Not long ago, I posed a question regarding so-called “hamburgers.”  While I liked your ideas about why they’re not referred to as “hamburger sandwiches,” nowhere near a consensus was reached on this issue.  Looking for answers, I consulted Wikipedia, my source for mostly accurate information on almost anything.  The article started:  “A hamburger (or simply a burger) is a sandwich. . .”—wait, stop right there!  My point exactly.  A hamburger is a sandwich—so why is it not called a hamburger sandwich?  Hmm. . .

I recall once I tried looking something up on Wikipedia, but couldn’t because I had been “blocked” from editing.  What?!  I don’t even have a user account!  Someone obviously doesn’t want me accessing this information.  This was yet another odd occurrence in a strange string of mishaps:

The incorrect charges to my bank account.  The near car accident last winter (the driver in front of me was going so slow!).  At work: the schedule I was given turned out to be untrue—and I had to work every holiday.  The laundry detergent splash, temporarily impairing my vision, with a mess to clean up.  (Why wasn’t the cap screwed on?  New containers don’t come off the truck that way!)  A typo, affecting only me, which resulted in no paid shift differential for weeks. 

My luck didn’t run out—it just went bad.  I moved.  Trying to run from my problems, I guess.  But a change of scene didn’t change me.  Things caught up to me rather quickly—I never really got away.

The checking and ATM cards that didn’t work.  The insurance company’s failure to figure my new rates.  eBay’s rule changes—detrimental to sellers—that coincided with the start of my online business.  College starting the same day as a previously planned road trip’s departure.  My email account’s sudden inability to send messages, my glasses falling apart (even though I hardly wear them, or contacts either), the post office not forwarding my mail. . .

Recently, I had to take detours to get around the bridge/tanker explosion in nearby Ellenton.  Now the bridge across the Mississippi in my hometown has been shut down for safety concerns.  This after the bridge collapse in Minneapolis—a bridge I’d traveled across many times on my way to Twins games.  Coincidence?  I had my favorite Twins hat stolen from my car.  A GPS navigator was also stolen, which I can understand—it’s an expensive device.  But why would someone steal my Twins hat?  It’s very clear now:  someone is messing with me.

Don't sit there!  It's not safe!

All this over hamburger sandwiches?  I don’t think so.  There must be something greater at steak, er, stake.  (Pun unintended. . . aw, who am I kidding?  Pun totally intended, and it was hilarious!)  “Hamburger helper” happens to be slang for crack cocaine, and “hamburgers” for Ecstasy or, as it is also referred to on the street, “Methylenedioxymethamphetamine.”  So does this have something to do with my stance on the so-called “war on drugs?”  Or money laundering, perhaps?

I don’t have all the answers yet.  For now, I think it’d be best if I kept a low profile for a while.  I’ve adopted a new disguise.  I may even cut my hair.  (Yes, all good things must come to end—my hair cannot grow on forever.)  Hopefully they don’t get me before my next blog. . . .  Oh, what have I done?  I’ve said too much!  They’ll be after you too now!  Run!  Save yourself before it’s too late!

I’ve been seeing other people post song lyrics on their blogs.  So, since I don’t feel like writing anything original right now, I’ll do the same.  I picked a song that has a lot of meaning for me—I can’t think of a more appropriate way to express my true feelings.

WARNING:  “Squeeze Me Macaroni” by Mr. Bungle contains explicit(ly delicious) lyrics.

Remember on Seinfeld when George starting bringing sandwiches into bed, so he could combine his love of food and sex?  Well, this song is kind of like that.  I’d like to have these lyrics memorized—this will probably take priority over working on my French and Spanish for a while.  So when someone asks, “Are you hungry?” I can say:

I wanna lock Betty Crocker in the kitchen
And knock her upper during supper
Clutter up her butter gutter
Hostess Ding Dong wrapped an eggroll around my wong
While Dolly Madison proceded to ping my pong
Your Milky Way is M'n'M in your britches
And I'll tell you Baby Ruth it looks mighty delicious
Keep blowing my gum, cuz here I come
I'm gonna get you all sticky with my Bubble Yum

Knick knack paddywhack and give your dog a bone, baby

I was givin' some head to some french bread
It was a four course orgy on the spread of my bed
French kissin' french fries in my Fruit of the Looms
I get deeper penetration with a fork and a spoon
If you're still hungry, there's more here...