Chewy and flavorless. Yes, there’s salt and butter, but why not just have the toppings and save yourself the hassle of those annoying bits that get stuck in teeth?
Ground beef? Love it. Mashed potatoes? I like. Corn? Sure. All three together? Disgusting!
I still don’t understand why anyone would add these to anything.
Every day, my sister and I would rush home to eat lunch and watch The Flintstones. And, everyday, we would have to sit through a five minute episode this poorly animated Canadian “edutainment” production.
I didn’t even watch this show about two creepy clowns. Merely channel surfing by was enough to give me nightmares.
Every Sunday morning, my sister and I would have to get up and join fifty other kids in a cesspool of cacophonous commotion. Try not to brain yourself against some other unwary swimmer blindly swimming the backstroke!
Back in the day when there was no such thing as an NFL package, fans were at the mercy of their local broadcaster. And so, every Sunday, instead of watching my beloved Raiders (back when they were actually good!), I would have to sit through the abysmal play of the Jets and Patriots (back when they were actually bad!). Honorable mention goes to the equally terrible New York Giants whose games used to monopolize the 4:00 p.m. slot.
Every year, my parents used to pack us into my dad’s Ford LTD and we’d make the exhausting 6 hour trek to Toronto for my grandmother’s birthday. My sister and I would complain and my father would say: “Your grandmother’s getting on. She’s going to be 99. This will probably be the last time we make this trip.” And: “She’s going to be 100. This will probably be the last time we make this trip.” And: “She’s going to be 101. This will probably be the last time we make this trip.” My grandmother lived to 112.
Ceeripes! I couldn’t imagine a worse waste of calories than these chocolate-covered graham cracker-sandwiched marshmallow “treats” my grandmother used to serve us when we’d go visit.
If it wasn’t swimming lessons, then it was early-ish morning bible study. Sundays just weren’t my day. It’s even tougher when you’re a minister’s kid.