Friday, April 17, 2015

Sizzler '91

Back in 1991, folks didn't have the internet to generate bullshit, nor could they use it to call out some corporation on said bullshit. Back then, you could get away with a four-and-a-half minute mini-infomercial to tout something like Sizzler and what they considered a dynamic new dining concept that they felt was exactly what not-completely-out-of-control-fat-assed-yet America needed.
 With slogans like "Sizzler is the choice every day" (which sort of implies a lack of choices, doesn't it?), a "We Are The World"-esque soundtrack (good luck not singing it in your head when it's over), images of food such as "fresh fish" that appears to be stuffed with the insides of old golf balls and populated by people who look like they sprung to life after a folder full of stock photos had chemicals spilled on it and then was struck by lightning, this is truly an epic achievement in the field of complete and utter failure. Because the one we had in Tampa has looked like this for well over ten years now:
"It's unique! It's bold!" It's closed and has long since been turned into a Chinese buffet!
See, the idea of "It's a restaurant within a restaurant" is only appealing if that restaurant within isn't a Sizzler too.
Here are some screencaps with even more snarky commentary...
Among the many standard all-American archetypes making an appearance early on is this gnarled old sea captain leering creepily at a small child. Yep, that old trope.

Lots of girls play baseball now. In 1991, I guess it must have been harder to find one who actually knew how to grip a bat.

Why do I have a feeling that this jog finishes up here?

Sadly, this tender moment came to a sudden and tragic end when real sailors (the ones with Navy regulation haircuts) came over from that ship and beat the living daylights out of this guy.

The only thing that lesbians in hard hats enjoy more than reviewing blueprints is eating at Sizzler! ("Sizzler" may be a euphemism, if that helps you enjoy this joke more). 

The phone! Look at the phone! Look at it!

Oh hi, black people! Huh? No, we didn't almost forget to include you.

The last of the hot, big-haired girls of the '80s were rounded up and put in storage by Sizzler for the purpose of making this commercial.

Some of the last of the hot, big haired girls of the '80s were a little psychotic by then.

I was going to make a comment about 1991 Sizzler excluding gay men but they got one. Way to go. Very progressive of you, 1991 Sizzler. Of course he's a waiter.

Jesus, last of the hot, big haired girls of the '80s! Get a room within a room!

Go, go, go with a smile!

If you weren't hungry before, this image of an old lady shaking off sweat in slow motion like a freshly-bathed Golden Retriever should do it for you.

"See those trees over there? Yeah, we'll just chop those right the fuck down and we'll have enough room to build forty or fifty Sizzlers easy."

Thursday, April 16, 2015

An explanation (if not apology) for anticipated unavailability

Hi there.
Chances are that things are about to become more sporadic in terms of my availability, here and in real life. Why? Because this starts happening tonight for the Tampa Bay Lightning and will rule my life for as long as it lasts...

Hopefully, that all pays off with something that looks kind of like this...
If that happens, it will have all been worth it. I know. Because it was totally worth everything last time.
At any rate, I'm not making any specific plans but less of me here will mean more of me here, so there's that.
Soooo, see ya around, unless I don't, in which case you have a pretty good idea why, or why not, depending on which is more grammatically correcter.

Wednesday, April 15, 2015

Steak and Taxes Day

Hi. I'm Clark Brooks. Writer, comedian and apathy enthusiast.
I'm a busy man and I don't like to waste time.
I love it!

That's why when it's time to do my taxes, it's April 14th or so, like yesterday, and that means it's time for me to ask Rachel to do my taxes.
Rachel is a CPA (that stands for Clark's Personal Accountant) who works for a big company that does a lot of people's taxes and she understands why I do things the way I do... well, maybe she doesn't understand, but she tolerates it which is just as good, as far as I'm concerned. So when I head over to her house with a handful of what looks like garbage but is actually my pertinent tax info with about 24 hours before the deadline during what is already an insanely busy time at work for her, I know that not only will I be getting the maximum refund to which I am entitled, but I'll also be getting a home-cooked steak dinner as well. That's right, a steak dinner. With potatoes, salad and pie for dessert! Hot damn, that's some good taxation!
Thanks, Obama. No, seriously. Thank you!
My friend Rachel: Because people like me don't get away with pulling half the stunts we do without someone putting up with it, if not actively enabling us.

Thanks, Rachel!

NOTE: This is not an advertisement for services available. Get your own home-cooked meal-making CPA, freeloaders.

Monday, April 13, 2015

Selective OCD

I almost never put my car keys in the same place twice when I come home, which often results is unnecessarily adventurous mornings the next day (that reminds me, I should probably start tracking down my tax stuff).
But eating these without organizing them by color first? What am I, a mad man??

Thursday, April 09, 2015

I don't always have a cubicle neighbor, but when I do, this happens

Capping a week where the discussion here has focused heavily on baked goods, today we're going to talk about sandwiches. Kind of. Most sandwiches aren't baked and they're actually incidental to the story below so it's all right if we stray from the theme because we don't really do themes around here. You should know that by now.

