Archive for December, 2012

Here’s the deal. As something of a clean freak, I like to straighten up my kitchen every chance I get. And, as I was doing my quinquennial sanitizing, I came across a number of food items what had been sitting around longer than I’d expected. Sadly, I am not jesting when I tell you that I found some canned fruit with expiration dates from 2004. And just because those peaches were packed around the same time that Janet Jackson’s peaches were unpacked in front of a live Super Bowl audience, I had to throw them out.

Or did I?

Desperate for information (and thoroughly craving peaches), I dashed back to the pantry and began to sort through my various food stuffs. I found a variety of cryptic warnings: Best By, Sell By, Best Before, Enjoy By, Best If Used By, and Best Before Date. It was all so overwhelming. (The issue is only further complicated if you happen to pick up some snacks on your way out of your local electronics superstore and end up with a Best Buy Best By date). And, to top it all off, some items merely have a date stamped on them with no indication as to whether this is the packaging date, the suggested consumption date, or the don’t you dare take a bite if you cherish your sweet life date.

English: A tag sealing a bag of hot dog buns d...

But I’m fed up with not being fed up because some company has declared my groceries goners. I don’t need some box or jar to tell me my rye is dry, my kale is stale or my jelly is smelly. Expiration dates are like ticking time bombs in my cabinets. Eat…or else.

I’ve got enough stress in my life without these pesky dates pressuring me to consume. Stop making our fast food culture even faster, little, black Sell By stamps. Stop threatening me with spoilage, expiration dates! Stop yelling at me! Get out of my head!

Sorry. It’s been a long, peach-free week.

Sure, the food mega-producers want us to eat or toss our snacks post haste so that we can buy some more. But I say enough is enough. (Then again, what else could enough be?)

And, as 2012 is set to expire itself, it occurs to me that the grocery stores aren’t the only ones getting it wrong. In this time of deep contemplation and reflective reflection, I ponder how the Mayans predicted that our collective expiration date was earlier this month.

I now suspect that their estimation was more of a Best By date.

Part of me sees a lot of nastiness in the world and fears that they may yet be correct.

But wouldn’t it be something if we weren’t quite as spoiled as we suspect? Wouldn’t it be something if we were to go ahead and eat those peaches? Wouldn’t it be something if we proved them wrong?


Here’s the deal.

‘Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house
No computer was stirring, no printer, no mouse;
But WordPress was typed into Google with care,
In hopes that a new post soon would be there;
The readers were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of versus danced in their heads,                                                                                                                                                                              And Ma in her kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled down for a long winter’s nap –
When out on the laptop there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to Windows I flew like a flash,
Typed in http followed by colon double slash.
The moon on the screen created a glare,
And a sense of magic hung in the air,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature blogger who wrote like Shakespeare,
He sprang from my hard drive, with vigor and glee,
And I knew in a moment it must be McBee.
More rapid than eagles his blog posts they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:
“Versus Gum! Versus Sand! Versus Cross Country Races,
“Versus People Who Take Up Two Parking Spaces;
“Versus Flip Flops in Spring and Sporks in late Fall!
“Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!”
Up to my desk-top the blog posts they flew,
With amazing content – and great comments too.
And then in a twinkling, my screen grew yet brighter
with the clicking and clacking of one little writer.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Through the internet Makya came with a bound:
He was dressed all in sweat pants both purple and pink,                                                                                                                                                            And his clothes were all tarnished with white out and ink;
A bundle of fresh blogs were flung on his back,
And he tried as he might not to look like a hack:
His eyes – how they twinkled! His dimples: how merry,
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry;
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And his long white beard was attached with velcro;
He had a broad face, and a little round belly
That shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly:
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old blogger,
And I jumped when I saw him – as if I were Frogger;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his pen
And I knew that his writing was about to begin.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
Making fun of everything like an internet jerk,
And with one keyboard stroke, he decided to post
Showing the world what, this week, he’d decided to roast.
Then he sprung back to his Kia, to return to L.A.,
And he started the engine and left right away:
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight –
Happy Christmas to all, now it’s time to rewrite…

Here’s the deal. After an extended break from my normal versus content, it sure felt swell to stretch my legs earlier this week and tear the twelve days of Christmas a new one. And while I may have temporarily lost that lovin’ feelin’, I’m righteously finding it again by keeping my pedal to the metal and taking on an old friend – blog comment spam.

