Cat & the Fiddle

Last night I ventured out to the depths of Los Angeles to go to the Cat & the Fiddle restaurant and bar. It was a cozy place, full of life, bad service, drunken frat boys from Florida, darts that weren't quite hitting the dartboards, and an ugly woman.

"Just one ugly woman?" you may ask. Of course not, silly, but this one was special. "How special?" Well, if you quit interrupting with questions, I'll tell you.

There has been many-a-time when I have ventured to public places and spied women with frizzy hair piled up in a bun with huge glasses and a sprouting mustache, but most of those public places was a movie theater and the girl was in the film (except for the one I saw in the Metro, which is a different breed of woman in itself), ending up popular and pretty at the end. This time, that girl walked into the restaurant and sat directly across from my table. Normally I'm not a man of charity, but I've decided I've got to help her.

Sadly, when I realized that my life's mission was to help this girl become beautiful, she had already left the bar. What to do, what to do?! Here is where I leave it to you, faithful audience:

If anyone may know this whereabouts of the following unfortunate woman, please let me know! She is destined to become cool enough to pull off prom with the captain of her high school

football team!

Threatened by Cookie

What a wonderful sight it was to behold in Disney's California Adventure when I discovered they had finally started serving Chinese Food at the Lucky Dragon once more. I was excited. I was courageous. I dished out twelve dollars for a carton of rice and prison-select cuts of chicken, drowned in teriyaki sauce.

It's not that the meal itself was bad, by all means. I've come to expect only half-assed quality from the Walt Disney Company nowadays, and even less from the studios. But what got me bewildered was the fact that my complimentary fortune cookie finally broke the spell I had been having of only getting statements in lieu of fortunes. Things like "You did a good job" and "Your dog is a whore; watch for puppies" were "fortunes" of the past for me, but I was still a little on edge when I read: "Keep being a trusting person, but sleep with your eyes open". Was my fortune cookie threatening me?

Having not received an actual fortune in years, I didn't know whether I should be excited or fear for my life, but needless to say, I lock my bedroom door now when I sleep - if I can fall asleep. So far, things have been O.K., but I constantly find myself glaring at everyone, wondering who will lead to my untimely demise. You may be wise, fortune cookie, but I have learned a lot from you. I will continue to be a trusting person who is driving himself crazy wondering who might to try to kill him and consequently loses sleep.

A Second Draft is Better Than a Backdraft

To One Ms. Jamie Lee Curtis:

Despite your declining career, I wanted to believe you. I trusted you and your high-fallutin yoghurt deliverance, which were nothing more than lies. You lied to me, you lied to my family, and you lied to countless middle-aged women who have nothing better to do than watch television during the middle of the day and view your Activia commercials, which are conveniently interspersed between soap opera segments.

Your empty promises have caused me grief, despair, and diarrhea (well, that may just be my lactose intolerance, but still, I blame you). It was merely last month when I decided to take you up on your "Acitivia challenge" and enter myself in a 5k run, which the yoghurt that pays your salary single-handedly sabotaged by bolstering my immune system and then suddenly dropping my health to below-zero numbers.

I ate and ate and ate and ate and ate your yoghurt, but little did you share with us that suddenly stopping this challenge may, in fact, impede one's health tremendously, and I found myself bed-ridden for two weeks. TWO WEEKS. I did still, however, attempt to run this 5k race but was unable to because I slept through my alarm. How is this related to your fallacy of yoghurt goodness? Simple: You promised me great things, Ms. Curtis, and you failed to deliver.

Certainly I hope the only roles you have coming your way consist of Beverly Hills Chihuahua 2 - 5 and that you are downgraded from yoghurt commercials dealing with irregularity to commercials on incontinence, and you wouldn't want to give those people false promises, now would you?

My only hope is that you may find a way to monetarily rectify this situation before it gets out of hand (I have friends in high places, Ms. Curtis). You can take your vagina yoghurt and stick it.

Incredibly Concerned,

Brandon K. Pfluger

I Need You Now

Here I am, at 4 o'clock in the morning, still thinking about you...

After a long hiatus, I decided it was time for a much due blog entry, but where to begin? Begin with the rest of your yoghurt trials, Brandon! I hear you say. Don't mind if I do.

What could be so mysterious that you left everyone hanging on days 8-14? I'll tell you what: a whole lot of yoghurt withdrawals. You see, the clever people at Activia have packaged their product in cartons of 8, leaving me stranded on day 9. By day 10, I had the shakes. You don't even want to know what it was like on days 11-14. But Brandon, why didn't you just go to the store and pick up another carton? You're just full of questions, aren't you? Had I done so, I would have been taking the 16-day challenge, and not the 14, as the packaging suggests. Why couldn't you just not eat the other two? Shut up.

Had I wanted to run to the store every time I needed yoghurt, I may as well have bought Go-gurt for busy people on the go, but they weren't offering a challenge. So now, here I lay in bed at close to 4a.m., a good almost two weeks since my last update, and I'm sick. Where are you now, yoghurt? Where are you now?!

The 5k is this Saturday, and I swear if I'm not good to go, I'm writing Jamie Lee Curtis a very stern letter, demanding an apology and an ample supply of 14 yoghurts. It's because of you, Activia, that I have had to change my mantra to: I attempted to finish my yoghurt and quite possibly may be too sick to run the race, but I'll definitely give it a shot and hope I don't drop dead!

What will happen this Saturday? Only time will tell...

Get a Grope

And so, after squeezing three people into a one bedroom apartment for the last month, I am free at last to strut in my underwear while drinking from the juice carton.
These simple pleasures, however, have been overshadowed by the news of a serial groper roaming the neighborhood.
Apparently a man has been sneaking into women's bedrooms and fondling them in the night. Eeew.
Often in crime shows they map the locations of previous attacks and form a sort of "triangle of pervertedness" as I like to call it. Well, folks, I'm right there in the perverted triangle and I have never hated triangles so much. Now that I live alone the freedom of partial nudity pales in comparison to the potential of waking up in the middle of the night to find a strange man hovering over me, silently stroking my leg.
While I know some of you are thinking, "This might be the perfect opportunity for you! It's not like anyone else has been fondling you lately," I still feel a surprise midnight game of slap and tickle might be extreme.
But If I were to wake up to a freshly made gourmet dinner on the other hand...let's just say...you scratch my back and I'll...lay there pretending I'm asleep.






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