We were having a casual conversation and I thought everyone knew that the whole-grain mush was working overseas in a “shock and awe” type bombing campaign.
I was just thinking out loud that oatmeal wasn’t making my job any easier.”
Yeah, but what about your sneaking around with Aunt Jemima? One of my black friends cheated his woman and she poured hot rice on his back as he slept. Can you say “steaming rice pudding,” Mr. Oatmeal? Don’t two-time a sistah.
Although I must admit, the little pink welts covering his black back were kind of pretty.
I know Duran Duran isn’t anywhere near as popular as they were back in the 80s, but who knew they’d been reduced to performing as a Def Leppard cover band?
Avoiding “Butterworth finger” . This joyfull little annoyance can be traced to the undeniable fact that Mrs. B is an outrageously “clingy” sugargirl. It starts from the basic unavoidable combination of Waffles/Pancakes, good crispy bacon, and the liguberous Mrs. B. It seems that even the best LandsEnd heavy rawhide work gloves cannot keep her from slipping down between your pinky and ring finger. Then its that icky feeling for the next two hours, being emphasized each time you pick something up and your fingers rub together. Back in your car (as you leave the deserted parking lot that it takes ten minutes to walk too if you’re visiting the San Jacinto tramway to the mountaintop lodge) you have lots of time to “feel” the discomforture that the wet, sticky bitch lays on you. Wrapping your fingers around the steering wheel further accentuates your misery, and you just know if you try to use a kleenex to dig her from your finger webbing it will just shred and move her around, making things even worse. Then in a fit of desperation you jam your tongue down between your fingers and are left with the remnents of said kleenex on the tip of your tongue, but the seatbelt gong is shreeking, and the car is rolling, so you need to just sit in abject agony for the next 8 miles till you’re back in your motel room and you can thankfully exorcise the bitch with a hard stream of nice hot liberating water and soap. The average person will experience this scenario for about 25 years before they finally decide to add a quick stop in the restroom on the way out of the restaurant. This isn’t a panancea however, since most restroom soap leaves an even more annoying crusty/greasy feeling on your hands. One pancake pundit has suggested rubbing some of the Pancake butter into your hands. the theory is that that Mrs. ButterBitch is not going to stick to a buttery surface. To him I say. Read the label on ButterSlimes ass dodo. “BUTTER-worth”…. get it…
Next on Ophra: “Women who have lost prominent body parts in kitchen accidents”….
Jeff Goldstein: The Oatmeal Whisperer.
I’ve had Mrs. Butterworth dozens of times. With my husband watching.
http://tinyurl.com/973qo
Big fucking deal. I’ve had Mrs. Butterworth dozens of times, too. Musta gone through twenty pounds of flour.
“I did NOT leak oatmeal’s name to Bob Woodward.
We were having a casual conversation and I thought everyone knew that the whole-grain mush was working overseas in a “shock and awe” type bombing campaign.
I was just thinking out loud that oatmeal wasn’t making my job any easier.”
– Charmin (roll #308945621, Midwest Division)
Yeah, but what about your sneaking around with Aunt Jemima? One of my black friends cheated his woman and she poured hot rice on his back as he slept. Can you say “steaming rice pudding,” Mr. Oatmeal? Don’t two-time a sistah.
Although I must admit, the little pink welts covering his black back were kind of pretty.
Now how about that double-team of Mrs. Butterworth and Aunt Jemima? Now that’s what I call one hot breakfast.
TW = recent, as in I just recently wiped the goodness off my face.
Thanks for that. I guess I’m off syrup for a while…
As they say, “Once you’ve done maple, it’ll be your staple”.
HOT! WET ! STICKY SWEET!
FROM MY HEAD DOWN TO MY FEET!
YEAH
She’s only 2-5% maple.
…But she does have a coextrusion blow-molded PP bottle and a pressure senitive label.
Jeff–
Nice whitewash of the original post.
You’ll never be eligible for a Pulitzer-prize now, Mr. Oatmeal Man!
Try for a Nobel.
I hear she really likes to go down on French toast.
Plastic Pleases Mrs. Butterworth!
Howie Luvzus
Mrs Butterworth was cruel at best, she chuckled when it was over, then she took the $20.00 off the nightstand, she thought I wasn’t looking
What, four posts on OATMEAL, and not one on Mother Sheehan’s® massive book non-signing at the Texas Ditch?
What’re you, some kinda COMMIE?
SB: rather
don’t tempt me.
You need to have faith, mojo.
I know Duran Duran isn’t anywhere near as popular as they were back in the 80s, but who knew they’d been reduced to performing as a Def Leppard cover band?
So sad.
Hey, that’s my late maternal grandmother you’re talking about.
Tapped it twice? Well all good assassins are taght to double tap. Makes sure it’s dead and all. A suitable fate for terrorizing oatmeal.
TW “light”… man saw that along time ago
– American Breakfast hazards –
Avoiding “Butterworth finger” . This joyfull little annoyance can be traced to the undeniable fact that Mrs. B is an outrageously “clingy” sugargirl. It starts from the basic unavoidable combination of Waffles/Pancakes, good crispy bacon, and the liguberous Mrs. B. It seems that even the best LandsEnd heavy rawhide work gloves cannot keep her from slipping down between your pinky and ring finger. Then its that icky feeling for the next two hours, being emphasized each time you pick something up and your fingers rub together. Back in your car (as you leave the deserted parking lot that it takes ten minutes to walk too if you’re visiting the San Jacinto tramway to the mountaintop lodge) you have lots of time to “feel” the discomforture that the wet, sticky bitch lays on you. Wrapping your fingers around the steering wheel further accentuates your misery, and you just know if you try to use a kleenex to dig her from your finger webbing it will just shred and move her around, making things even worse. Then in a fit of desperation you jam your tongue down between your fingers and are left with the remnents of said kleenex on the tip of your tongue, but the seatbelt gong is shreeking, and the car is rolling, so you need to just sit in abject agony for the next 8 miles till you’re back in your motel room and you can thankfully exorcise the bitch with a hard stream of nice hot liberating water and soap. The average person will experience this scenario for about 25 years before they finally decide to add a quick stop in the restroom on the way out of the restaurant. This isn’t a panancea however, since most restroom soap leaves an even more annoying crusty/greasy feeling on your hands. One pancake pundit has suggested rubbing some of the Pancake butter into your hands. the theory is that that Mrs. ButterBitch is not going to stick to a buttery surface. To him I say. Read the label on ButterSlimes ass dodo. “BUTTER-worth”…. get it…
Next on Ophra: “Women who have lost prominent body parts in kitchen accidents”….
This is the funniest post I have ever read. Ever.
Oh Yeah…..Def Lepard. For some reason I never could keep those two seperate in my mind. Your damned luckky I didn’t attribute it to Bon Jovi.