Bills' Everett Reportedly Able to Walk

It's true: see here.

Things are really turning around for our beloved.

Happy Boss Day Farts

I just arrived back to my office from a meeting, and I found a tin of good Danish cookies and a note from my secretary wishing me a Happy Boss's Day. The present made me feel good, because I like cookies, and terrible, because I'm sure that there must have been a secretary's day that I missed somewhere along the way. One thing is sure, though: I'm not getting my bosses anything for this boss's day.

In other, lunchfart news: instead of my usual roast beef on rye, I got a chicken salad on wheat. Boring, you think? Not when you also ask for sprouts and avocado, bitches.

Mazelfarts

Man Boobs took the plunge.  A mazelfart for you.  1 down and 2 to go for your fearless weddingfarts correspondents. 

All reports say that Man Boobs had successful nuptials, but we are unclear about the farts.

Man Boobs WeddingFarts, Part II

Things to know about weddingfarts in Destin: there is a Michael's here, in case you need to decorate a golf cart getaway car. You don't really want to spend your morning at Michael's, but sometimes you end up there anyway. The gulf of mexico is wonderful for swimming, but jelly fish aren't. Bloody Marys are delicious, and I play good endings on guitar.

As for food: I was shown the magic of mixing Frank's Red Hot and butter together last night. I can't believe I've never done that before. I had been lead to believe that making chicken wings involved Splenda, but that is clearly very wrong. It couldn't be farther from the truth, in fact: as we discussed last night, the magic of a perfect chicken wing turns on the quality of the chicken and the skill of the fry, not the sauce.

Sometimes it takes a trip to Destin-ation, Florida to find out that you've had the ability to make the magic sauce in my own kitchen all of this time, even without Splenda.

Oh the dentist... that sucks

That's the response I get whenever I have to go to the dentist.  The dentist is horrible.  I really hate it.  We've all been there.  In the fucking dumb up and down chair.  An then the scraping.  The scraping sucks, and then they catch gum, and then they use the fucking chunky toothpaste (polish).  Hate it.  It's impossible not to put your teeth together after the fucking chunky toothpaste (polish).  There is nothing grosser than that bullshit grit.  I hate it so much.  And then, to add insult to injury, they floss, and it feels like they are pulling your head in half.  Fucking dentist bullshit.

Man Boobs WeddingFarts, Part I

I'm in Destin-ation, Florida for Man Boobs' wedding. There is a lot to talk about already, like fried shrimp sandwich for breakfast, but I can't talk about everything right now. The important thing to know is that conversations like this happen:

(Driving with Man Boobs, we pass several of the "Wings" stores in Florida that sell boob and beer t-shirts and tchockes)

Weddingfarts: These signs for "Wings" are really frustrating. They're making me really hungry, and then disappointed because these stores don't actually sell wings.

Man Boobs: I know. It's like when I used to go pick my sister up from "Brownies."

Tonight

I learned some things tonight.

I watched the Bills game.  It was awesome in a different kind of way. 

Our beloved should not have been able to even hang with the Cowboys.  They did anyway. 

I think that Trent Edwards is our quarterback of the future.

Oven Baked wings can be a solid replacement to fried wings.  Not always as good, but they are a good second, slightly healthier, option.

Fiancee is a Bills fan.  I didn't know that before.  She was blown away by Jauron calling the doodoo cheater timeout before the last second fieldgoal attempt.

And we're back

Friends and .govs,

We have been gone far too long. We can explain: man boobs is getting married at the end of this week. Sailor Jacket is busy organizing his chuppah. And I am lazy and full of law.

That and our beloved are having a very challenging year. Well, not so much challenging so far as hopeless. It will be a sign of success for this team if all of our players are able to walk again someday. So, whereas you may have expected that the first five weeks of the football season would have been fruitful ones for this blog, given that we write about nothing but lunch, stains, and our beloved, we've had nothing to say.

Until now.

Our beloved play tonight, in their first Monday night game at home in 13 years. We don't expect much at all. But the glory of tonight is that we have no idea what to expect: we have a new quarterback, and we're just not sure yet if he is totally fucking awesome or incredibly unimaginably fucking awesome. So strange things might happen. And we're playing Bum, son of Bum, so we're nervous and hungry, and a little nauseous.

Yes, we have another quarterback, too, but when our new backup tight end say things like this:

Just how good was rookie quarterback Trent Edwards last week?

“He was excellent. I mean, you’ve got veteran quarterbacks that can’t do what he does. I just expect more excellent things from him.”

You begin to think that we'll never see JP "Run Backwards and Fall Down" Losman play again for the Bills. But then again, our new backup tight end also says things like this:

What’s you idea of a relaxing day?

“Just sitting back, listening to my music, and looking at the sky, especially here in Buffalo.”