A CB Smörgåsbord
Over the last few weeks, the CB world has been spinning so fast that it's been almost impossible to keep up. Every time a great new post unfolds, another has emerged to usurp its position at the top of the CB mind and jockey for prime posting position. In the spirit of equality, Señor CB hereby deposits a month of stingy goodness, with hilarious Toadman videos bookending the diatribe.
From Most Recent on Down:
9/7/07 - "Haggling Over the Cost of a Free Meal": Toadman and Mrs. Toad dine at restaurant in which Sr. CB is employed in a managerial capacity. As they had brought a much needed tie pin (holds splattered tie in place, thereby keeping it from swinging around like an elephant's trunk), their ever generous tadpole decided to graciously treat them to a free meal. Upon checking up on the parental units, Sr. CB encountered Mrs. Toad itemizing the receipt in order to figure out how the total she didn't have to pay ended up being so much (her defense: "I was just trying to figure out how much to tip"). Apparently at issue: they'd have preferred their son apply a coupon and then comp the meal, thus lessening the original total and, concomitantly, their tip burden.
8/24/07 - 9/7/07 - "The Blown Out Blender": Over the past two weeks, Sr. CB, an avowed smoothie maniac, has successfully ushered two blenders into the next world. First, we explore the tale of the little blender that couldn't. Once upon a time, there sat on a laminate countertop next to a crumby plastic toaster a metal clad glass-pitchered blender bearing a most euphemistic name. Max Elite was born into a brothel; this is to say he lived his life as a marked machine, one with no real chance of making it in this cruel world. Jettisoned to the nether regions - the Bloomington, Illinois lair of Madame CB - its only hope for survival rested with the Madame, a card-carrying Cheap Bastardress, intentionally neglecting to purchase the required smoothie-stuffs in advance of her Señor's visit. On many occasion, this had been the case, and Max Elite had been spared the insufferable three-minute grinding nonstop whirls that convert gritty ice and frozen fruit into a tasty yogurt-infused pureé.
But alas, the Madame herself one morn didst herself awaken to a craving for blended strawberry goodness. Perhaps she had a sweet tooth, or perhaps mixing a smoothie somehow made her feel closer to her beloved CB flipping burgers 150 miles away. It mattered not to Max Elite, as he steeled himself like a gladiator in the path of a fast approaching chariot. "Here goes", he thought. Sure enough, Madame CB wasted no time taking him straight up to full throttle. Max's motor ebbed and surged as icebergs made sporadic contact with his whirring blades. Built without adequate ventilation, Max Elite's motor immediately exceeded its recommended operating temperature. Looking up, he discovered with great horror that the smoothie was not blending; Madame CB had failed to add a sufficient quantity of milk to her magic potion, and the Madame appeared to be in no rush to disengage the motor, preferring instead to violently rock Max's pitcher back and forth so as to assist in the blending process. Realizing that the smoothie-to-be still remained stubbornly in a state of chunkification as his resistors melted away and an acrid smell emanated from his rotor, Max knew his time had come. He entered and promptly exited his denial phase, briefly entertaining hope that a new motor might somehow find its way to his core. The thought was dashed, however, by the cold hard fact that he was and would always be a Chinese blender sold exclusively to cheap bastards dumb enough to believe that his suggested retail price had once been $40. Alas, he was but a $20 blender at heart, and $20 blenders come up to bat waiting for strike three; in this world there are no heart transplants for $20 blenders. As he dizzily sparked his way into oblivion as the smoke billowed around up around his pitcher, he experienced one final tickle of abuse as Madame CB frantically placed his plug in different outlets and and turned his knob back and forth in a futile last-ditch mission of resuscitation. Max Elite drifted off to the eternal restfulness of the Scrap Heap in the Sky, and dreamed of returning in the next life as a Blend-Tec.
So, in a nutshell, Sr. CB bought Madame CB a crappy blender, and she broke it. From there, he then proceeded to allow his Black & Decker to suffer much the same fate as Max Elite. Immediately thereafter, he implored the Toadman to purchase for him a new blender, superior in every way to the aforementioned models. Toadman acquiesced, or so it appeared. However, Sr. CB failed to realize that Mr. Toad had his son's Visa on file with Amazon.com, and simply charged a new blender to his tadpole's account. So, as it currently stands, a bastard who once considered himself to be inimitably cheap has now purchased three blenders in the past three months.
