Geez, what I wouldn’t do for a strategically placed Q-Tip in my left ear right now. 

Sometimes the moment arises where you have an itch just deep enough in your ear canal that your fingernail just can’t reach.  At the same time, a paper clip or the door key to your 1984 Chevy Citation just won’t do the trick.  That’s when the Q-Tip or even the more generic term “cotton swab” does the trick.

You didn’t come here to read a thousand words on the virtues of ear canal nirvana did you?  If you did, I’m afraid that I’m going to stop at about a hundred.  While the subject matter does deserve some attention, I just can’t see eating up precious space on the web with verbal brilliance about the attention whores the nerve endings in my ears have become in my approach to my mid-life metamorphosis.

One of the few conveniences the arrival of the 21^st century has provided to us is the ability for just about anyone with a camera built into their cell phone to take a picture of just about anything and publish it to the web nearly instantaneously.  For that matter, they don’t even need a computer to do it.  Anyone with a data plan or some sort of web access on their phone can do it now. 

I’m sure Thomas Edison would be proud.

The perfect example comes from last week when I posted a picture of succotash to my Facebook photo album from a booth at Ruby Tuesdays.  The decision to post a picture of vegetables that day was probably a smart one.  Had it been twenty years ago and I had been with a group of my buddies instead of my beloved wife and kids; I would have looked to get a picture of the sweet young thing that put that succotash on the table in front of me.  Being the devoted husband and father that I am, I opted to post a picture of the vittles instead. 

When I uploaded the picture, I put a simple caption on it which said “Sufferin’?” 

Whereas a couple of the enlightened souls who grace my friends listing would normally add their own commentary to such a picture, no one responded to it. 

On a side note, my teenaged son has taken to using the lovely young lady who served us our dinner that evening as the benchmark in which to compare other observations he makes when out in public.  “Wow.  She’s almost as hot as the one a Ruby Tuesdays.”

For those of you who have never encountered a boy in his teens whose hormones are starting to rev up, it’s really quite an amusing sight.  Sure I went through the same thing at his age, however at this point I get to watch it from a “been there, done that” point of view. 

Just the other day while surfing the net, I ran across the symptoms of heat stroke in dogs.  Those signs are wide eyes, bright red tongue, thick saliva, and heavy panting.  Anytime Megan Fox shows up on the TV around here, my son displays the same symptoms. 

With the launch of TharpSter.Org last year, I’ve found myself to be more apt to take pictures of the weird stuff I see so that I can put them out there for everyone to see.  I’ll be the first one to admit that I’m usually one of a small few to find anything in these pictures to be humorous, strange, or ironic.  On the other hand, it gives me something to write about outside of the shenanigans being perpetrated on the American people by my dogs, Congress, or even TOTUS & The Symbiont. 

In the last month, I’ve encountered two different instances which either didn’t make sense, or seemed just a bit odd.  Technically I can think of a third, however how much can I really expand on the cargo shorts I bought yesterday that had a belt sewn into the waist band AND a set of belt loops?

Last night, the CFO of the organization made a delicious chicken fajita dinner.  She grilled up some peppers and onions along with the chicken, and made some fresh homemade salsa and pico de gallo to boot.  We also had some nacho cheese out of a jar for additional chip dipping.  I’ve never really publicized it, but we have a rule within the organization which dictates that all chips should be dipped.  No exceptions.

As tasty as dinner was last night, I’m still trying to understand why the whipped cream was on the table with everything else.

Speaking of food, let’s talk turducken.  For those of you who aren’t familiar with this dish, it’s a combination of a turkey, a duck, and a chicken (all deceased).  The unique thing about this combination is that one is shoved in another, which is then shoved in another in an effort to produce a culinary delight.  I personally have never had a turducken, however I’ll say this.  Any dish which possesses the word “turd” in its spelling is going to give me pause to consider whether I should really be eating it.  Consider dishes like turdloaf, turdsoufflé, turdchiladas, and turdgumbo.  Authors note:  I had to add those words to the custom dictionary on my PC here so as to get rid of the little red squiggly lines which frequently warn me when I’ve misspelled something.

Anyway, turducken appears to be available in presentations other than the traditional ornithological Frankenstein you may see on a lunch or dinner platter on the fourth Thursday of November around the time of day either the Detroit Lions or the Dallas Cowboys are playing football on TV. 

That’s right people.  Turducken is now available in a can.  It’s not one of those gallon sized cans that you can buy at the local warehouse grocer either. 

Nope.

This stuff is available in a 14 ounce can like your normal can of vegetables.

I should take the opportunity now to let you know that even though you can purchase turducken in a can, its availability may be limited.  Try the pet food aisle at your grocery store first.  If that doesn’t work, you should be able to find it at Pet Smart. 

Give me a quick show of hands now.  How many of you are wishing I wrote about the wonder of Q-Tips?