The Day The "B~~!" Died

Let me tell you a story about my man Roger over in the bakery. His official position, as near as I can tell, is Store Brand French Bread Hawker. What makes him special is when he gets on the store intercom to do his hawking, several times a day. It's not so much the pitch as the way he caps it off. He does this the way I think Butch would if he had Roger's job.

"As always, we'd like to thank you for shopping H-E-B~~!"

The tilde-bangs don't do it justice. It's the kind of 'B' pronunciation you'd expect to hear in a nightclub. It generally made a lot of people's day whenever he'd be working and deliver that line.

Now, imagine my surprise when I get into work today and hear Roger's voice over the intercom, and the line comes. This time, the HEB part ends the way everybody else says it. So I run into him while he's gone to the front to hawk bread and I'm coming back with more quarters for my till (a lot of people LOVE to break twenties on me), and I ask him about it.

It turns out that a small minority of old fogies customers had an issue with The B~~! Line, and took it up with management, who then quietly convinced Roger to stop the practice.

Hello, y'all, my name is Jay R., I'm white, and I'm damned ashamed of it.

I Should Be Getting Used To This, But...

So I got called down to San Antonio to spend the night with my sister and her family because Dad was worried about potential ice on the road. Why I'm in San Antonio is something that is quite frankly not for public consumption. I had planned on leaving the house around 7:30 before this thing came up, namely that my sister and brother-in-law (or as I like to call them, Lucky Muthafugga and Wife) are spending the weekend in the City of Lights. Yep, they're going to Paris. And I get the job of trucking their brood back to Kerrville.

Anyway, I am awakened at 0545 by the plaintive cries of my nephew, who has managed to soil himself overnight and is calling for his mother in the way of the very young. By the time the smoke clears, I am on the road at 0700. After a wrong turn down Loop 410 (construction making most arteries in Northwest SA look a lot alike), I arrive at my destination an hour and a half early.

You guessed it... hurry up and wait.

Son of Cheesy Puns

Am I the only one who looks at an advertising blurb for Metal Gear Solid: The Twin Snakes (or MGS Goes GameCube!) and has the phrase "Forget it, Snake, it's Chinatown" run through his head?

I Know This Is A Week Old, But...

I swear, Janet's boob got more press than the finish of the game, which was one of the more fantastic ones in recent memory. I didn't see said nipplege personally, as the family took halftime at the dinner table. You know a finish is fantastic if it can tear you away from Neverwinter Nights to see it. The real Carolina Panthers showed up in the second half, much to my grandmother's delight (she simply didn't like the grabby grabby of Old England's second half game).

However, in the end, it came down to boots: that of John Kasay, who shanked the kickoff following the TD that capped the Panthers' comeback, giving the Pats the ball at the 40; and that of Adam Vinatieri, who once again proved clutch after missing one FG and having his only other attempt before this one blocked. Kasay seems destined to add his name next to Ian Montgomery, Scott Norwood, and the other placekickers who blew it when the game was on the line.

The Things You Think About While Working...

[WARNING: Cheesy puns ahead! You have been warned.]

o/~ Soy... un tenedor... I'm an utensil, baby, so why don't you use me? o/~