The weather has been interminably cold, gray, and drizzly lately. Everything is damp and clammy. I wanted to do something fun for my sweetie to keep her spirits up. I considered a lot of options, but in the end, all I had to do was shove a few electrons around.
Every year, this Midgardian city indulges in a spate of self-congratulation. It started small, with residents voting for the best restaurant, best grocery, and whatnot. Over the years, it has expanded, like a metastasizing mushroom to include all sorts of weirdly specific categories, many of which might have only one representative. Everybody wins!
They’ve published the results for last year.
It displays correctly on a laptop or desk top, but I did a little niggling and touch of nudging, and the display on a tablet is…off just a little, with hilariously disastrous results. The following are actual screencaps.
Mmm. I think I’ll have two whitewalls, over-easy. And then the potato salad facial.
Sigyn, do you suppose Blue Baker uses a chipper-shredder to grate the cheese for their cheddar bread? And I’d heard that modern tractors and combines have very comfy cabins, but I think they may have carried it a bit too far…
Barbecued eyeballs? Slow-smoked carburetor? Suddenly the human female’s hit-or-miss cooking is looking better and better.
Do you suppose they take all the flowers from the funerals and sell them? It’s what I’d do.
This confirms some suspicions I’ve had about a certain place’s coffee. But now I have new suspicions that that second outfit is making feeble little elderly people polish chrome and wax hubcaps.
Yikes! Sigyn, you are NOT going to either of these places for your next girly check-up.
I guess the kitties that don’t make it become next week’s gut strings on sale?
If you never want to see your kids again, send them off to school at Readfield and rent them an apartment at that first place. If they do manage somehow to make it through the semester, do NOT eat in the dining room on Sausage Night. (Or ask about their absent roommate you met that one time.)
Ask yourself this: under all the grease and sauce, can you really tell chicken from…rat?
Also, I’m pretty sure that is actually who the human female calls to help her with her trotters, since they have the full complement of chisels and chainsaws.
Well, I suppose washing and dyeing windows is good therapy for developing your hand-eye coordination and building up your upper-body strength, but I now have a new place I’m not ordering chicken from.
Along with a place I no longer get my subs.
I have to wonder about those other two places, though. I can see where little bits of muffin could be very useful rewards for teaching your puppy to heel, but I always thought the most-used phrase for night clubs wasn’t, “Sit means sit,” but “No means No.”
This just in: Scrubs are what the well-dressed woman is wearing this season! I am not hiring an outfit that has “Dusty” right in its name to clean anything. And I wonder what people more used to scrubbing and polishing really know about motherboards and processors.
Ah. Sigyn giggling is my very favorite sound. Mission accomplished.