You gotta love this. Be sure to read the whole story and all the comments!

"I want to know why the person did it," Jemeka Garcia said Thursday. "That's kind of a horrible prank. And what if some kid gets it" as a valentine?

I don't know. The world will end, maybe?

"I'll bet Plankton was behind this."

"Maybe this is a special Minstrel SpongeBob in honor of Black History Month"

Note the requisite lawsuit prep! I heart America!

You know, I really expect more netiquette in these modern times and I expect people to NOT treat blogs as image hosting services. Steal your images and be on your merry way, please.

So, I was surprised when a group of hermit crab aficionados of all people/crustaceans decided to usurp my bandwidth in order to display David's graphics of Joel Veitch's "Rathergood" Viking Kittens, posted last year or whenever.

Most of you know that this isn't the first time I've played a little trick on the bandwidth bandits. HTML is a wonderful thing!

The awesome thing is that the hermit crab folk are vocal! You can see the original stolen Viking Cat post and two of my follow-up file name changes above: high school yearbook mullet man and black mis-print overseas-bad-Valentine-printjob SpongeBob Squarepants. Hermit crab people were starting to get pissed! As one Hermit Crab Daddy complained,

 "Jugger, this is getting ridiculous! Now picture #4 (but a viking kitty) in that second post in the thread. Oh the cruelty! It's like some kind of . . . HORROR MOVIE! The portrait on the wall has changed again!    Oh, wait, this is cyberspace. The dang spyware dudes can change my internet homepage, so jugger can certainly mess with our minds!

The dang spyware dudes can change my internet homepage??? Oh the injustice! Oh the fun of it all! Read the message board for yourself if you like.

Do you know the one I am talking about?

The husband finds his wife making brownies in their kitchen. She lets him lick the batter off the beaters, which are still in the mixer, which is still plugged in.

You can see what's coming next.

Of course, the appliance gets turned on, and the guy starts screaming in pain as his tongue gets caught in the beaters. The screaming is horribly realistic, and I suspect that Dairy Queen may have received feedback  as there is an abbreviated version of the commercial with substantially less screaming.

At the end, the husband says that he likes Brownie Batter Blizzards better, 'cause "they're much sthafer". And, it is obvious by how he is talking that he has not recovered from his injuries yet, or perhaps he lost part of his tongue for good - you'll never know, especially since Dairy Queen didn't bother to add any realistic spewing mouth blood to the mixer incident.

In spite of the excruciating commercial, I had to try this Brownie Batter Blizzard. Since I am new to "Blizzards" in general, I'll tell everyone what they are before continuing.

A "Blizzard" is Dairy Queen's version of a mix of soft-serve ice cream, with some "stuff" mixed in, served in a cup, kind of like a very thick milkshake with chunks of things like cheesecake, M&Ms, Oreos, mouse parts (okay - just checking if you are reading), etc. I think this is so that places like Dairy Queen, which specialize in cheap yet inexpensive soft serve, can compete with the premium ice cream places such as Marble Slab, Cold Stone Creamery, etc.

Before the Dairy Queen guy gives you your finished Blizzard product, he spins the cup(s) around in the air like a wild west gun-toting gunman would twirl his six-shooter, so that you can see for yourself how thick it is! And, this is not just a local thing because my first Blizzard was in New Mexico this June, and they did the same thing there.

They may give it to you frozen, but if you think you are going to make it home three miles without it melting all over your car's cupholders, and possibly making it into your seat-warmer switch assembly, think again.

But, in spite of all that, it was really good!

I go to a nice gym. It's one of those huge open 24 hour nationwide chain affairs with a fair mix of serious fitness buffs and transient overweight new year's resolution types. I fit somewhere in between, a hybrid mix of the cardiovascularly fit and chubby do-gooder.

I've belonged to a few gyms in my day, going all the way back to (pre-Bally Total Fitness) Holiday Spa in California, where the only thing co-ed was the track. I've belonged to big gyms and small gyms, and I've actually used apartment gyms and employer-provided gyms.

Come to think of it, I actually used to ride my bike about seven miles each way on a major boulevard to a for-ladies-only Pam's Figure-tique, circa 1982. With that kind of commute, who needs the gym? No wonder I didn't go often.

Anyway, even with all my gym experience, I'm often surprised by some of the things I've seen at my present gym:

Almost without fail, there is a large Burger King bag full o'fast food garbage behind the brick pillars right next to the front door. Binge. Purge.

Beer cans! The big 40 ouncers! And this gym is in its own huge building with its own parking lot, so this is not likely carry over from some other business.

And here is my all-time favorite:

Two strips of crispy bacon laying on the floor in the middle of the ladies locker room. Like they fell off someone's Grand Slam breakfast platter or something. I had to look twice, but that is what they were.

Makes one wonder.

Last week I was buying all the remaining hard-to-find pillow guts at America's #1 Murderer of Small Business.

While I was there, I decided to pick up some bananas at the low price of just 38 cents per pound.

One of my many complaints against Blight*Mar - er - Wal*Mart has been that they consistently have the wrong prices in their system. And, often the price that scans at the cash register is higher than the shelf tag! Yes - in the store's favor!

