BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

Usually when you find me talking about SPAM, I’m babbling (and drooling) about my favorite pressed, canned, pork leavin’s. That lovely ham-like, mystery protein that can be found in any market, lasts a little bit of forever, and is considered a near delicacy in Howarya (Hawaii).

I’ve never really had a desire to visit that little cluster of islands, to be honest, however, I do happen to like pineapple, coconut, and SPAM, so maybe I should give it a go sometime…

But, I digress…

This particular time I am not here to drool about food. I’m actually going to talk about what everyone under the age of 30 thinks of when they hear the word SPAM… Yes. Unwanted email solicitations from somewhere out in the ether.

Having spent many years as an Internet Systems Admin for an ISP, I am intimately familiar with the electronic version of SPAM. Of course, even if I hadn’t had such a job I’d still be familiar with the stuff because anyone with an email account is deluged with it daily. SPAM filters try their best to weed it out, but the crafty little beggars behind SPAM weasel their way around the virtual assassins whenever possible.

Now, the thing is I can actually understand SPAM to some extent. It’s just like junk mail that shows up in your mailbox in front of your house. Stuff addressed to Resident, or Occupant… You know, the things you give to the 4 year old who is desperate to receive some mail just like mommy and daddy. The thing about said SPAM/Junk Mail, however, is that it has an overarching purpose. It is trying to sell you something.

Siding…

Windows…

A really bitchin’ set of shelf speakers…

An amazing device that when attached to an average canister vacuum will ionize (or deionize, whichever is necessary) the air in your home automatically, making it smell springtime fresh and adding 10 years to your life…

Know what I mean? It gives you a sales pitch, pretty pictures, and an order blank… Sometimes even a coupon for 50% off on orders of two or more.

Over the years, the electronic cousin of Junk Mail, that being SPAM, has done the same thing, albeit for different products. In the case of email junk I am usually getting an offer for a Russian Bride, a breast enlargement, Acai Berry Juice, or Generic Viagra.

Annoying, yes. I mean, after all, E K would kill me if I brought home a Russian Bride (not to mention the bigamy consequences)…

I don’t need a breast enlargement – (hell, I had gynecomastia reduction surgery a few years ago, so why would I want to reverse it? I’m not made of money, ya’know, and besides, it hurt like hell… And not the good kind of hurt either if you know what I mean – wink wink nudge nudge- Even E K felt sorry for me.)

I can get Acai Berry at the supermarket. It even comes mixed with Apple Sauce – how cool is that? AND, I have coupons…

Finally, Wee Willie Winky has no trouble saluting whenever instructed to do so by the Evil Redhead. At least, at this point in my life he doesn’t. E K sees to that, thank you very much… But, if I end up needing the little blue pill later down the road, I will consult my physician and go see my local pharmacist.

Still, as annoying as it is, it all makes sense. Color pictures, provocative wording, and even coupons… It’s a sales tactic… It’s direct marketing.

I get it… Really, I do.

Or I did, up until just the other day. I think maybe this has something to do with the SPAMmers tactics in order to get around the filters, but here’s the thing – if the SPAM doesn’t make any sense, what good is it?

For example, the particular email that showed up in my inbox the other day and proceeded to spark this particular missive is as follows:

Subject:  AAA Christian sex Premature Ejaculation Cure

Body:  A Christian sex Premature Ejaculation Cukrre www. via65. com.
When Aliens tAtack Pormotional Trailer

This was followed by another email:

Subject:  Female Orgasms From a Woman - 11 Thing She Does When You
Are Not Lookiing

Body:  Female Orgasms From a Woman -- 1 Thilng She Does When You
Are Not Looking
www. via65. com. Woman Trying to Cheecat on Drug Test Asks Clerk to
Microwave Prosthetic penis Device

Can any of you tell me what I’m supposed to be buying here? I mean, I sure as hell have no clue…

Oh well, I guess it’s just one of those things, and I’ll just have to accept it.

Besides, I’m already late for my Christian Drug Test at the theater where they are showing the promotional trailer for the new Alien Attack movie, and I still have to microwave my prosthetic penis device, otherwise I won’t be able to prematurely ejaculate on the cheat sheet when the clerk isn’t looking.

