Ah. Waking up to totally splendid news. Potatoes may hold the key to weight loss. Yes. Scientists have discovered something-or-other just beneath the skin of a potato that when extracted and whirly-gigged in a lab and added to other stuff makes them healthier and weight lossier. An appetite suppressant, a natural one. The only catch is that you'd have to eat 3 or 4 potatoes to get the value of this suppressant. Fortunately, as my family will attest, I consider this small potatoes, if you will. All I am today is because of potatoes. I would eat potatoes 3 times a day. I often do. Maggie and I eat left over garlic mashed for breakfast, if we're lucky enough to have leftovers. If they built a potato church, I would worship there. I am made of good peasant stock, as my friend Arlene would say.
It was in this warm fuzzy mood that I moved along to the next section of my paper, to see Donald Trump's churlish mouth and swirlish hair staring at me. He is announcing he would consider running for President. Oh, goody. We were in danger of not having a loud-mouth, nonsensical narcissist running. If you don't count Sarah Palin, of course. The Donald warns us not to underestimate Mrs. Palin. Is that possible?
Moving right along to the Food Section, one of my favourite features, The Dish. Basically, you can write in and ask them to delve into the nasty details of your favourite dish. Personally, I think the only reason you should do this is if you never want to eat it again. Every single restaurant meal they rip apart is a heart attack on a plate, even the ones with lettuce in them. Lettuce is a decoy. You know that.
Anyway, today it's some poutine monstrosity that a reader cherishes more than kittens and long walks on the beach. Poutine is gross; truly. Ari decided to make some the other day. He took McCain frozen fries, an envelope of gravy we just happened to have in the cupboard (don't judge), and cubed up some mozzarella cheese. He assembed this mess. He ate this mess. I assumed this would cure him of the poutine routine for good. No, he just asked if when I went shopping I could buy cheese curds. I said yes. I didn't do it. The Dish declared this reader's indulgence to contain more than a day's fat, sodium and calories. I'd say the fact it looks like something somebody already ate and threw up should be warning enough.
I don't usually spend a lot of time in Entertainment, but I am pleased to know that Avril Lavigne's divorce is final. Actually, I thought she was 16, and not even aware she was married. Kids today. Those weird Quaids are in Canada. Who is Randy Quaid? The ugly brother. Some uptight place is debating pardoning Jim Morrison for flashing his willie on stage a thousand years ago. They should just let somebody like my late mother handle this kind of thing. I can just hear her saying, "Oh forgawdsakes, put that thing away, you're gonna scare the kids.". And that would be that. Maybe my Mom is in heaven with Jim Morrison.
Finally, The Star has new horoscope guy. He essentially writes these looooooooong pieces that guarantee you will find something in there to make you happy. I mean, isn't that the problem with short scopes? One word of bad, and you stay home all day eating chocolate and watching soaps. Nope, this guy offers up a buffet for every sign. Except today, he tells me to quit drinking wine, it's just making me kid myself. Arsehole. It's all fun and games until you realize the horoscope guy is crouched in your cupboard.
Go check yours.
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