Hick's Super Bowl Feast, Provided by Val and a Ponytail Guy

The Ponytail Guy is catering our Super Bowl non-party. At least providing the food, even if I have to cook it myself.

 

As you're reading this, it's Super Bowl Sunday or later. Hick likes to watch the game, and have finger foods provided by ME just before kickoff. I've been mad at the NFL ever since the Rams left St. Louis, so I don't watch the games any more. I will sometimes watch the Super Bowl for commercials, and their satanic ritual halftime shows. Over the last few years, the commercials have gotten less entertaining and more preachy. The halftime shows have ramped up the Not-Heavenishness. IMCO. [in my conspiratorious opinion]

Anyhoo... I don't buy as many treats as when Genius was still living here. So nobody is in danger of a permanent scar on their forearm from the oven-element skin-sizzle when pulling out a tray of potato skins. The Pony will most likely not lay an eye on the broadcast. He must eat, though. This year, I am using FREE Ponytail Guy foods for our repast.

We'll have a main course of Italian sausages, split open and fried to a little char. That's how The Pony wants them. Then we'll have the finger foods like EGGROLLS (plenty of them to use up), and meatballs on toothpicks to dip into red sauce (I have four pouches of it, thanks to the Ponytail Guy). The Pony says he won't need fancy toothpick skewering, since he will use his hands. Then I'll use the crumble Italian sausage (made for pizza topping) in a cheese and salsa dip that Hick likes. I'm using the Velveeta off-brand from Save A Lot, since the Ponytail Guy's cheese is in block form, and I doubt it will melt like Velveeta. We'll also have Ruffles potato chips (Hick asked for them) and french onion dip (The Pony's request) that I bought from the store. 

Don't waste your fingertip skin telling me that it's not healthy. This is the Super Bowl feast at Thevictorian mansion, by cracky! It's not a weight-loss spa. Though I do have some romaine lettuce because I think I'd like a side salad to counter some of the grease.

 

I have a feeling Hick will turn down the salad.

EVENtually, Val Will Recover From Being PENNYless

There is no joy in Backroadsville this week. The Future Pennyillionaire has struck out.

 

I'm pretty sure The Pony would say, "Um, QUARTER last week!" He's such a realist. Any time I have a no-win day on scratchers, he has to bring up, "Um, EIGHTY-SIX HUNDRED DOLLARS!" If it was up to The Pony, I would never win anything again, or find a single cent. I don't know why he has to begrudge me that casino jackpot.

 

Good thing Even Steven controls my Pennyillionaire destiny, and not The Pony! 

There will be more pennies on my horizon. I can feel it in my bones. Or maybe that's just the frigid weather moving in for Saturday night. Still, I believe there are pennies out there RIGHT NOW just waiting for me to pick them up. You know Val, the eternal optimist!

 

 

I'm not even bent out of shape like Hick's knife he was given to eat his prime rib dinner with, at the casino on December 22! Also, the soda cup that I posed the knife on is 100 percent full!
 

Let the record show that's 0 COINS this week, for 0 CENTS. :(

______________________________________________________

2021 RUNNING TOTAL

Penny       still at 9.
Dime         still at 1.
Nickel       still at 0.
Quarter    still at 1.

2020 TOTALS
Penny     134
Dime        25
Nickel      10
Quarter      1
________________________________________________________

Sometimes I Hear the PSYCHO Stabby Music in My Head

Thursday morning, I woke up with a squeezy sinus headache. I hate it when that happens. It's not a throbbing headache. I feel like the upper part of my head is in a vise. The forehead, above the eyes, is the worst. Then it moves around to both sides of the back of my neck, where it joins my head. When I turn my head, I hear crackles. I figure that's from stress, from dealing with the pain. Or maybe sinuses can drain around to the back of your head.

Anyhoo... nothing much helps these headaches except a hot shower. But as soon as I get out, the pressure starts again. Aspirin, acetaminophen, and ibuprofen don't get rid of it. The only relief besides living in a hot shower is my vibrator. Yes. You heard my keyboard fingers. My vibrator! You're in for a treat! I have a picture!

 

 

I actually have THREE vibrators! The purple one here in my lair, a pink one out by my OPC (Old People Chair), and a blue one in the living room. This one had low batteries, so I visited our battery drawer for two AAAs before descending to my lair for lunch.

What I saw in the battery drawer made my blood run cold. It was not simply the fact that someone had left a SINGLE BATTERY in each of two large packs. It was the appearance of one package. I heard the Psycho stabby music. Three stabs.

 

 

What kind of a psycho opens a package like THIS? I guess it would be your everyday average psycho, since a psycho is likely partial to psycho behavior.

 

"PONY! Come look at this battery package! Did you open it like this? What kind of psycho DOES that?"

