Doc and the Bimbo Posts

My wife sells doll cloths and American Girl dolls which she refurbishes.  She does this not for the money but for the joy she brings to pre-teen girls. She has three regular and two embroidery machines, plus three sergers, and blind hem machine.  All of these are in a 10 X 10 room with 22 plastic totes of fabric, each weighing in excess of 50 pounds packed from floor to ceiling on one wall. Then there is the thread, patterns, and sewing nosh crap that fills the rest of the claustrophobic space. I don’t enter that room voluntarily. Getting crushed by an avalanche of flannel and cotton knits is not a way anyone should die. I also have a phobia about sewing machines brought on by a mean grandmother when I was four years old. I played with her Singer, and she punished me by threatening to sew my fingers together. Never messed with her’s or anyone else’s since.

 As Judy’s devoted husband of 53 years, I am fine with her doll business, especially when she sells some as it partially offsets some of the cost of her obsession, and the fact that there are fewer doll faces to look at before my morning coffee. In the mornings I sometimes see movement as I walk past the shelf, they are on in the living room. No, they are not all in the sewing room.  Like the Russian army in Ukraine, they are slowly spreading out in the living room, dining room, and even in the closets in my weight room/man cave. I have applied for NATO membership but was denied as those cowards believe they may be next if they help me.

Judy has tried to sell dolls on the internet but has had better luck selling at Christmas craft bazaars. We live on the Oregon Coast, and there are craft fairs here, but coasties are cheap bastards. Therefore, we need to travel to the Willamette Valley for the more lucrative bazars so that we don’t lose even more money.  This means we camp in our travel trailer, usually at a fairground.  It costs fuel to get there, and the campground is not free.  We usually eat out two or three times as well.  Therefore any money she makes is eaten up.  I keep quiet about this.  First the back of my head is already flat and after I help her set up her table, I get some alone time with old war movies and nice single malt.  I used to smoke a lot of cigars as well, but I have given them up, god damn doctors!

The last bazar she attended was a doll show in Rickreall, Oregon.  Just imagine an 8,000 square foot building filled to capacity with dolls of every description with the exception of the anatomically correct blow-up kind.  Trust me, I looked.  If you have never been to Rickreall, I cannot recommend it unless you are into farm equipment and the traffic jams they create as they move from field to field along a two lane highway. Having said this, it does have one major redeeming feature.  It is in the heart of Oregon’s Pinot Noire wine growing country. There are so many of these within a few miles of the Rickreall fairgrounds that I spent a whole day tasting and tasting and tasting. Lucky for me that the last vineyard I tasted at was right across the street from my trailer, which means I could stagger rather than drive home.  Just had to wait a bit for a piece of farm equipment to show up in the distance to slow traffic to ensure that I made it even if I had to crawl.

I have been drinking wine since I was a boy.  Mom used to occasionally let me have a small glass at dinner on special occasions.  She preferred sweet reds like Manischewitz or Mogan David (AKA Mad Dog). These are kosher wines. No wonder that Judaism is the smallest of the five major regions on this planet. If they wanted to move up to number four, they need to up their wine game.  OK, Islamist don’t drink, but they used to smoke hash out of cool looking water pipes, which has some appeal.  However, it is now forbidden, so much for them moving up in the race to be number one.  Mom hated Jews but she liked their wine.  She drank it all her life and lived to be 93, surviving cancer four times. She had cancer when she died, but that is not what killed her.  I am not saying that her longevity was due to Mad Dog.  More likely her longevity was due to being to mean to die, but that is another story.

The point of the above is that I started drinking wine when I was in pimples and have kept up the habit to this day.  As time went on and as my pallet improved, I graduated to more sophisticated non-kosher vintages, like Boones Farm Apple, Pagan Pink Ripple, Chateau Lau Sall and ultimately Gallo Spinada. At one memorable binge drinking college party I was mixing Spinada and crème soda in what was known as a wine flip. Had a hangover for three days.  I think we called them flips because for those three days I spent a lot of time flipping open the toiled seat either to puke or shit.  And we called that fun.

My point is that I was in my late forties before my wine pallet was refined enough to discern a cabernet, from a merlot.  I have only recently leaned to appreciate Pinot Noire. I will never have a refined enough pallet to decern which of the three soil types the Pinot grapes were grown on, nor could I tell one vintage year to the next, but the maybe because I have a 75 year olds memory and by the third glass my decerning taste bud are numb.  By the fifth glass, it could be Mad Dog and would think it was the best I ever tasted.

What I can’t understand is how the barely out of high school, cheerleader type girl with the big hooters seems to have much more discerning pallet than myself. I had to drink an oil tanker worth of wine to get to my present state.  How did they get so knowledgeable without having to endure Mad Dog and Ripple.  Did they go to wine tasting school between trips to the tanning salon and cosmetic surgeon? Then I realized that they were not tasting the wines they were displaying next to their ample boobs.  I was being conned like a horny sailor in a Bangkok trans bar. They could never tell the difference between a Syrah and a Tempranillo. Neither could I, but I admit my ignorance.  But it was too late. Four bottles and a $150 later, I staggered across the highway and passed out in my trailer while watching Band of Brothers for the 15^th time.

