Pwn Stars

There is this reality TV show on the History Channel called Pawn Stars. Basically, it captures the daily routine of a pawn shop in Vegas.

On one particular episode, a woman comes in trying to sell a small battle axe. Interviewed alone, she says "I think this is a 15th century battle axe. I think it is a 15th century battle axe because I'm a smart enough person to look at it and know." Wow.

But wait. It gets better.

"I think it's from an Asian country (meaning a southeast Asian country). I think it's from the 15th century because I see similar ones on the internet and in those movies they make these days, they always have these types of axes." Wow. Great research. The internet and movies. Damn, and here I wasted my time and money on university when I could have couch surfed.

Now I'm no expert on weapons but I could have told you it wasn't southeast Asian. I also could tell you that since it wasn't rusted to virtually nothing, it wasn't from the 15th century. Having the expert come in, sure enough, it's Indian from the early 19th century. So much for the University of Couch.

Chicken Sandwich

Normal chicken sandwich: bread, lettuce, tomato, chicken, sauce, bread.

Fast food chicken burger: kaiser roll, lettuce, tomato, bacon, cheese, sauce, kaiser roll, medium coke and medium fries.

Fast food chicken burger the Kentucky way: deep fried battered chicken with 11 herbs and spices, cheese, bacon, another slab of deep fried battered chicken.

This is why America is getting fat. But at least it's getting fat with a party in its mouth.

GSG9

Here's your chicken. Name it. Love it. Grill it up and toss it in a salad.

This is how Germany trains anti-terrorist units.

Nightmare

I was walking through a cobbled square in Europe with Lily when she spotted a pair of young children, a boy and a girl perhaps four or five years old. Lily, the ever lively black and white beagle, broke from my grip and went charging for the little blond girl. She only wanted to play, you understand.

The girl, terrified, produced a whip or strap seemingly from nowhere and proceeded to fend off my abashed dog. The whip struck - the girl was amazingly talented at using a whip for a young child - and slashed a blood red streak across Lily's chest and and down her front paw.

"Nein! Nein! Sie ist... Sie ist sehr freundlich!" I cried, charging through the empty square after my dog. I wrapped my arms around her, protecting her from the vicious assault of the child and she nuzzled into my shoulder with a whine as tears welled in my eyes. Over the child's shoulder I saw the blue cartoon uniform of the dog catcher coming at a good clip with a butterfly net to haul my abused dog off for trial.

I stood and began to run. "Lily, come!" I shouted as I sped down a narrow alley, turned the corner and passed through an arch, headed for the brick wall and it's wrought iron railing. But Lily's injury slowed her down and she couldn't keep up. She hobbled behind me, trying to run on three legs. Her big brown eyes pleaded with me to protect her. She only ever wanted to make friends. But as I reached the wall I fell into bed and woke up with her sleeping peacefully along my leg.