No, I won’t Play Farmville with You.

Dear Readers,

With the new job in full swing, it’s been hard to get behind the laptop and put my funnies into your brain. Don’t worry. Things are starting to level off and I’ll be back up to my old schedule in no time. For now, I’ve put together a little something to show you my feelings on Farmville… enjoy.




That’s right. I hate this game and I’d sooner gnaw my own arm off than play 15 minutes of it.

When I get one of these on Facebook,

I’m all like this…

and then I hit the delete button on the request.

I know you think your four hundred requests that you’ve sent to my Facebook page over the past year seem innocuous,

but in reality, it comes across like this…

*It is a really cute chicken though…

Do yourself and everyone else a favor; close down Facebook and pick up a copy of Skyrim.

The game of Skyrim a beautiful work of art with an enthralling story and engrossing atmosphere. It’s not some Adobe Flash, browser-based abomination; plus, Skyrim has chickens too, so the transition should be a little easier for you.


P.S. We can still be friends, just don’t ask me to play Farmville with you anymore.

P.P.S I’ve thought about it and the only way I’d play Farmville is if they added a Mongolian Horde DLC Pack, wherein I get to make a cute little Genghis Khan avatar, amass a raiding party and then put your farm to the sword.

*If you have somebody that won’t stop sending you Farmville invites, why not pass this blog post along to them? You’re welcome.

Tom Collins vs Pretty Much Everything Else…

This picture will make sense later.

The other night, Wife was complaining of an upset stomach. Over the course of the day, she had eaten some food that didn’t agree with her or maybe just the physical act of being eaten. I imagine being eaten would be pretty traumatizing. If I were food, I wouldn’t enjoy being shoved into some random mouth-hole to be masticated. Sorry, I just really wanted to use that word, but I digress.

So Wife was feeling sick and I inquired about what she had eaten that day. Her diet had consisted of a bag of sour worms, some popcorn, jalapeno potato chips, stir-fry and, to top it all off, a Tom Collins.

I’m not a dietician, but I think the equation above made sense at the time.

Wife didn’t completely agree. Wife’s reasoning was that she normally ate healthy food and exercised a lot. One day of bad food shouldn’t have derailed her overall well-being, right?


I like to think of human digestive system as a waiting room. Food is only there for a period of time and then it’s called to continue its magical journey. The food you eat thereby becomes the people who occupy said waiting room. It’s important to put people in the waiting room that will get along each other. If they don’t, they’ll be asked to leave the way they came in. You get the idea.

Now let’s revisit what Wife ate that day.

Sour Worms are sour little gummy candies so they’re like little kids. They’re misbehaved, but mostly harmless. They were the first waiting room occupants.

Next, popcorn was introduced. I think of popcorn as fat movie-goers. They’re not sophisticated, but they’re decent people.

Popcorn is generally alright. They also helped keep the sour worms in line.

This balance was immediately disrupted by jalapeno potato chips. These chips are the food equivalent of Mexican banditos.

Chaos erupted in the waiting room.

I imagine this is when Wife first started to feel queasy.

The banditos eventually tired out and had a little siesta.

A degree of normalcy returned to the waiting room.

And then we had dinner. I made stir fry. The Mongolian horde was released into the waiting room and darkness reigned.

Death, sorrow and fire were brought to the people of the waiting room and they knew terror. The banditos fought valiantly, but they were swept away in a tsunami of violence.

The waiting room couldn’t handle much more, but wife had a drink with her stir-fry. A surly gentleman by the name of Tom Collins strode out of the Victorian age and into the waiting room. The Mongolians turned to meet this new threat. Mr. Collins removed his gloves and evening cape and he began wrecking shop, right and proper.

*I told you it would make sense later.

Wife was irrecoverably ill at this point.

In the end, there were no winners, only a burning waiting room, one sick wife and Mr. Collins atop a mountain of corpses.


P.S. Wife insists that she had other healthier stuff to eat that day.

P.P.S. I don’t believe her.