Parrothead Ramblings

Holy Madonna and Child, or a sodium-encrusted ampersand? You make the call.

I found out yesterday that some genius sold a pretzel on Ebay for $10,500. No, not a pretzel factory. One pretzel. The thing about this one was that it supposedly looked like the Virgin Mary. The Golden Palace casino in Antigua bought the damned thing, I suppose because it's a nice match for the Virgin Mary grilled-cheese sandwich they bought in November for $28,000. As soon as I heard this intriguing story, I went on Ebay myself, and offered to sell my grapefruit that looks like an ass-crack. I put a “Buy It Now” offer on there for $12,500, because it’s a pretty nice ass, if I do say so myself. My buddy Steve gave it to me at my Super Bowl party, but I haven’t eaten it because, well, because it looks like an ass-crack. Besides, grapefruit pretty much tastes like shit in my opinion, anyway. I guess there’s a weird sort of symmetry in that.

Whatever. I got no offers, which really sucked because I was counting on the cash to pay for a trip to Meeting of the Minds this year. Then it dawned on me: No one wants my ass-crack grapefruit because it has no religious significance. I mean, a nice ass is a lot of fun to look at, but it won’t get you into the hereafter like the Holy Mother in a chicken chimichanga. I rifled through the pantry and fridge, but all I had on hand was an overripe cantaloupe with a vague resemblance to Jerry Falwell. Failing that, I headed on over to Albertson’s to see what I might find that would be suitable. Their management must be pretty secular, because all I found there were sports and entertainment figures. There was a turnip that looked like Brett Favre, and I would swear I saw Britney Spears in a Pop-Tart. (Think about that one a minute)Their Randy Johnson artichoke was astonishing, but wouldn't bring me the payday I was looking for.

So, I decided to hit the kitchen and crank out something on my own. I cooked up a pretty nice set of twelve apostle pancakes, but then my granddaughter mistakenly ate Thomas, Andrew and about half of Bartholomew. It wasn’t her fault. She was hungry, and I was preoccupied trying to roll out a John the Baptist flour tortilla. I had a pretty fair likeness of Mary Magdalene going on a toasted and buttered English muffin, but I dropped it on the floor and, of course, it fell buttered-side down. Now, it looks more like Dame Edna.

So, I’m back to my ass-crack grapefruit for now. I found that if you pencil on a pair of eyeglasses and squint a bit, it looks a lot like Dr. James Dobson. At least I got that going for me.
  |