I Am Afraid of Non-Brand Name Sorbets

Do you like sorbet?

Do you enjoy the shivering, ice-like feeling it creates on your tongue as you shove a spoon ‘o the stuff into your mouth? Do you enjoy knowing that you’re eating the purest of pure…the most natural frozen taste experience that there is in this world next to frozen grapes? Does it help you go to sleep at night knowing that even if you ate an entire pint of the dang stuff that you won’t wake up with acid reflux since all it contained was fruit, ice and some chemicals…as opposed to huge swirls of caramel sauce?

Do you know that you should be afraid of non-brand name sorbets?

Today’s Brief Question About Why People Don’t Think I Can Pull Off The ‘Bat Thing’

I have a bat, okay?

No, not the animal that hangs upside down in a cave and screeches when you shine a light in its eyes. No, it’s a metal bat and I keep it hidden somewhere in my home so that when someone crosses the boundary that they’re not supposed to cross, I will take said referenced bat and beat the living crap out of them. And yet, no one thinks I can pull off “the bat thing.”

Why?

Why do people believe I have a tazer gun but they don’t believe I have a bat? Why do people believe I have throwing stars, but not a bat? I could easily be the guy with the bat. I even played Little League when I was a kid. I know how to use a bat, people. Give me a bat and a tense situation and I will “swing away” so well, that if I had to bash the head in of an alien creature in my living room — I would.

So why don’t people think I can pull off the “bat thing?”

I have great eye/hand coordination. I have broad shoulders. My arms are long enough to provide me with a great swinging arc, and combine that with my biceps and you’ve got a man who can totally pull off the “bat thing.”

I can.

So why do they think I can’t?

Today’s post is dedicated to midget children with Trisomy 21, a horrible chromosomal birth defect that one of my commenters sought fit to make fun of. I only hope we can someday find a cure for both the disease and insensitive commenters such as Logan X.

I Am Afraid That My Waitress Doesn’t Find Me Funny Enough To Tell Her Friends About Me

I like to impress people. Okay?

Maybe that’s why every time I go to a restaurant, I don’t see the trip as a food refueling. I don’t see the act of sitting down at a table and ordering food as a necessity. In all honesty, I like to treat each visit to a local restaurant as an opportunity to entertain the downtrodden. To add a spark in a wholly unsparkful day. To entertain my waitress with such skill that it will impact them more than they ever imagined.

Unfortunately, I am afraid that my waitress doesn’t find me funny enough to tell her friends about me.

I Am Afraid That Everything Around Me Is Bombarding Me With Radioactive Fallout

Forget about Iran for a second.

Why not worry about the kind of things you can find in your own kitchen, like the microwave. Or why not worry about the kind of things you strap to your head, like bluetooth wireless phone ear pieces or cell phones themselves. Or why not worry about the cancerous cells currently being formed inside your body thanks to the invisible faxes being sent wirelessly around you all day long?

Yes. Why not worry about those things instead of Iran.