You know… I think I’ll go make myself a Spam Sammich…

More to come…

Murv

THE PUF REPORT: Part 4 of 5

Some of you may have heard me mention that I often travel with an MRE in my luggage. An MRE being: Meal, Ready to Eat. Yeah, cooked to death, preservative ridden, irradiated, vacuum packed, shelf stable for 99 years, food sort of stuff. The very same scientifically balanced glop they feed our men and women in uniform. Some MRE’s are perfectly edible. Not 5 star dining, mind you, but edible nonetheless. Others are oddly horrible mystery foodstuff that doesn’t even vaguely resemble the description on the outside of the watertight packaging. But, you can still choke it down, and it is scientifically proven that you can not only live on it, but it isn’t likely to kill you either.

Those of you who have never heard me wax prophetic about MRE’s are probably wondering why I would bother carrying such in my luggage. Well, you see, it’s like this – When you get booked in at a festival, you never know what you’re going to get in the way of eats.

Yeah. I know it seems like a no-brainer, especially since it says right there in my contract that you have to feed me. However, I have been flown in to far away cities, picked up and hauled out to the middle of nowhere for a fest, only to have the organizers say, “What? You didn’t bring your own food?”

Of course, those are few and far between. Still, they have happened.  Right there with them are the fests where they feed toddler portions to grown adults because they don’t know how to plan meals. Three chicken nuggets and 5 french fries does not a meal make for a 47 year old fat guy like myself.

However, I think what may be worse, in fact I know it’s worse – and unfortunately these happen way too often – are the festivals where they serve you something virtually inedible. For instance:

I have been served raw eggs. Yes raw eggs. Not runny, not overeasy, not sunny side up. R… A… W… Raw.

I have been served spoiled pork chops. Spoiled as in gone bad folks. Salmonella and all that good stuff.

Rancid, rotting potatoes. I mean, come on… If I wanted my potatoes that far gone, I’d buy a bottle of Vodka, okay?

Unidentifiable mixtures of who knows what, cooked so far beyond tastelessness that they have moved into the direction of making you gag, so that even Oliver Twist wouldn’t ask for seconds.

And, in one instance, my wife and daughter (along with several other attendees) contracted food poisoning at a festival. Severe enough that paramedics were involved.

But, fortunately, there are other fests. We’ll call them, those fests. They are the festivals and conventions that live on the other end of the spectrum. They feed you so well that the best restaurant in the city can’t hold a candle to them. There are some stores that fall into this category as well, such as Violet Flame Gifts. We will call them, those stores… But, right now, we are talking about fests…

And, PUF is one of those fests…

You see, at PUF I have my Rachel. Some of you may even have read about my Rachel in one of my novels, namely Blood Moon. She was the character Aileegan.

Now, the thing is my Rachel is in Ally-bammer, and she’s  actually Doug’s Rachel. Doug is wayyyyy bigger’n me. Doug could break me in half with his little finger. Fortunately, however, Doug likes me (the feeling is mutual) and he lets me borrow Rachel.

No… Not for that you dirty minded monkeys… E K would kill me and stuff. In fact, I’m not sure if she’d kill me first, or just stomp on my corpse after Doug killed me, but the effect would pretty much be the same. I’d be all corpsified and gross.

You see, what Doug actually does is he loans Rachel to the VIP’s at PUF. That is to say, he and Rachel are at PUF every year, working their tails off. But, more specifically, Rachel is the one and only, lifetime designated, Chef to the guest authors. Sometimes Rachel runs the whole kitchen, sometimes not. But, you can always find her there. And moreover, she ALWAYS cooks breakfast and various other goodies for the VIP’s.

Take for instance this year. We arrived to find the following resting on the table of the common room in the cabin –

Raspberry Chocolate Chip Cookies

Some kind of pizza meatball things (I want MORE of these!)

These were just a bit of comfort food on which we could nosh if the mood struck.

