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6:01 a.m. - 2005-12-12

I NOW PRONOUNCE YOU MAN AND MOXI


I got my Moxi.

I no longer have time for food, water, sex, relationships, exercise, work, leisure, parenting or personal hygiene.

I have invested in my first case of Depends undergarments.

Because ... I got my Moxi.


At first, I literally thought I'd never move from the television because when Mox was installed (I call it Mox because we're lovers and lovers have cute little nicknames for each other ... Mox calls me "Friend") the cable guy was here for 30 minutes, hooked the brutha man up and left.

I started flipping through the channels and ... hey ... wait a second ... where did these 32 different movie channels come from?

I didn't order ten different HBOs, five Encores, 12 Cinemaxs and five Movie Channels.

They ... they must be ... free.

Because it was almost noon (somewhere in the world), I called work and told them that rather than drive all the way into town for a few hours of work, put me down for a sick day.

Because I was sick of not having movie channels for the last three years.

I watched "Curb Your Enthusiasm" for the first time.

Eh.

I probably have to invest more time into it.

I moxied "Racing Stripes" because (in my eyes) you can never have enough truly shitty movies on your Moxi.

Which explains why I Moxied the recent "Stepford Wives" too.

I had that bad boy set up to record movie after movie of crap I never had any interest to rent ... but would watch in earnest while it was free.

This freefest lasted all of 48 hours.

And then ... instead of shitty HBO movies ... blank screen.

I sighed loud enough to wake Arkansas.

I refuse to pay for the movie channels because they're like $580 more per month and have nothing but shitty movies on them.

So now ... Mox doesn't ummmmm ... she's not as appealing as she was when she was gleefully recording the Exorcist prequel.

Don't get me wrong ... she's still one hot and sexy piece of technology wrapped up in a silver box.

But I liked her better when she was illegally recording complete and utter shit for me.

Ain't that just like an inanimate bitch?


While doing my grocery shopping yesterday, I came up with a brilliant idea.

I was going to make Chiliburgers.

Hamburgers that were like chili on a bun.

These are easy to do ... make hamburgers, get some canned chili, and pour it over the burger when it's done.

I wanted to take it to the next level.

I bought ground chuck.

I mixed in chili powder, cumin and paprika.

I got out the blender.

I pureed a can of chili beans and a can of diced tomatoes.

I poured that into the ground chuck and spices.

I mixed it all together and formed patties with it.

Very ... wet patties.

I grilled it and ... have you ever had grilled soup?

No?

Have you ever watched hamburger patties basically EXPLODE on the grill and melt into the fire?

No?

Well, buddy ... you ain't lived.

Fifteen minutes, a couple of frozen chicken breasts and an endless round of bitching from the Mrs. and we had a lovely grilled chicken dinner.

I not only have to go back to the drawing board, I've got to go out and buy a drawing board because I shattered the drawing board I had with the chiliburger idea.

But I'll figure it out eventually.

Next time, only half the pureed mixture goes into the meat and the other half is warmed and poured over the burgers once they're finished.

See?

Emeril ain't got shit on me, baby.

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