So much for the smorgasbord - the CB has to go flip more burgers in five hours and has yet to sleep. So, for now, enjoy this clip of the Toadman and Mrs. Toad in their proverbial phone booth (actually a CTA station), changing not-so-discreetly into their superhero attire. More Tales from the Clipped to follow shortly.
From Most Recent on Down:
9/7/07 - "Haggling Over the Cost of a Free Meal": Toadman and Mrs. Toad dine at restaurant in which Sr. CB is employed in a managerial capacity. As they had brought a much needed tie pin (holds splattered tie in place, thereby keeping it from swinging around like an elephant's trunk), their ever generous tadpole decided to graciously treat them to a free meal. Upon checking up on the parental units, Sr. CB encountered Mrs. Toad itemizing the receipt in order to figure out how the total she didn't have to pay ended up being so much (her defense: "I was just trying to figure out how much to tip"). Apparently at issue: they'd have preferred their son apply a coupon and then comp the meal, thus lessening the original total and, concomitantly, their tip burden.
8/24/07 - 9/7/07 - "The Blown Out Blender": Over the past two weeks, Sr. CB, an avowed smoothie maniac, has successfully ushered two blenders into the next world. First, we explore the tale of the little blender that couldn't. Once upon a time, there sat on a laminate countertop next to a crumby plastic toaster a metal clad glass-pitchered blender bearing a most euphemistic name. Max Elite was born into a brothel; this is to say he lived his life as a marked machine, one with no real chance of making it in this cruel world. Jettisoned to the nether regions - the Bloomington, Illinois lair of Madame CB - its only hope for survival rested with the Madame, a card-carrying Cheap Bastardress, intentionally neglecting to purchase the required smoothie-stuffs in advance of her Señor's visit. On many occasion, this had been the case, and Max Elite had been spared the insufferable three-minute grinding nonstop whirls that convert gritty ice and frozen fruit into a tasty yogurt-infused pureé.
But alas, the Madame herself one morn didst herself awaken to a craving for blended strawberry goodness. Perhaps she had a sweet tooth, or perhaps mixing a smoothie somehow made her feel closer to her beloved CB flipping burgers 150 miles away. It mattered not to Max Elite, as he steeled himself like a gladiator in the path of a fast approaching chariot. "Here goes", he thought. Sure enough, Madame CB wasted no time taking him straight up to full throttle. Max's motor ebbed and surged as icebergs made sporadic contact with his whirring blades. Built without adequate ventilation, Max Elite's motor immediately exceeded its recommended operating temperature. Looking up, he discovered with great horror that the smoothie was not blending; Madame CB had failed to add a sufficient quantity of milk to her magic potion, and the Madame appeared to be in no rush to disengage the motor, preferring instead to violently rock Max's pitcher back and forth so as to assist in the blending process. Realizing that the smoothie-to-be still remained stubbornly in a state of chunkification as his resistors melted away and an acrid smell emanated from his rotor, Max knew his time had come. He entered and promptly exited his denial phase, briefly entertaining hope that a new motor might somehow find its way to his core. The thought was dashed, however, by the cold hard fact that he was and would always be a Chinese blender sold exclusively to cheap bastards dumb enough to believe that his suggested retail price had once been $40. Alas, he was but a $20 blender at heart, and $20 blenders come up to bat waiting for strike three; in this world there are no heart transplants for $20 blenders. As he dizzily sparked his way into oblivion as the smoke billowed around up around his pitcher, he experienced one final tickle of abuse as Madame CB frantically placed his plug in different outlets and and turned his knob back and forth in a futile last-ditch mission of resuscitation. Max Elite drifted off to the eternal restfulness of the Scrap Heap in the Sky, and dreamed of returning in the next life as a Blend-Tec.
So, in a nutshell, Sr. CB bought Madame CB a crappy blender, and she broke it. From there, he then proceeded to allow his Black & Decker to suffer much the same fate as Max Elite. Immediately thereafter, he implored the Toadman to purchase for him a new blender, superior in every way to the aforementioned models. Toadman acquiesced, or so it appeared. However, Sr. CB failed to realize that Mr. Toad had his son's Visa on file with Amazon.com, and simply charged a new blender to his tadpole's account. So, as it currently stands, a bastard who once considered himself to be inimitably cheap has now purchased three blenders in the past three months.
So much for the smorgasbord - the CB has to go flip more burgers in five hours and has yet to sleep. So, for now, enjoy this clip of the Toadman and Mrs. Toad in their proverbial phone booth (actually a CTA station), changing not-so-discreetly into their superhero attire. More Tales from the Clipped to follow shortly.
posted by Ryan at 3:15 AM
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