Now, I would be horribly remiss if I didn’t mention something else we found. This, however, was from our good friend Tracy –

Carrot Cake

And, not only was it Carrot Cake, it was probably the best freakin’ carrot cake I have ever put in my mouth (Sorry, Mom)… The only problem with it was that it was so big we couldn’t finish it. But, let me tell you, I had carrot cake every day, and I even brought a piece home with me.

Now, getting back to Rachel… Here’s the thing… I’ll put our Rachel up against Rachel Ray any day of the week. Our Rachel will whoop her ass, I’m telling you. Not only can she out cook her, blindfolded and with both hands tied behind her back, she’s really cool too. None of that ridiculously inflated perkiness. Just regular perkiness. So, if the FoodNetwork wants to set up a “cook off death match”, we’re in.

Anywho, of all the festivals where I have been, even the fests that feed you well, PUF and Rachel, feed us like you wouldn’t believe – Apple Cream Cheese “Burritos” with Caramel Sauce, Fresh Cinnamon Rolls, Chorizo Frittata, Little Canadian Bacon Cuplike Thingies with Eggs, Cuban Pork Breakfast Sandwiches… And I could go on… And on… And on…

And, believe me, I am not even scratching the surface of the food that Rachel cooks for us, much less that of the communal feast which has a spread that goes on forever, and variety like you wouldn’t believe (now that the previously mentioned Lasagna Law is in force. See PUF REPORT Part 2 of 5 – Where’s Kat?) And, if that weren’t enough, this year an attendee made Kahlua cake especially for the VIP’s as well… Not just one Kahlua cake, mind you, but two – one of them was diatetic so that two of the VIP’s who are diabetic could enjoy it as well.

Yes… We eat very well… Awww, hell, we eat like friggin’ royalty. And, not only do we enjoy it, we appreciate it as well. If nothing else we know PUF will keep us fed and happy.

However… There was a darkness over our food experience this year. More specifically, over my personal food experience. You see, every year my Rachel makes for me – specifically for me – something called the Sacred Pie. It was mentioned in Blood Moon as well. It is this amazing melange of sausage, apples, cheese, and maple syrup, baked into a wonderful crust… and… wellbtthpppt… nmbbttpp…

Jubba mimmint…

Okay… Sorry about that. I was starting to drool… Anyway, back to the issue at hand. Rachel knows that I will actually hoard Sacred Pie. Often times she will make two. One for the cabin and one for me to take home. She does this because she is well aware that I will parcel out the second pie and have a slice for my lunch every day for the week following PUF.

I love my Rachel…

But, I’m supposed to be addressing the issue, so here it is. There was no pie this year. Rachel, with much sadness and trepidation, followed by disbelief and anger, informed me that someone had stolen the sausage from the refrigerator in the kitchen. Sausage she had purchased specifically for the purpose of making the Sacred Pie.

Yes… Stolen.

Vanished… Gone… Absconded with, and all that… Thou shalt not steal… Ill gotten sausage… Hot… Looking for a ground pork fence…

I was sad. I cried. I fell down on the floor and bawled like a baby.

I was absolutely devastated…

In fact, my reaction was so startling that E K experienced an uncharacteristic fit of compassion. Yeah, I know… Miraculous, eh? Of course, I think it is tempered by the fact that she still gets to be evil You see, not only did she comfort me, she promised to find and horribly torture for an extended period of time whoever was responsible for thieving the ground up pig leavin’s. Rachel, being Rachel, with a wicked gleam in her eye, offered to help E K with this task.

So what it comes down to is this – There’s a pork thief out there somewhere who is on the run. I’m not sure who it is, but I’ll be looking hard at anyone with grease stains on their shirt and a satisfied look in their eyes. Rest assured if I ever do catch up to this particular scum-sucking, lily-livered, low down wretched cur of a sausage stealer, there’ll be hell to pay.

And, I know for a fact it’ll be hell, because I’m just turnin’ ’em right on over to Rachel and E K, and they are a hell of a lot meaner than me… Not only that, Rachel has knives, grinders, and other scary kitchen utensils (shudder).

Ya’know… Now that I think about it, I might just have to skip the pie next year unless I provide the sausage myself…

More to come…

Murv

The next installment in THE PUF REPORT: Part 5 of 5 – She Loves Me… She Loves Me OUCH!