BREAKING BREAD

How come the bread in your sandwich is never cut all the way through?

You can order a freaking sandwich to go, tell the spacey counter guy to be sure and cut the sandwich completely in half … all the way through … two separate halves is what I want. Now you may think you've made your sandwich requirements perfectly clear.

But listen closely and try to understand.

Nothing you say will do you any good! And when you attempt to pick up your sandwich, all that meat and lettuce and tomato and gooey mayonnaise you like so much will slide into your lap and onto the floor.

For some reason that defies scientific principles and rational thought, spacey counter guy is unable to cut completely through a sandwich.

There will always be that tiny section of bread that refuses to leave the mother ship.

@#$%*@

If you have any friends at all, share this with them.

RANDOM EXPRESSIONS

Who the hell in America decided that Christmas was Merry and the New Year should be Happy?

Was a damn holiday committee formed? What if the votes were in and it came out Happy Christmas and Merry New Year? Would we have accepted it blindly? Or would there be nagging doubts that something wasn't quite right?

"Hey, how are you doing?" Now here's a common greeting that could suggest you might not be doing well. Maybe you're just recovering from a broken ankle, an expensive divorce, or a bout with pneumonia. Why not make our greetings less open-ended and more positive?

"Hey man, you look great!" Or, "How do you keep looking so young? Is there an ugly picture of you in the attic?" This is a literary reference to The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde, in case your reading skills are confined to the sports pages and the daily headlines.

And what about "Have a good weekend?"

Why not "Have an excellent weekend?" Why do we feel the need to rein in our weekend wishes? Maybe we just don't want people to have as nice a weekend as we have.

You have a good weekend. I'll have a spectacular, sensational, eye-popping, mind-boggling weekend!

@#$*@

CATS DON'T FETCH

Why is it that cats don't take any nonsense from anybody?

You could pick a dog up by his tail. And when you put him down (unless he's a pit bull) he'll wag his tail and lick your face. Cats have no tolerance for such idiocy. It seems they were born with disdain for humans and other creatures that might be seeking favors.

You may have noticed there are no bomb-sniffing or drug-sniffing cats.

Screw that shit! Cats will not herd sheep or any other shaggy animals. And no cat will ever help blind people find their way in the world. As for learning tricks around the house, get serious.

"Roll over, Tabby."

"Sure, buddy. Whenever I'm obsessed with the urge to please and make you proud, I'll give it a shot."

So far as we know, cats can't talk. But they speak volumes with a regal look or a withering glance. It's all in the attitude. I can hear some house cat laying down the rules for his new owner.

"Let's get one thing straight, Buster. I sleep, I purr, I dig my claws into your lap, I rub against your leg when I want something. And occasionally, I'll drop a dead bird on your foot."

@#$%*@

ASKING FOR HER HAND

When a man proposes to a woman, why does he ask for her hand in marriage? Certainly there are more interesting body parts. And indeed more essential ones if you plan to go on a honeymoon.

How did this custom get started? Did some proper behavior maven decide that it would be gauche to ask for the whole person?

Did some dippy focus group, with no expertise and few credentials, run through a list of other areas and arbitrarily rule them out?

Let's see … one could ask for her shoulder in marriage. How about her back, her wrist, her elbow, leg, ankle, nose, heel, toe, neck, thigh, breast.

"Sir, I've fallen deeply in love with your daughter and I'm asking for her ass in marriage."

Suddenly the hand is making a lot of sense.

@#$%*@

IF YOU HAVE ANY FRIENDS AT ALL, SHARE THIS WITH THEM.

LASSIE, MY ASS

I hate to bust your bubble, my friend, but Lassie was a male collie.

I don't know why the Hollywood picture people didn't cast a female dog or change the name to Laddie. But they didn't, and chose instead to bamboozle us with their gender spin.

While doing some research, I found that the original Lassie was named Pal. And that a shrewd dog trainer had bought him for ten bucks. Which would make it one of the best deals Hollywood ever made.

As you know, it spawned a mess of sequels, a radio program, and a TV show that lasted so long you could barely stand it.

"Lassie, here girl … come on, girl!"

I wonder if they told little Timmy the truth.

Or was little Timmy old enough to figure out that Lassie-- no matter how maternal he seemed or how many people he rescued from wells, caves, and other dangerous locations—WAS NEVER GOING TO HAVE PUPPIES!

And where was Liz Taylor when the original Lassie movie was being foisted on the public? I always liked Liz and saw her as a stand-up gal. Yet she knew she was involved in a national hoax, and did nothing to expose it.

Come to think of it, one thing does make perfect sense. I now realize why nobody ever asked Lassie to roll over.

@#$%*@

SUITS THAT DON"T FIT

I'm sick of greedy pricks that sue for moronic reasons and get away with it. Apparently ethics and common sense are on the way out. Victim status is a hot button and oily lawyers are cashing in on it.

A New York man was mutilated when he jumped in front of a subway train. He sued and got $650,000 because the train that he jumped in front of couldn't stop in time.

And why do juries hand out millions of dollars to litigious creeps who smoke 4 packs of cigarettes a day for 30 years, get lung cancer, and then sue the tobacco company?

Now I hate tobacco companies just as much as the next guy. But whatever happened to personal responsibility for committing stupid acts on a daily basis? Wait, I'm just getting started.

Two burly gentlemen (read two boobs) strapped refrigerators to their backs and then lumbered along in an ungainly manner to see who was the fastest. One of the boobs, who injured his lower back, sued the refrigerator maker.

His lawyer argued that the warranty said nothing about racing down the street with a refrigerator.

An enterprising young thief from Los Angeles sued the driver of a Honda Accord for running over his hand. He received $74,000 and medical expenses. The young man claimed he never noticed there was someone sitting in the driver's seat when he was attempting to remove the hubcaps.

A woman from Texas sued a furniture store after breaking her ankle. It seems she tripped over a bratty youngster running around wildly inside the store. Even though the child was her son, she was awarded $780,000 for her pain and suffering.

Any decent instincts to remain responsible for our own deeds are being trampled by those who accept no responsibility whatsoever. Where are those crazy villagers with torches when you need them?

@#$%*@

FED UP

Women are always asking men if they've eaten.

It doesn't matter if they've known the guy for a month or a decade. They're going to ask. Do they think we forget if we're not reminded?

"Come to think of it, I haven't had a bite in a week. Good thing you said something, honey."

Men will never ask a woman if she's eaten. Either we don't give a crap, or we assume she's bright enough to figure it out for herself.

And a woman's curiosity about a man's eating patterns knows no limits.

After she learns whether you've eaten, what you ate, where you ate, whom you ate with, and exactly what you discussed while you were eating-- she may inquire how your food was prepared. It wasn't fried, was it?

Some will even ask if you took all your vitamins. Or pills, if you happen to fall into the senior category.

You could be 90 years old, and your wife or girlfriend will still want a complete dossier on your ridiculous eating habits.

And if she doesn't think your meals were balanced or organic, or don't contain enough fiber, fish oils, antioxidants, leafy greens, or whatever the hell else the current health trends are -- you could be scolded and sent to your room.

@#$%*@