If you don’t have a blog (and recent studies indicate that nearly 18% of the world’s population still fails to write their daily thoughts for all to see on a web log), then you don’t get to experience the wonder of wildly unusual and terribly written spam clumsily disguised as a reader’s comment. So here’s a little taste of some of the spam I’ve received in the past few weeks…

1.       “I’m gone to convey my little brother, that he should also pay a visit this blog on regular basis to keep updated from hottest news update.”

Genuinely touching. I’m considering changing the name of my blog to, “Makya McBee’s Hottest News Updates Updated Daily With Hot New News Updates.

2.      “Consuming cannabis has different effects on different people, and things like organs, the heart, lungs, kidney and even your brain. Then a perfect example comes along fact to the avoid with grains Sensi est l’endroit parfait pour tre. The actuality is there is no way in heck American pot digital people going pipes. The truth of the matter is that weed, regardless of once cannabis Cannabis around with that there is help that has been proven effective.”

So many questions. What exactly are “things like organs”? Why did the comment suddenly, albeit briefly, switch to French? What in the heck are American pot digital people going to do about this situation? And since when have spambots been able to get high?

3.      “bfrgsadghbrghasgd, online casino, werfdeghjasbc, online casino, tggehfgbsacvnbwdf, online casino”

Okay, this guy’s not even trying. Where’s the dance? The slow back and forth of you pretending to be an actual person and not just a poorly designed computer program? It hurts my feelings that you’re not even trying.

Bsfdlignkdd, joke about spam, wefulsahdfe, joke about spam, tggefaddkjaysbjisd, joke about spam.

4.      “Undertake these guidelines with the excellent it, more on help night’s cure nasal difficulties.”

Is it just me, or would The Excellent It be a fabulous name for a band?

Winston Churchill in Downing Street giving his...
Winston Churchill’s famous “V” for “You own got to have victory” sign.

5.      “I acquire recently started a blog, the intelligence you fend on this website has helped me greatly. Acknowledges for total of your phase & process. “We are doing our superior. You own got to thrive in doing what is unavoidably,” by Sir Winston Churchill.

One of Churchill’s lesser known quotes. But in my ongoing attempt to fend intelligence, allow me to share one of my favorite quotes of all time. I believe it was JFK who said, “You own got to ask not what your country can do for you. You own got to ask what you own can do for you own country.”

6.       “Frogs don’t need dresses. Each of them has a different dress. Blue, red, yellow…in different colors.”

It’s hard to argue with the facts. The truth of the matter is he’s right…frogs don’t need dresses. Due in no small part to the fact that each of them already has a dress. Some of these dresses are blue. Some are red. Some are yellow. And blue, red and yellow are completely different colors.

7. “My family all time say that I am wasting my time here at net, however I know I am getting know-how every day by reading these nice content.”

Funny…my family all time say that I am wasting my time by replying to spambots.

Here’s the deal. For a “true love” these sure are a bunch of lousy gifts…

Twelve drummers drumming. Remember last March when we were downtown and I turned to you and said, “You know what would make an awesome Christmas present? A dozen drummers.” No? You don’t remember me saying that? Maybe it’s because I never did.

Christmas gifts.

This is what gifts should look like…notice the complete lack of feathers and leaping lords.

Eleven pipers piping. Really? As if the twelve-pack of little drummer boys weren’t loud enough. Believe me, no one ever in the history of the world said, “Bring me eleven pipers.” Nobody needs eleven pipers. Nobody wants eleven pipers. You’re making my aunt’s fruit cake look good.

Ten lords a-leaping. I have no idea what this one’s about. Ten dudes just jumping around my apartment? This is a present? Okay, Sir Hops A Lot, you and Kriss Kross can bound on over to the door and let yourselves out.

Nine ladies dancing. Okay…maybe I could get behind this one.

Eight maids a-milking. I probably enjoy cereal more than the average adult, but let’s not forget that the gift of eight maids a-milking also comes with eight cows a-being milked. And I can a-ssure you that there’s not any a-room at my a-place for that much a-livestock and that I don’t want to be the one to a-clean up after them.

Seven swans a-swimming. Swimming where? I don’t have a lake. Are you going to put them in the bathtub? Well that’s just fantastic. Thank you so much for the seven waterfowl. Maybe the smell of swan dung in the bathroom will overwhelm the stench of cow manure coming from the living room.