Now, I have an uncanny ability to remember the shelf prices of an entire shopping cart full of groceries, and while the cashier scans my groceries, I watch like a hawk, regardless of where I am shopping. There is nothing I enjoy less than getting home with a load of food to find out that the 2 for 1 jumbo Cheerios didn't ring up properly.

On this trip I opted for the self-checkout method, and lo and behold, the 38 cent bananas rang up at 42 cents! Those bastards. So, I got the attention of the little old man whose job it was to monitor the self-checkout lanes.

It rapidly became apparent that this man had absolutely no experience with computers aside from, perhaps, a calculator from, say, 1972. He came over and looked at the register out of some sense of obligation, but beyond that he was hopeless. He had some sort of multipurpose badge on a lanyard hanging from his neck that he would randomly scan and then press buttons madly while scanning the bananas to and fro.

Finally, a lady who must have been an off-duty Wal*Mart associate came to the rescue. She managed to use the man's badge to put in the correct price for the bananas, and to remove the other umpteen banana charges that the man managed to scan while "correcting" the error.

He seemed to think he was done with me, when I said to him, "I believe Wal*Mart's policy is that I get those bananas for free". Time stood still for a moment. The lady who had been so helpful had disappeared. He pointed out the correct price, as though that would make me forget what I had just said, so I repeated my request. I would like these bananas for free, per Wal*Mart's guarantee.

I noticed that some other customers were scanning some bananas, so I announced loudly to them, "Those bananas are scanning at the wrong price, so be sure that you get them for free!" They looked very happy as they started to wave at the little old frazzled man while pointing at their bananas with glee.

I got my 98 cents back and left.

I was tempted to go back any buy more bananas just so that I could get them for free, because I didn't have anywhere else I had to be. Also, it is fun to be a bit of an ass like that.

But, I thought better of it since we really don't like bananas that much.

My friend Dorothee came up with the best antidote for this sort of fad.

One way to make a teenager stop a certain behavior is to have adults take up that behavior.

What do you think would happen if we 30-somethings all started wearing our pants way down low at the mall? What if we started leaving our shoes unlaced and started piercing our tongues and faces?

I actually had a packet of black jelly bracelets in my hand at Spencer's in the local mall recently. For $4.95 I could share them with the other ladies on the block and disgust the local teenagers right out of this fad. Maybe next time.

Dorothee is a genius.

A Warning for Parents:
Jelly Bracelets
The meaning behind the popularity of the colorful Jelly bracelets among middle schoolers revealed.

David was going to tell you if I didn't. And, I've been there more than once.

Without further adieu, here's the sad story.

This might blow my "image", but I've been sewing froofy, fringie, fancy-schmancy pillows (June Cleaver is back!). The kind that cost a lot of money in the stores. And, after fruitlessly driving all over North Texas looking for the right size pillow "guts", a few weeks ago I decided to try Wal*Mart.

While I was in America's Largest Killer of Small Business, a big electrical storm came through Mo'Kinney. I didn't know this, of course. While waiting in the self-checkout behind an incredibly slow woman with a large order of school supplies, every light in the store went out!

It sounded like this:

Boop

Boop

...

Boop

BLAMMO!

(collective consumer storewide GASP, in complete darkness)  

Boop

Boop

Seems America's Retail Giant has their priorities straight. Every light in the store may be out, but the cash registers are on some huge UPS, ensuring that money can be raked in even in the most adverse of circumstances!

The flourescent lights kicked in dimly.

Boop

Boop

"Please, Dear Lord, let the UPS hold out until we can buy our Great Value brand marshmallows, substandard Olsen Twins apparel, and John Deere tractor-themed melamine dishes," we all prayed silently.

"Even moreso, Dear Lord, please let the power be on at home so that the Blue Bell premium ice cream in the new "Cookies! Cookies! Cookies!" flavor will have a safe freezer home, lest we have to eat it all right now!"

The incredibly slow lady in front of me feeds over $115 in cash into the self-checkout money grabber while her teenage children drool on themselves in a sheer boredom coma. Some of her money won't go into the machine and so they all grapple with the money, trying this way and that.

The lights gradually grow dimmer. The cash registers keep booping. We all stand there like dumb cows. Would a fire even get us to leave our carts full o'briskets and Little Debbie snack cakes?

The only acknowledgement by management is an announcement over the PA system, "All Wal*Mart associates, please locate your flashlight if you have one."

I manage to self-scan my pillow guts and pancake syrup, self-bag my goods, and self-run to my car.

It's pouring outside, and the parking lot lights are not on UPS. It's pitch-black and I run to where I think my car is - wrong. Dodging lightning, I dash through the parking lot, find the car and jump in, soaked.

As I drive off, I see the big sign on the front of the store, only tonight it flashes furiously, "    *Mart"

Boop

Boop

I don't know anyone who doesn't love Jack Handey's absurd quotes, collectively known as Deep Thoughts.

Enjoy!

...you got it!

An anonymous commenter suggested color Skwerzilla pics would be easier to enjoy.

You can see in this new pic I made that, even in color, Japanese horror movie monsters do not show up that well. Perhaps the aging process has washed out the color contrast.

At least in this version, Skwerlzilla is winning.

Go Skwerlzilla!