Brownies: The Gateway Food To Destruction

Everyone knows that one puff of a marijuana reefer leads directly to heroin addiction. (I think Trump said that, so, of course, I believe it.)

 

But what about that confectionery catastrophe, that most dangerous of desserts, the sultan of sugar, the brownie? The truth about this devious dessert, sadly, is swept under the rugs like a deep dark family secret everyone is too afraid to shine a light on.

Until now. In my ongoing quest for journalistic judiciousness, I'm knocking down the doors, and exposing the hidden dangers of...the brownie.

First things first, let's ponder the name: the brownie. Hmmm. Wikipedia sheds some very interesting facts about the brownie. It's widely known to be a supernatural entity, a nocturnal spirit creature who pretends to do good things at night, such as clean your house, only to pull ghastly pranks when least expected. I know I'm not alone in receiving a mysterious "Wet Willie" in the middle of the night. This smacks of satanism.

Furthermore, these hideous, foul creatures have insinuated themselves into an insidious cult that goes by the name, "Brownies." On the outside, the members look like clean-cut, wholesome, sweet and innocent young girl scouts (grades 2-3), but don't be fooled by their appearance.

Because something smells fishy. What is the "Brownies'" primary function? Why to spread sugar and diabetes and disease throughout the lands, the goal being the fattening of America, making us ripe for the forthcoming, inevitable Satanic slaughter.

Think I'm kidding?  I have first-hand knowledge of the dangers of The Brownie.

During the (un)Great Quarantine of 2020, the brownie took hold of our lives here in Kansas. I'd like to blame my wife, I'll settle for a mutual blaming, but honestly? It's the Brownie's fault and the powers that lie in it's kitchen of killing grounds.

Early on in our quarantine, my wife said all she felt like doing is baking. I pondered that while she went upstairs to work. I pondered some more until I was salivating. Slowly--as if in a trance--I made my way downstairs to the food pantry, where I knew a brownie mix awaited. My fingers inched closer to the door. I hesitated, then pulled it open with a creak. As if being pushed toward me, the brownie mix box plopped to the floor. With trembling hands, I picked it up. Then raised it over my head just as Simba had done in The Lion King. And somewhere--far away, yet everywhere at once--I heard a deep, Barry-White-deep, voice laughing.

Now, I've never made brownies. Never had a desire to. Didn't even think they were that good. But I baked. I baked until sweat broke across my brow. I went upstairs to share the news with my wife.

She said, "I don't know whether to be pissed off at you or to kiss you."

The vile nature of the brownie.

Sure, the pecans I found and put in the batch were rancid, but it didn't stop us. On the contrary. Brownies became nearly an every day occurrence in our household.

It took its toll. My clothes started shrinking (the work of supernatural brownie pranksters, no doubt). My gut grew to kangaroo-pouch proportions (birthing Eeeevilllll). And we didn't stop. We couldn't stop.

Until, one night when I awoke from a nightmare. I had started eating entire fried chickens, bricks of pre-fab cheese, and watermelons. And that was just a snack!

Things had to change.

Now, we're on a diet. It's hard. The temptation's there. But...I've already lost 15 pounds, so it's working. But I still think of those sweet, sweet bricks of sugary goodness and melty deliciousness...and...and... NO! Satan, get behind me with those brownies!

This is a cautionary tale, folks. Please heed it. And remember, the next time you go to a grocery store and see "Brownies" pandering their demonic delights, whip out your crucifixes and lay some goodness smack on them. People will applaud you. Trust me.

Speaking of Satan, why not give my book, Demon with a Comb-Over a shot? It, too, is a manifesto of goodness versus evil. Who wins? I'm not telling, you'll have to read the book. It's a delightful romp about a crappy stand-up comedian who accidentally pisses off a demon in the audience. Clean-cut fun for the entire family!

Everyone's New Favorite Hobby: Voyeurism!

In the great 'tine of 2020, I would imagine I'm not the only one who's taken up the fine art of what I like to call watching the neighbors. However, my wife refers to it as spying or worse, voyeurism.

Let me clarify something... I've pretty much been a voyeur for the last eight years, the length of time I've been working from home. Nothing happens in my 'hood without me knowing about it. And I've seen some really interesting things. There was the goth daughter of "Captain America" who used to secretly smoke at the back of the house. One day I waved at her and she flew into full-on panic mode. (Like I'd ever rat her out to "Captain America". Couldn't stand the guy with his outdoor Neil Diamond sing-alongs and grill daddying.)

There was the ludicrous neighbor who used to take his beer cans into the street, spread 'em out, then drive back and forth over them in his pick-'em-up truck. Keep in mind this was before recycling. His huge-ass grin kinda explained it all.