Where I work (my real "job", the one which actually furnishes me with money to pay my bills and buy food and stuff), I have a cubicle. It's got glass windows and it's located all the way at the far end of the office where I work, so I have privacy and yet I'm not subject to claustrophobia. It's pretty sweet, as far as cubicles go.
Another nice feature is that the cubicle directly next to mine is usually vacant. Except for a few times a week when Amanda has work to do. That's her in the picture. It wasn't my intent to take and post a picture her back; it was my intention to trick her into turning around so I could take and post an off-guard picture of her face. The fact that she caught on and refused to cooperate says a lot about our relationship.
She works in another department in another part of the building and spends most of her time there at her regular desk, but on the occasions when she has to work over here, I take the opportunity to entertain myself, as is my wont. Often, this takes the form of nonsensical question and answer sessions like this, which could go on for hours if not days, if it were up to me:
"Hey Amanda."
"Hi Clark."
"What's up?"
"Nothing. What's up with you?"
"What's your food situation?"
"My food situation?"
"Yeah. What you got?"
"I don't have any food."
"Come on. You got some sandwiches on you or something? What's up?"
"Sandwiches? Like, more than one sandwich? Why would I be carrying a bunch of sandwiches around with me? Have I ever done that? Does anybody do that?"
"I don't know. That's why I'm asking."
"No, I do not have any sandwiches on me."
"This is how people learn. No such thing as a dumb question, you know."
"That's pretty close though."
"Now, you've been very particular in saying you don't have any sandwiches. What do you have?"
"I don't have any food."
"Come on, man."
"I don't!"
"I'm supposed to believe that of all the millions of kinds of food there are in the world, you don't have any?"
"Seriously. I have no food on me!"
"Okay, okay. You don't have to get angry."
"You're so insistent about it though. It's frustrating."
"What's frustrating is wanting a sandwich and not even being able to have one."
"Let me ask you, what's your food situation? What kind of food do you have?"
"I think it's apparent that I don't have any food. Otherwise, why would I be asking you for some? Duh."
"You made it sound like I'm just expected to have food on me all the time and..."
"Way to mock me for not having any food. Wow, real nice. You're America and I'm the Sudan. I get it. Your resources are abundant and we have nothing but blight and death. Ha ha ha. Very funny."
"I'm not mocking you for not having food. I don't have any food either, remember?"
"Think about it like if a goat or a dog came up to you. God's innocent creatures, right? They would ask the same question, and if anything, they'd be even more insistent about it. Would you get frustrated with them? I doubt it."
"Do you want to be treated like a goat or a dog? Is that what this is all about?"
"That's a ridiculous question."
"Okay, well... okay."
"So, just to be clear, you are saying that you have no sandwiches with you at this time, correct?
"Oh my God! Do you want me to go get you a sandwich?? What kind of sandwich do you want??"
"Not necessary. Just one of whatever you happen to have on you already is fine."
"Egg salad would be good. Or ham. Or turkey. Ooh, a club! You got any club sandwiches?"
"I do not have any sandwiches. None, okay? I have no sandwiches. No egg salad. No ham. No turkey."
"(slightly under my breath) So no clubs, I guess."
"Nothing! No food of any kind."
"Well, why didn't you just say so?" 
And so it goes. Unfortunately, it's not up to me and Amanda ends the delightful repartee by leaving mid-confabulation. That's okay. She always comes back a day or two later.

Wednesday, April 08, 2015

"For expert geopolitical analysis, we'll now turn to the comments under an Australian radio station's rainbow-cake recipe" or "For God's sake, never read the comments!"

Baked Goods Week continues, apparently, here at the Ridiculously Inconsistent purple blog, with the following delight, turned up by my good friend Clare, who is the mastermind behind Puckology, in response to Monday's post.

Rainbow-Cake Recipe Inspires Comment Apocalypse - by Albert Burneko, originally posted at The Concourse @, June 18, 2014

In which, we discover...

  • That everything can be turned into a debate between conservatives and liberals.
  • That you should never, ever read the comments posted to any article ever.
  • Further proof that we as a species are utterly incapable of keeping our shit together when it comes to lovin' from the oven.
  • And that this, and not our lack of regard for how we manage the dwindling resources we need for basic survival, will probably be the reason for our species' eventual extinction.

Monday, April 06, 2015

Again, with the cake

I wrote this a few months ago, wondering why cake is what seems to be the thing that gets people all worked up about same sex marriage.
Recently. we went through the deal with the pizzeria in Indiana, the one who thinks they may be put in a position of being asked to cater a gay wedding reception with their pizza, which isn't even a thing that would ever happen!
Maybe they've confused "gay wedding reception" with "gay Little League banquet"?
Then today, I saw this story out of Orlando, where the proprietors of a bakery are receiving death threats because they refused to make a cake with an anti-gay message on it that some minor league. online, agent provocateur (that's French for "shit stirrer") pretended to order.

Again, why is so much of the really heated basically all of the debate around same sex marriage about baked goods? You don't hear about churches or banquet halls refusing service or being boycotted or threatened one way or the other. Same with formal wear rental and honeymoon destinations. For that matter, nobody really seems to even have a problem with where these newlywed couples are going to live after the wedding.
But bring cake (or pizza) into it and everybody flips the hell out.
Seriously, can somebody explain this to me? I'm about as passionate about cake (and pizza) as I can be, and I literally can't imagine any circumstances involving fresh-from-the-oven tasty treats that would inspire me to make death threats, or do something stupid that inspires others to make death threats, nor be a part of a crowd-sourcing effort that raises nearly a million dollars for the purveyor of said tasty treats.
I think we all need to sit down over donuts or cookies and have a really frank discussion about what it really is that's got us all so worked up.
I'm betting we discover it's the donuts and cookies.