I'M YOUR INTERNATIONAL LOVER

If you're like me (Heaven help you), you are finding yourself in a deep mourning period today over the fact that Funky Fries have officially bit the dust.

I still remember my first and only experience with Funky Fries. It seems as if it were only eight months ago when it was really seven and a half months ago.

I was in charge of the grocery shopping for that week and on the grocery list, Susie had written "Fries".

I was trying to find some fries that were interesting and honestly, there has never been a more interesting French Fry than Funky Fries.

They had all these different flavors ... sour cream and onion, cinnamon, chocolate, chunky vomit (but you could only get the chunky vomit fries after trying to choke down the cinnamon fries) ... and they were all different colors.

I bought the sour cream and onion fries.

One night, I made hamburgers and we had some Funky Fries to compliment the meal.

These were some of the nastiest damned things I had ever put in my mouth ... and yes ... I ate these months before yesterday's episode had ever taken place, thankyouverymuch.

They tasted like sour cream and onion-flavored cat turds.

Usually, I'm not that keen on throwing away groceries because I was raised to clean my plate.

But damn.

Funky Fries bit the dust early on in our household.

Farewell Funky Fries.

We hardly knew thee.

But I think that's kinda how we wanted the relationship to go anyway.

I'm having breakfast with a German travel writer this morning.

Apparently he writes for a big national magazine in Deutschland.

I'm going to point out on the menu that they don't serve sauerkraut for breakfast in America, laugh heartily and slap him hard on the back so he knows I'm joking with him over his German heritage.

I sure hope he gets the joke and doesn't try to gas me.

Then tonight, I'm having dinner with 30 Korean businessmen.

The Einstein that booked their stay in the city has made reservations for us all at a Japanese Steak House.

This should be a fucking circus and a half.

All I know is, I plan on looking at the menu and then saying in mock outrage "What?!? You don't serve broiled poodle?!? What in God's name do you expect my friends here to eat if you don't serve dog?!?"

I don't think all Koreans eat dog. It's probably just a small portion of the population that finds Fifi scrumptious.

Hopefully, these will be the Koreans that DON'T eat dog, because then my joke won't be as funny and they'll really be hungry for dog and we'll all be scrambling around behind the restaurant trying to find a stray pooch to hack up and serve on a bed of delicious sauteed onions.

Now you see why my job is so stressful.

Andrew's got the pink eye.

And once again ... that's not a leftover sexual slang from yesterday.

He's got the actual goopy eye crud that's disgusting to look at but amazingly tasty when spread on an English Muffin.

Well...at least it's tastier than those gawdawful Funky Fries.

So far, Susie and I have managed to avoid catching this highly contagious funkfest.

But Andrew's stumbling around and bumping into walls like a pirate without his eye patch.

I've got to say ... I'd feel sorry for him if it wasn't so damned funny to watch.

*WHAM!*

*CRASH!*

HAHAHAHAHA!!

*WHAM*

*CRASH*

HAHAHAHAHA!!

You get the picture.