You Say “Vacation and I Say “Nakation”…

I got invited to dinner the other night and couldn’t make up my mind about what not to wear.

The-Bunyadi-Londons-Naked-RestaurantYep.  That’s right.  I was headed out to try one of the hottest new dining trends … I call it “Nudie-Foodies.”

Okay … so I made that up … but only the part about being the invitee.

The fact is, you can go to dinner and cocktails (Is that an unintended compound pun?) at Bunyadi in London, England (maybe that’s another unintended pun – “Bun.”), Collingwood in Melbourne, Australia, or Amrita in Tokyo, Japan.

And, you don’t have to worry a second about what to wear or spilling anything on your new clothing … because you won’t be wearing a damn thing.


You’ll be bare-assed naked standing, mingling or sitting with an entire restaurant full of other “Nudie-Foodies.”

And given my warped brain proclivities, I immediately started thinking …


About etiquette and table manners:  Things like, do I do the “A-Frame air kiss” or go for a big ole man-sized bear hug?

When I meet someone, male or female, how much “eye control” do I exercise?

Is “laugh and point,” grounds for immediate expulsion … without a refund?

What am I supposed to wash after I use the “facilities?”  I can see a sign in the Men’s Room:  “Please wash hands and your junk thoroughly before returning.     Thank you, The Management.”


About germs:  Every microbial life form will have free and easy access to my body.  There’re freaking germs all over the place.  I have trouble with some places when I’m clothed from head to foot.  I wear shower clogs unless it’s my own damn tub.

Am I really gonna park my bare butt on someone else’s chair?

Oh, look … some guy just took his drink and left and there’s a spot at the bar.

Do I give the stool (Aargh another pun!) a quick Purell wipe-down?  Grab a cocktail napkin and spread it on the seat?  Or just hope the previous ass-on-the-stool was as clean as mine?


The menu:  My guess is items that refer to any form of “breast” are excluded as entrees.

Also, no “wieners, sausage, or any tubular meat contained in a casing.”

Ditto for the Japanese traditional “flirt-with-death” … “blow fish.”

And it goes without saying, no bull balls, Rocky Mountain Oysters or testicles of any kind will make an appearance on your table tonight.

So thanks for the “mythical invite and the almost memory” … but, I think I’ll keep my buns in my pants, my sausage in my tightie-whities, and my eyes to myself.

Just sayin’ …


And for those of you who want to “fact-check my ass,” click on these: …

Walter Cronkite … where are you when we need you?

mad-as-hell words“R.I.P.?”  Not Walter Cronkite.  He’s a veritable whirling dervish … spinning in his grave.  Poor dead Walter.

And what got him spinning started with Paddy Chayevsky’s 1976 screen play, “Network,” a prescient dark comedy about American news casting.

If you’ve seen “Network,” you probably recall Peter Finch as trench-coated news anchor, Howard Beale in his deranged soliloquy:

“So, I want you to get up now. I want all of you to get up out of your chairs. I want you to get up right now and go to the window, open it, and stick your head out and yell, ‘I’m as mad as hell, and I’m not going to take this anymore!!’”

But, if you’re blessed with my memory, most of the details have floated off into the “ozone layer of movies past.”

“Network Mad as Hell Scene:”


Plot Line:  Anchor for UBS evening news, Howard Beale’s a victim of death spiral sinking ratings.  He’s been told he’s fired which leads to his famous on-the-air tirade.

The rant’s witnessed by an uber-aggressive programming exec who’s trying to save her own endangered ass.  Thanks to her under-the-cover efforts, Beale gets his own show … billed as “the mad prophet of the airwaves.”

And “Network” gives birth to the news as the entertainment and Reality TV Frankenstein mutant of today.


Time Warp:  Paint Beale’s hair orange and voila, he’s Donald Trump delivering the famed 1976 rant.  If you want a 2016 setting, dress “Don-the-Con” in Beale’s rumpled trench coat and ask him a question about “Trump-U.”  Quickly duck for cover to avoid getting a spit-shower from Trump as Beale.

Today we have thought-free news.  News morphed into a storyline … a buildup then the hook … to keep us watching.

Then … two sound bites later, they’re off and running to the next big item.  The movie of 40 years ago and current reality TV?  Twins separated at birth.


Don-the-Con’s the creation of the Grand Old Partnership (GOP) and cable news networks.  Neither group blinked while Trump channeled his middle-school-bully, lying and dancing his way to win a plurality of angry GOP extremists.

Media pundits gave Trump free exposure in exchange for a ratings bonanza … dive bombing into shows via phone, Twitter, and occasional personal appearances.

Trump’s Winning Equation:  Trump = Ratings Increase = Network Dollars.


So stop spinning Walter and get your revered ass down here to straighten out this mess.  We need you … even if you’re only a Star Wars hologram.

I wanna hear one more time:  “And that’s the way it is.  Sunday, June 12th, 2016.  This is Walter Cronkite, CBS News, good night.”

Just sayin’ …

The Brady “Munch”

Okay … so the New England Patriots’ Deflategate-Cheatin’-QB, Tom Brady, may still get to play next year because he’s appealed his four-game suspension.

I tried your--I'm still not Tom BradyBut, he can never escape “flattened ball jokes,” so his quest for perfection is over.

What’s a poor guy (who’s worth gazillions) to do?

It’s simple.  He develops a “cookbook” for $200 a pop … and it sells out within hours of its publication.

So what’s so effing great about this book?


The short answer is, “Nothing.”

But some folks, at least 200 … the number of books sold on the first run … think there are a few reasons why you might want to own this “cookbook”… reasons which have nothing to do with cooking or nutrition.

First, the co-authors, Brady, Giselle Bundchen, his super-model wife, and Allen Campbell, his personal chef, call it a “nutrition manual,” not a cookbook.

Say what?

I Googled “definition of cookbook,” and according to those eggheads, Merriam & Webster, “It is a book of recipes and directions for the preparation of food.”

So there, Tom Terrific … it’s an effing “cookbook!”

Sure there are some beyond-Martha-Stewart-hard-to-find ingredients … but what the hell?  So what if a recipe calls for in-season doe earwax or ground-anal-gland from line-caught-tuna.  You can afford it.

And, if you’re Brady-Bundchen with a personal chef, you don’t care because you don’t spend the time prepping or cooking it … Chef does.


Well, maybe it’s worth $200 because of the laser etched maple cover and the 100lb textured paper.  Hmmm.

According to pissed-off users, the cover soaks up everything and the book is a pure pain-in-the-ass to use because it doesn’t stay open.

Well, it could be that it’s described as a “living document” and you GET TO PURCHASE new recipes from the world’s healthiest trio.

Hmmm, a non-cook-book-cook-book that needs a screwdriver so you can add recipes that you get to pay extra for.


Well … it’s just gotta be the dynamic duo’s famous “Avocado Ice Cream” treat.

Let’s see … Google “avocado ice cream” and in .33 seconds you’ll find 18,700,000 entries.  Surely Tom & Gisele’s recipe isn’t that good?

I got it … while I’m watching the Patriots march through another successful NFL season and settle in for their annual “Stupor Bowl” meeting with a hapless opponent, I can munch on Brady’s personal K12 super snacks.  Hmmm.

That’s so not happenin’ in my house.  Pass the nonBrady-approved jumbo bag of Fritos, please.

Just sayin’.