Then there was the huge-ass blow-out I witnessed (aurally, not visually) by the neighbors catty-corner to the back of our house. The husband came home midday to find his wife in the arms of another man. Things got heated and loud. And I scribbled down notes, fodder for a future book.

Of course I wrote an entire book about the weird, mysterious and rude neighbors across the street, Neighborhood Watch. You'll have to read it to find out their story. (Coda: after the book came out, the dreaded neighbors packed up in the middle of the night and left, leaving behind all of their belongings. No one knows why and no one's seen nor heard from them again.)

Now everyone's catching up to my hobby, including my wife. While she's not really people watching, she is spending time looking out the upstairs window. In the past, we've had quite a few varmints pass through our Kansas suburban backyard in the past: a great granddaddy of opossums who liked to stay out all night and crawl beneath our deck in the mornings; squirrels that attack by throwing acorns when we leave the house; birds who just love to use my car and deck for target practice; bunnies (my wife's bane) who devour the garden; and a mysterious creature that leaves huge piles of scat at the bottom of our walk-out basement (a bear, gotta be a bear, based on the size of the pile. One with a sense of mischievous humor).

But I digress. Last week, my wife's in her upstairs office, supposedly working, but in actuality gazing out the window into the neighbor's yard. She pounds down the stairs and in a hushed voice, tells me to come quickly. In the neighbor's yard sat a large, horned owl. Just hanging out in a tree staring at us. Tossing some of that voyeurism right back our way. And if you've ever had a stare-down with an owl (with those large terrifying, unblinking orbs of eyes), it's no contest which species always wins.

And a lil white baby owl!

Stranger yet, it's broad daylight. A portentous omen? A sign of luck? Or one goofy owl who can't tell time.

Anyway, my wife claims there was a smaller one hanging out with it earlier, but I never saw the two. Just that big large dude with the unblinking gaze into my soul.

What's the point of all of this? I dunno. Maybe nature's looking right back at us during the 2020 'tine.

But in lock-down, there's not a whole lot else to do. Who would have ever imagined watching movies, reading books, drinking beer, and overeating would ever get boring? 

I've read we're supposed to shut off the idiot box and take up a hobby. Enjoy real life. Enjoy the outdoors.

That's what I'm doing! Enjoying "real life" and the outdoors through the wide-screen bay window of my house! MUCH better than TV. (Pass the popcorn and crack open the beer! I'm not sure I recognize that new car in front of the randy nurses' house!).

Week four of captivity...

Stay safe.

How Not to Murder Your Spouse while Quarantined

My wife's under the impression that during our current time of quarantine, there will be a huge explosion of babies come January and February.

I beg to differ. Not even having completed our first week of being quarantined, I believe that spouse murder will be on the uprise in the near future. But fear not, for I have an easy plan to guarantee you stay out of jail, as long as you adhere to my rules! (Hell, I might even throw in a free, used Popeil Pocket Fisherman.)

1) Get a safe or panic room. Okay, maybe you can't afford one (or perhaps no one's willing to come out and install it these days). Barring that, double-check to make sure the lock on your bathroom works. Men, I'm aiming this one primarily at you, as we all love a good peaceful sit-down.

2) Separate your work spaces. So, when we moved my wife's office home, we ended up on our dualing computers, sitting across from one another. Cute...for five minutes. That's when I made the decision to work exclusively on my laptop downstairs and she could have the top floor.

3) Hide all sharp cutlery. This isn't particularly a problem at our house as most of my knives from my bachelor days wouldn't cut through hot butter. Of course, this could lead to an even more grueling death if bludgeoning seems the method of choice.

4) Load up on alcohol. A must! And, apparently, you all agree with me, as booze sales are skyrocketing. Right now, WalMart's stock is thriving because they're the one-stop shop: booze, toilet paper, candy, and hand sanitizer, something for the whole family!

5) Drink lots of alcohol. (This step should be self-explanatory). 

 6) When in doubt, bake it out! Yep, instead of fighting or blowing a gasket over some dumb little irritant, go bake brownies. Your spouse will appreciate it immensely.

7) Read! E-books are cheap, you don't have to go anywhere to get them. So shut off the damn TV and open a book.

8) At the end of the day, greet your spouse back from a hard day at the office (okay that last part is "pretend," but it works!). Don't forget to love them, make them feel welcome, kiss them, hold their hands (after proper sanitation, natch), and take a walk.

There you have it! Your Stay-Outta-Jail card! I swan, I really should be charging you guys for this.

Be careful out there.

Hey speaking of ebooks, did you know I have a ton of 'em available at Amazon and other fine ebookeries? No? Huh. I can't believe I've neglected to let everyone know! Well, check 'em out, fine entertainment to take your mind off reality for a while: http://bit.ly/StuartRWestBooks