave some resistance... but not enough. So, Genius Da-da turned the blender to HIGH.

Everything went into super slo-mo.

The nut driver immediately spun out of Da-da's hand and proceeded to spin 'round and 'round very fast, its rotational angle getting more and more horizontal as it spun, shearing off inch-thick glass all the way down to the base in the process, glass flying everywhere. But the real fun came when the nut driver zoomed off the blender... a flash of red past Da-da's temple, grazing cropped hair... and sticking into the wall behind him HANDLE FIRST.

So. That happened.

A little shakey, Da-da cleaned up the mess, gave thanks for the fact that no one had seen what he'd done... and gave birth to all future fears regarding children's safety, not to mention a lifelong respect for the power of one horsepower and a general fear of nut drivers. Waiter, Da-da will have that thorazine now... in a Chambord sidecar.

Oh. A thigh-handle. Yay.


General Moods: Psycho-Foods for a Better YOU

The General Moods staff after a rousing breakfast.

[Note: Da-da wrote this ten years ago, but it still seems relevent, so...]

Product evolution often involves the collision of many things coinciding to create new things -- many of which impact Da-da and Mr. Moms in general, who are... well, the word BORDERLINE about covers it. In corporate parlance, these collisions fall under the heading MERGERS & ACQUISITIONS. Some collisions are stranger than others.

Given the near-shutdown of the FDA, three powerful corporations came quietly together today to create something stranger than fiction. Foodmakers General Mills and General Foods Int'l inexplicably merged with drugmaker Eli Lilly, producing a new corporate entity dubbed, “General Moods,” to be based in manic Silicon Valley. During the event, freshly minted General Moods’ CEO John Schadenfreude (a former friend of Da-da's) waxed optimistic:

"Freud remarked that unrestricted satisfaction of every human need drives people’s motivations," said Schadenfreude, "but that also means putting enjoyment before caution. Well, by entering the pharmaceutical food game, we’ve brought enjoyment to a whole new level."

"The market clearly has a need for a company that can not only meet the needs of food- and drug-loving consumers," he added, "but also one that can successfully subvert state and federal laws with impunity, vectoring with a sheer force of will unheard of since the Pharaohs." The smiling Schadenfreude concluded his comments by driving a Cat D-series bulldozer east as part of a 50-state tour.

      Highlights of General Moods New Product Family:
  • The world’s first Ritalin-laced baking mix, called “Bisquicker” – an integral ingredient to “Suddenly Salad
  • A new Lithium-laced cereal shaped like little ones and zeroes dubbed, “Binarios” – for the chronically bipolar
  • The world’s first mood-altering laxative: “Prolax
  • A high fiber/petrolatum mix dubbed, “FiberDammit” – marketed as “JiffyPlop” in France
  • A Zyprexa-based, paranoia-reducing breakfast cereal called, “CHEX WHO GOES THERE??” (a favorite in Silicon Valley)
  • A Ritalin- and Viagra-laced gelatin dessert called, “HELLO!
  • A Kervorkian-approved, strychnine-based confection named, “Hershey’s Kiss of Death
  • SmackUms,” an opiate-laced cracker
  • FlopTarts,” a Percocet-Valium breakfast mood recliner
  • A yummy Ativan-Valium-laced cereal called, “Dream of Wheat
  • SNOREOs,” a barbituate cookie
  • A contraceptive breath mint called, “Wifesavers
  • A Paxil-Prozac, psycho-lipid obsessive-compulsive breakfast spread called, “I REALLY REALLY REALLY REALLY REALLY BELIEVE IT’S BUTTER I DO REALLY
  • A post-millennial, Vicodin-enhanced breakfast cereal called, “SpecialY2K
  • A methamphetamine-Prozac-antacid combination designed specifically for IT administrators called, “Network Helper.”
A spokesman said FrootLoops, Frosted Flakes and the new-and-improved fluoxetine hydrochloride- and Humatrope synthetic-human-growth-hormone-laced Cheerios will remain unchanged.

"Through our internal scientific programs and dozens of research-based partnerships worldwide, we are targeting pharmaceutical-grade dietary solutions for many of the world’s most urgent and unmet medical food needs," said Dr. John Parrot, minister of cafeteria science for General Moods and Morvalia Polytechnic fellow in pretty good standing. "Our deep research and clinical expertise have prepared us to take advantage of this Golden Age of psycho-food discovery on behalf of patients who are soon-to-be veeeery dependent on medical innovation -- even more than before!"

"A lot of people have asked why we’re doing this," said Dr. Sidney Taurel, chairman and CEO of Eli Lilly, while munching the new "growth" Cheerios and getting very, very large. "The truth of the matter is, what with all these recent behemoth under-the-counter psycho-pharmaceutical food mergers, we all felt like giggling little children amid big giant toothed earth-moving machines and there's all this noise and it's just the coolest forest ham is FANTASTIC and felt just right in fact it felt great is this thing on? Hellooooooo?" Taurel concluded by growing to a height of 12 feet 3 inches and trying to catch his own hand while being pursued by authorities and the Miami Heat.

Evolution, it seems, can prove convoluted and unpredictable.

A vintage ad, precursor to today's multi-billion-dollar medicated youth market.

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