Six geese a-laying. Geese? How did you know? It’s just what I needed. Sure, I’ve already got a bathtub full of swans, but everyone knows that geese are way different than swans. For example, swans have a slightly longer neck, broader wing span and are only partially migratory, while geese are fully migratory. So this will be a real unique item for me. Thank you so much. And I just love the fact that you specifically trained the geese to lay eggs right as you give them to me. Or are they somehow perpetually laying eggs? Or do you mean that they’re just lazy, as in six geese a-laying around the house? Or is it lying around the house? Because it’s a known fact that only a select few know the difference between a goose and a swan and absolutely nobody knows the difference between lying and laying. If anybody tells you that they do know the difference they’re lying (or laying).

Five golden rings. Now we’re talking. One good gift after seven days of crap. Given the ever-increasing value of gold, this almost makes up for those ten freaks that won’t stop jumping up and down on my couch.

Four calling birds. What’s with the birds? Swans, geese, and now this? When I said I liked Big Bird growing up I think you took it the wrong way. Let me make this really simple. I don’t want any Christmas gifts that have wings.

Three French hens. Damn it! No more birds!

Oriental Turtle Dove

Turtle Dove

Two turtle doves. What the hell is a turtle dove? I know what a turtle is and I know what a dove is, but you can’t just put any two animals together. You can’t go to the pet store and ask for an alligator cat or a camel hamster. Seriously. There’s no such thing as a turtle dove.

And a partridge in a pear tree. Even if you’re talking about Danny Bonaduce I’m not interested. I’m sorry, that last sentence should have read, “Especially if you’re talking about Danny Bonaduce I’m not interested.”

Do you have any idea what my apartment would look like after this two-week gift giving spree? I’ve got a twenty-three person, two-instrument band in the corner with a royal mosh pit of hopped up lords vaulting about with nine broads. An octet of cleaning ladies have turned the living room into a freakin’ dairy farm. And the rest of the apartment is blanketed in feathers and bird crap as swans, geese, hens, doves and other assorted flying creatures jockey for position around the pear tree in the bedroom. I know you’re my true love and whatnot, but this is all a little overwhelming. I’ll take the gold rings and a couple of the dancing ladies and you can send everything else back.

And I think we should see other people.

Here’s the deal. If you randomly chose today to start reading my blog, it’s not going to make much sense. But I’m not about to apologize for that. If anything, I blame you. After all, I’ve been blogging this blog for nearly a long time now…where have you been?

No. I’m sorry. Let’s not get off on the wrong foot. If you want to make some sense of what’s going on below, you’ll need to first take a gander at my last two posts and the comments/entrants in my fabulous contest. But, honestly, you’re probably only here because you searched for something like, “Powerball winner,” “Girl Meets World,” “Grumpy Cat,” or “Gangnam style.” And for some reason the popular search engines of the day send people to my blog whenever they look for “Powerball winner,” “Girl Meets World,” “Grumpy Cat,” or “Gangnam style.” Probably because I not only included “Powerball winner,” “Girl Meets World,” “Grumpy Cat,” and “Gangnam style” in my subject headings, but also inserted the phrases “Powerball winner,” “Girl Meets World,” “Grumpy Cat,” and “Gangnam style” directly into my blog four times.

But that’s neither here nor there. It’s limerick time!


Boy Meets World

Limerick Meets Blog.

There was a young lady was humming,

Whilst on her guitar she was strumming,

One rockin’ Momma,

Who, along with her comma,

Was often thought quite becoming.



There once was a gal named Suz Pain,

Who always had food on the brain,

On each pizza pie,

She stacked parsley high,

And eating it drove her insane.



There was a young woman named Burks,

Who thought that key limes were just jerks,

So she gave them the boot,

And tried other fruit,

Crying out, “Hey, bananas, this works!”



There once was a woman named Jenn,

Who never, oh never, could win,

Even when she got first,

Her limerick was worst,

Because the last line didn’t even rhyme.



She picked dandelions in the yard,

And waited for a night that was starred,

A smile crossed her face,

As she looked out into space,

Just one question – Kirk or Piccard?



A smart blogger never betrays

An aunt (mine’s name is Hayes

And I hope she’s amused

Because that room that’s unused

Is where I plan to spend the rest of my days)



There once was a woman named Heather,

Whose comments were light as a feather,

But here’s something new…

Her swimsuit says, “Moo.”

It’s made of the freshest of leather.



Jenn said, “I don’t mean to boast…

But I’ve read each and every post.

From East coast to West,

Your writing’s the best.”

(No surprise I like her comment most)