




In case you didn’t know it, today is National Cheeseburger Day, and Fuddrucker’s is offering their 3-Pound Burger Challenge. If you can finish your burger and 1 lb of fries in ONE HOUR, then you will receive a $25 gift card. Woot! That’s enough to buy some Pepto and Tums. At least now we know where the beef is.

And as far as the image up top, well, that’s actually football coach Bo helping Indiana University beat Minnesota’s Golden Gophers in the fall of 1942.

And the concession girl is making eyes at you
and you’re wondering why you even bothered to ask Nancy out
in the first place
to see the stupid “Pink Panther”
when you’d really prefer “The Great Escape” in the theater down the hall
and you’d just as soon shove the Necco wafers and Charleston Chews down her throat
so you don’t have to stand here impatiently
as the minutes tick by


We ate quite literally high on the hog today because Labor Day and because BBQ and because America and because after watching over an hour of Senator McCain being eulogized, I felt deeply that it was what he would have wanted (RIP to a national hero).
The wall of our BBQ joint booth was covered with old fruit crate labels (gorgeous, bold color art that I find preferable to almost all modern art). Among the Frisco, Statue, Floyd’s, and Bellboy, was a Piggy Pears. I had to say it aloud.
What’s the pork-pear link? I don’t know. With that basket, it appears that Piggy just came from market. But we all know that in the nursery rhyme, “This little piggy went to market,” that doesn’t mean the piggy is going shopping. That means the piggy is going to BE the market, to BE sliced up at the deli, and eventually fried up and slid aside two sunny side ups. C’est la vie, no?
It bears repeating:
Piggy Pears
Piggy Pears
Piggy Pears
But don’t go overboard.


Wouldn’t you like your family to follow you into the dining room like this tonight? They are entranced by the perch. Aren’t we all?




FINALLY! Something I could actually put on my head without compromising my cervical spine. Minus the squatting, though. I don’t many Americans who squat outside the gym.



Why so gross, National Geographic? Did you have to frame your pic this way? That fish looks dry and crusty. I wouldn’t even use the herbs, for fear of nasty contact contamination. Perhaps a brighter, fresher image would do, like this one of Anthony Bourdain among seafood fare that looks much more appetizing. RIP.


Ah, yes. In the years before talk of puppy mills and Pit Bulls & Parolees, folks would go to the Pet Shop and actually procure puppies there, not just on the days when the Humane Society pimped strays on Saturdays. Can’t you just smell their little puppy breath and the softness of their puppy heads? This is part of a 1956 ad for Friskies.

Now, I’ve had plenty of dogs in my day, and they all liked meat. Carrots, no. Cabbage, wouldn’t touch it. Celery, forget it. But chicken and beef and pork? Yes. Basically any of the Chipotle proteins, dogs like. Now in case you didn’t skim the ad up top, it says Friskies contains “lean red horse meat.” Yum! Giddyup! So we can safely assume those beagle puppies were into horsemeat. It makes me wonder about Jemima. Jemima was the beagle we lost last year to cancer, and she looked nothing like Snoopy, who is also purportedly a beagle. Even this Pinterest image shows you that Snoopy and beagles have hardly anything in common. But I bet they’d both eat horse meat.
And turkey.

And bacon and eggs.

Maybe, just maybe, they’d both like watermelon for dessert, like this happy beagle.

But then it’s strictly back to horse meat.

It’s not often that I get to say “I’m too young to remember this,” but since I wasn’t alive in the 60s–hey, I’m too young. I was flipping through my 1967 LIFE and saw this image of Bert Lahr.

It didn’t make me want to eat Lay’s. It didn’t make me want to wear a blackjack dealer visor. Instead, it raised red flags.
If you’re over 55, you may recall this ad. It’s chock full of everything that makes people cringe these days, and I don’t mean the minimalist background. Racism and poor acting and stealing, oh my!
I’ll choose to remember him as the Cowardly Lion, and not as the Lay’s pitchman. RIP.