I hereby issue a decree: the cherry tomato is the new cherry. That is all.
WHY I’M ANGRY TODAY
For maybe the tenth time, I received the following voicemail: “Please call Mr. Parker at 1-888-xxx-xxxx.” That’s all it says, and it raises some questions. Who is this mysterious Mr. Parker? Am I right in assuming that he’s just pedding some sort of insurance that I will never need? Or: Is he an operative for the O.S.I. who knows of the current whereabouts of the Sasquatch, and he’s assuming that I am actually Col. Steve Austin instead of a pasty, beer-gut-havin’ dude from suburban Michigan? Does he need me to tussle with the beast otherwise known as Bigfoot—a mighty struggle during which I will almost certainly rip the brute’s arm off, revealing to one and all that he’s actually an alien-made agent of doom?