 

"Um. Dad? Because when have you ever known me to use something with batteries?"

 

"Fair enough. Not since you you were toy age."

"That is disturbing."

"TELL me about it!"

I doubt The Pony was The Ripper. It's not like he replaces low batteries in the TV remote. I've hinted to him at least 3 times, and I still get the on-screen warning, and have to push my own buttons more than once.

What Have We Here?

Hick may be clueless in matters that matter to me, but he is rarely stumped by a mechanical gadget. Here's one that had him asking my opinion.

 

According to Hick, consensus among his cronies is divided into two camps. One says it is a whale oil lamp. The other says it's a lantern used for fishing, with that hook thingy used for holding a fishing pole to see if the line gets a hit. 

I don't always listen to Hick's bargain tales. I must have nodded off or zoned out or been thinking of something more pleasant, like downloading my income tax software. I thought Hick bought this at the auction. But further interrogation prior to this reveal revealed that this object does NOT belong to Hick! It's his buddy's.

"But it's sitting on YOUR knife display!"

"No, he has one like mine."

"I DID think it looked a little sloppy..."

"Definitely messier than mine."

Anyhoo... Hick didn't know where the guy got it, or what he paid. But he's asking $20 for it.

Hick says there's a piece hanging out of sight, on a chain, that fits over that big wick. It's like a candle-snuffer, he says. To put out the light.

I am clueless.

With Hick You Get Egg Roll

Last Friday, Hick called from his Storage Unit Store to ask if The Pony was up and presentable. Of course. It was after noon. Hick said (even though he had been instructed BY VAL to turn down any FREE food, due to our little freezer being full of the Ponytail Guy's meat), he had taken just a few things. So few, in fact, that he needed The Pony to come out and help him carry them in.

 

Hick was quick to declare that he ONLY had a box of egg rolls, some milk (or as he pronounces it, MELK), and a bag of the good sausage patties that I like. Huh. Seems to me that would be easily carryable by Hick, even with a bad arm and a PopArm.

 

Therein lies the problem. I ASSUMED that a box of egg rolls meant 10, or a dozen. Like the boxes of not-very-good frozen egg rolls I get at Country Mart. You know what happens when we assume. Our little beast of burden, The Pony, trotted in toting a giant box. 

 

"Dad couldn't lift it with his bad arm."

WE HAVE 96 EGG ROLLS!

 

 

LOOK AT THAT! It's what's left of the 96 egg rolls that The Pony had not yet put into gallon freezer bags. They look like they're in a coffin! The good news is that they're the FAT and TASTY egg rolls, like you get from a Chinese restaurant. Not the THIN and MEALY Country Mart poor imitations.

 

"Pony, I'm starting to think the Chinese place doesn't make their own egg rolls! I thought each restaurant made their own, because they're so different."

 

"Nah. More like they have different suppliers."

 

"Yeah. These sure look like the egg rolls we get there. Except I'm not deep-frying them. I'll put them in the oven. What does the box say for directions?"

 

"Um. Nothing. Only to cook until they reach 165 degrees, using a thermometer."

 

"Well, that's not happening. I'll put them in the oven at 400 for 10 minutes, then turn them and cook another 10. That should be close enough."

 

 

IT WAS! These egg rolls are delicious! Here's one that had popped open that we laid out for thawing, to shove in the oven and sample them. They're pork egg rolls, stuffed with cabbage.

 

The egg rolls got crispy in the oven, and were as greasy as if I had dropped them in a vat of hot oil! I had a jar of duck sauce (from Country Mart) that I used for dipping. Hick wanted some hot mustard, which is now on my shopping list. The Pony was going to make a concoction of spicy chili oil and mayo. No thanks.

 

One thing's for sure. We DO NOT need 96 egg rolls.

 

I guess I could start my own snack shack when Hick eventually opens up Hick's Shackytown Amusement Park and Roadside Attraction. I will call it Val's Egg Roll Hidey-Hole.

Hick Seen In Disguise, With A$$es

Our casino lunch was not without incident. No lady choking this time. But our tranquil lunch trio was invaded by CLOSE-DINERS!

 

Let the record show that this casino restaurant has removed some tables, and spaced the others at VIRUS-dictated distances. Masks are required in the casino. There's an announcement every 15 minutes about all patrons required to wear a mask CORRECTLY, unless actively smoking, eating, or drinking. You know. Because the VIRUS knows you're taking a time-out for those activities, so sits on the sidelines waiting until you finish. Clear dividers separate slot-players from those next to them.

 

When in the restaurant, Hick, The Pony, and I unmask to eat. We remove our masks and lay them across a thigh, on a purse, or on a chair. No. I am NOT going to eat with a mask on, lifting the bottom, or pulling it down for each bite. Nope. Not touching my filthy mask repeatedly, contaminating my hands and everything I touch, nor shaking my mouth bacteria all over as I jostle the mask. 

