I could blog all night... and I just might

The wifey must have had a long day. She fell asleep shortly after Mr. Man went down. I had expected to watch a Netflix video, perhaps some TV. But without my better half to bounce stupid comments off of, TV really is boring.

Yeah, I know. But I tried that sentence several times trying to keep the preposition from the end of the phrase, and it was much, much more awkward. I mean "off of whom to bounce"? Who talks like that?

So anyway, tonight I'm your late-night host. Kom-vira. Without the boobs.

So let me segue without grace. Right now I want to speak of a matter close to my heart.

This keeps me up at night, and I often find myself thinking about it at the most inopportune times. How embarrassing it is to cry in front of clients. And how do you answer your son when he asks "Daddy, why does it make you cry every night when you stick the barrel of the gun in your mouth?"

Namely, why are there cream-cheese filled jalapeno poppers? What the bloody, bloody Christ is that all about?

"Sir, I'd like a jalapeno popper, but more mild, please."

"We could provide some cooling sauce. Or a glass of milk."

"No, trusty waiter. What I desire is a popper devoid of spice."

"Umm... we could just give you a piece of cheese."

"Hmm. Tasty, but boring. Do you have any more boring 'cheeses'?"

"We carry cream cheese, sir."

"Yuck. Maybe you should put it in a pepper and fry it."

"As you like, sir."

And the rest is just as Satan himself intended it.

Now, I don't claim that cheddar is authentic Mexican, but I'm also pretty sure that a "popper" is also not so authentico. So just put cheddar or jack in the damn thing and shut the fuck up!

Cream, cottage, velveta and "cheese food" are all examples of things that are not cheese. Just like a "Vienna sausage" is not a sausage. Just like a Pepsi is not a Coke.

Oh, God, I'm crying again. How embarrassing.