You might be a redneck...

I knew we weren't in the Bay Area. I also knew we weren't in Westwood. What I didn't know is that by stopping in Nevada for gas, we had entered the land of the coolest t-shirts ever made.

Behold, I share with you this awesome t-shirt that accomplishes two wonderful purposes:
1) It expounds the virtues of eating meat
2) It sticks a pair of fingers, a la Moe, in the Curly-esque ojos of PETA and all the other "animals are more important than people" folks.

Fire up the BBQ, folks. Summer's coming soon!

Girl Scout Cookies Should be 501(c)

As my daughter's Girl Scout cookie sales wind down for 2008, I'm left to ponder whether or not the $320 we spent on lipid disks was worth it. If only Uncle Sam would make cookies tax-exempt under some number like 501. Funny thing is, we wouldn't be getting the largest deduction on her sales. That designation is reserved for her grandma in California who has now made two separate orders--and has yet to taste a cookie. They're sitting in our garage. My wife was on the phone with her Mother this morning taking a second order with the purpose, I believe, of pushing our daughter's sales total over 500 boxes. To her credit, she sold door-to-door and didn't pansy out like other kids by sending their cookie order sheet to work, plus she's worked all three store-front booth sales. That is one man-hour intensive little patch, baby. And she earned EVERY stitch of that little embroidered piece of fuzz!

Look lady, it's $7.42. Geeesh.

I got a call yesterday from a woman who was returning my call from Saturday. My daughter and I were out delivering the Girl Scout cookies she'd sold in January* and we came across a house which now had a "sale pending" sign in the yard--and where after two visits, no one had come to the door. We had a name and number from our sale sheet, so I called and left a message asking where to deliver the cookies.

The call on Sunday went like this:

Lady: "Hello? I didn't order any Girl Scout cookies."
Me: "Um, I have your order right here, Mrs. Weddle."
Lady: "Yeah, but I didn't order any cookies. I think you have the wrong house."
Me: "Well, let me check. You're Mrs. Weddle at [address] and your phone number is [number], correct?"
Lady: "Yes. But I didn't order any cookies."
Me: "How do I have your name, address and phone number written in handwriting other than my own, then?"
Lady: "When did you come by?"
Me: "Most likely, it was late January."
Lady: "Well, my husband was here then. He must've bought them."
Me: "Most likely. Where can we deliver? It's $7.42."
Lady: "I'll be home all day Monday."

Seriously. It's $7 for Girl Scouts. My wife delivered today. I hope she enjoys them after all the denial she was floating. I especially enjoyed how she disdainfully referred to how her husband must've bought them.

*My daughter is a cookie sales MACHINE. She racked up 352 boxes in pre-sale, and while we were out delivering sold another bazillion. She's getting like 59 patches and a trip to see some really important person somewhere. Choke on that other girls in the troop! Ha HAH! Even though she backed off a bit (on purpose) from last year's total, she still smoked the rest of her troop like a cheap (candy) cigar. She was all mad-dogging other moms when they came to pick up their daughters' cookie orders of like 35 boxes and 72 boxes. She was all "Yeah, uh-huh. That's how I roll. Triple-digits, baby. Bring it. I'm a Samoa-selling, thin mint-hawking, Do-si-Doer, yo. You're weak. Now take your All-Abouts and get out of my garage."**

**These words may not have actually been spoken by my daughter. They may have, in fact, been only thoughts which entered the head of her overly-competitive father. Still trying to verify that.