 

Anyhoo... I'm not a mask fanatic. I don't really notice the scoffrules who wear them on their neck while playing slots. It's not like I'm sitting on their lap. Nor do I mind people in the restaurant not wearing them. They're not feeding me like a baby bird. They're in their space, we're in our space.

 

UNTIL...

 

A Party of Four encroached upon our staked-out space. What in the NOT-HEAVEN, Partiers? Do you not see the furniture grouping? Do you not see that we are clearly established here, eating without our masks? It's not like there's a shortage of places for you to sit.

 

The Partiers parked their ignorant rumpuses within five feet of Hick's seat. If he had longer (and working) arms, he could have reached out and touched them!

 

 

First of all, how do you like Hick's disguise? I created it myself, heh, heh! He is chowing down on The Pony's leftover chicken strip and fries, Hick's wiener having already disappeared. You may think the Partiers don't look all that close. Let me show you the other seating choices they had.

 

 

They had the entire raised bar-table thingy over Hick's other shoulder. All that other seating back there. But that's only in one direction.

 

The rest of the dining area behind The Pony's chair was also empty! In fact, there was only one other table occupied besides that of Thevictorians.

There on the left side, you can see someone's coat hanging on the back of a chair. This is looking out into the casino. The area behind me has a low stage, and then the drink machine and ordering line. 

I don't know WHY the Partiers had to sit right on top of us! My ire really has nothing to do with the VIRUS. But I know that's on the forefront of your frontal lobes, some of you. So I laid out the casino rules. I would have been ticked off ANY TIME people have so much room available, and crowd into my previously staked-out space.

Oh, and in case you're interested in the ambiance of this casino bar/restaurant... here's a look at the decor.

 

There's an upper deck area. I think it's a fancy restaurant, that has an outdoor area to watch the mighty Mississippi flowing by during warmer months. But I took this photo to show you the things in those cubbyholes.

They're SEWING MACHINES! I don't know their significance. No other casinos I frequent have had a sewing machine collection. Heh, heh! Maybe they can be checked out for Close-Sitting Partiers to repair their rumpuses after someone puts a boot in there!

The Ponytail Guy's Meat Dwarfs Hick's Wiener

As we started through the line to order our casino lunch last Wednesday, I was pleased to see some new specials. They were nothing that I wanted, but I thought Hick might be tempted. So I could show you a new dish instead of Hick's usual burger! 

The restaurant must have offered chili a few days previous, and had some leftovers to unload! I can't recall all the specials, but chili was a common denominator. One dish was Chili Cheese Fries. Another was a Chili Dog. Which is what Hick ordered. You know how he loves hot dogs. I'm shocked that he hasn't eaten more of the Ponytail Guy's FREE hot dogs so far. He has about 10 packs left. They are pretty small in diameter, though the normal length. When he grilled them, they reminded me of toothpicks. Or skewers, to account for the length. Hick put two per bun, they were so small.

Anyhoo... we're not here to talk about the Ponytail Guy's meat. We're here to discuss Hick's wiener. Heh, heh! One of our faculty used to ALWAYS read the school lunch menu to the kids, saying wieners instead of hot dogs. You might imagine how that went over in a classroom. 

Anyhoo... Hick and I visualized a robust hot dog smothered in chili and cheese. Maybe like you might get at Sonic, although not a foot long. Imagine our surprise when Hick's meal arrived at the table.

 

 

THAT is a stubby wiener! Look at the size, compared to the container of sliced jalapeno, and the packet of sour cream! Hick had been so certain of getting a fat juicy loaded chili dog that he hadn't even ordered fries with it. I gotta say, I felt sorry for him. 

At least he had his strawberry cheesecake to tide him over.

 

The Pony had the chocolate version. I think the cheesecake is packaged this way so two people can share a dessert. You know, a husband give a slice to his wife, or a son give a slice to his mother... Not Thevictorians! They don't think that way.

Lucky for me, I had a plentiful paper platter of food.

I had the Catfish Nuggets again, with tater tots. AND an almost-full plastic ramekin of tartar sauce this time. The nuggets were better, too. More than crispy skins. Mmm. There's our hoard of ketchup in the background. We didn't use it all, though Hick might have wanted to squeeze them into his ice left from the soda, and make a cup of pitiful man's gazpacho. He already had sour cream to top it with.

The Pony went with the Dairy-Queen-like Chicken Strips. He had three, but only ate two.

 

He left the fattest one for Hick, along with some of the honey mustard sauce. Warning: The Pony is a double-dipper! Hick didn't mind.

Nobody choked this time, but there WAS an issue with other diners. That tale tomorrow.