Sorry, meatheads, muscles don’t do much for me. I much prefer the swimmer look—svelte and willowy. In fact, one of the reasons I drank from my marital carton so long after its expiration date was my surfer ex being so easy on the eyes. In high school, I volunteered as a timer for the swim team. This required me to be perched within coughing distance of a near-naked boy, with only two layers of of Speedo goodness (as a single layer was deemed too transparent) between my stopwatch and a misdemeanor.
It should come as no surprise, then, that I primarily watch the Olympics for its swimming events. And being… well, moi, let me ask a very immature question: Is endowment proportional to hydrodynamics? That is, does the size of the anchor dictate the speed of the boat? Get what I’m asking? Yes or no, is it harder to swim with a big wiener? Don’t point and laugh just yet. Consider the evidence. Swimmers shave their body for less drag, right? So, if something as insignificant as a hair follicle can hinder performance, what happens when they’re putting up Liam Neeson numbers? (In case that went over your head, Liam is said to have a Neeson so massive, they were originally going to call the movie Schindler’s Lift.)
Does this mean that, in addition to having a brow pronounced enough to make the cover of Cro-Magnon Weekly, Michael Phelps got cheated downstairs, as well? Maybe I’m looking at it backwards—maybe an exceptional husband bulge functions as a sort of rudder. But that wouldn’t explain why only three African American men have ever made our Olympic swim team. Of course, this entire line of questioning is moot now that the Olympics mandates full-body swimsuits. How am I supposed to ocularly rape my aquatic Chippendale dancers with all that polyurethane in the way?
My mind wanders.
- 2 cups tomatoes, roughly chopped
- 1/2 cup sundried tomatoes
- 1 tbsp balsamic vinegar
- 1 tbsp fresh basil, minced
- 1 tsp minced garlic
- 1/2 cup butter
- 1 cup flour
- 1/4 cup grated parmesan
- 1 tsp baking powder
- 1/2 cup milk
This is a twist on an old family cobbler recipe. I took out the sugar and made it savory. Preheat oven to 350˚. Combine tomatoes, balsamic, basil, garlic, and salt and pepper to taste (I used quite a bit of pepper). Set aside. In a square (9×9) baking dish, melt butter. Mix flour, parmesan, baking powder and milk. Spoon batter over melted butter. Add tomato mixture on top of batter and bake for 30 minutes or until crust has browned. The crust will rise to the top during baking. I’m quite impressed with this one, as it’s true to the mission statement behind my little blog. I had very little food in the house tonight, and am broke until payday, but still managed to save the culinary day. I’m awesome.
In keeping with my rule of a man’s name euphemizing his penis: Liam’s Neeson is so big, it’s like a baby arm holding another baby arm. Liam’s Neeson is so big, it’s pen pals with Liam Neeson. Liam’s Neeson is so big, it gets more than 140 characters on Twitter. Liam’s Neeson is so big, it slaps God mid-cartwheel. Liam’s Neeson is so big, it gets claimed as a dependent. Liam’s Neeson is so big, the Kraken releases it. I could do this forever. And want to.
TWTG says, “I can’t work with my hands all gooey. You know how it is.”