After a few hours, I woke up, hung over but wiser.  I looked at the pricey wines that I bought and read their labels. How does a wine taste of blueberry, plum, and dark chocolate, or black currant, wild blackberries and vanilla? Aren’t wines made from grapes? Do they add these flavors in the chemistry lab? Wild blackberries? Are there tame blackberries? At least these flavors are edible, unlike some of the others flavors these overpriced libations claimed to have. Folks, I am not making the following up, these are actual flavors that these wines claimed to have. Are you ready? Hang on to your panty hose!

Tobacco

Smoke

Black fruits violets

Baking spice

Lush stone

Wet stone

Cracked pepper

Forest floor

Douglas fir

Douglas fir??? Really! What does Douglas fir taste like? Is it different than the taste of other coniferous trees? I get what wet stone tastes like, having slipped and face planted on it, but it is not a particular flavor that I would pay to taste, although I did. Lush stone? WTF.  Forest floor? In Oregon the forest floor is covered with pine needles, dirty moss, poisonous mushrooms and slugs!  They have to be making this shit up. And I can do better! Actually, I had help from my son with these. He went wine tasting with me.  After a few glasses at the second vineyard we started making up wine flavors as we ogled the wine girls presenting the uncorked bottles next to their boobs.  We were having a great time. His wife and designated driver er……not so much. Here are just a few of the flavors we came up with. There were many more, but it was hard to decipher my handwriting the next day.

Bubble warp

Kitty Litter

Fish tank gravel

Phiz Ed

Vinal lunch box

Bungy cord

Postage stamp

Yarn

Styrofoam cup

Wet dog collar

Unwashed socks

Warm light bulb

Tooth paste spit

Dry wall spackle

Recombinant bike sweat

Stripper thong

And finally..Pressure treated Douglas fir.

So much for Rickreall wine tasting.  Can’t wait to go again. I wonder if kosher vineyards have tastings?

There five major religions on this planet, Christian, Islam, Buddhism, Hinduism, and Judaism. There are additional minor religions several of which worship the earth, nature, and fertility. I am sure that there are many others with a few true believers that have yet to be defined by diligent study. For example, MAGA. However, I have discovered that there is one other major belief system that has be overlooked for all of human history.  This sinister, subversive, and secretive cult has devotees on every continent and in every country from the first to the third world. Where ever you are, what ever you are doing right now, stop and look at the person closest to you. Are they one of the evil elites of this cult? Read on if you dare as I reveal at risk to my own life their secrets.  They are FOODISTS!

I can feel you scoffing at me through my keyboard as I write these words, but I am not joking. It’s true and I have the empirical proof if you dare to read on. Be advised that I am quite sure that every race and culture on this planet has devotees of this cult, but I am only knowledgeable about the European sect of this vile religion.

When you see a person cross their chest, are they really acknowledging the father, son, and holy ghost? Foodist have their own holy trinity. Its onion, celery and bell pepper.   Google it, you’ll see.   Catholics have their mother Mary, naturist have their mother earth, and the Foodist have their mother sauces.  And just like the Satanic pentagram there are five of these. They are, béchamel, velouté, espagnole, hollandaise, and tomato.

Béchamel is gravy without the sausage.  First the foodie makes a roux (pronounce rue) which is heated butter and flour. As this originated in France, its misspelled as roux. Leave it to the arrogant, self-loving, wine snobby French to make words that end in x then mispronounce them. Then milk is then mixed into the roux and swished around a bit in the pan till it thickens.  A lot of trouble to produce what in America we call  white sauce and which you buy in a can and save a lot of time and effort.

Velouté, is made from a roux using chicken broth instead of milk.  This mother sauce even has a chant.  It goes:

Velouté oh oh
Cantare, oh oh oh oh

Nel blu, dipinto di blu
E che dici di stare lassù.

Just wait till DeSantis and Marjory Taylor Green find out about this hidden Foodist Satanic hymn which is disguised as an Italian love song. It’s not a love song! If you google translates these “lyrics”, they do not make sense and the translation does not even rhyme! It’s not a real song! It’s a Foodest chant designed to curry the favor of some satanic Foodest deity. Hearing it or singing it soils you soul. I am not making this up.  Dean Martin was quickly driven to drink from singing it and now rots in hell as he discovered its true meaning too late to repent his sin. 

Hollandiase is made with egg yolks, butter, lemon juice, water, and black pepper. Sounds innocent but what is the prime use for this sauce…eggs benedict!  You may think that this is innocent but its not. Think about it!  Who was the greatest traitor in American history…Benedict Arnold!  The whole dish is symbolic of treachery.  American poached eggs and ham layered on an ENGLISH muffin with a cowardly yellow (hollandaise) sauce poured over in an effort to conceal the treason.  

Espagnole is more complex. It’s made from carrot, onion, unsalted butter, flour, beef stock, tomato purée, garlic cloves, celery, whole black peppercorns, and bay leaf.  The name of this mother sauce is highly deceptive. It has nothing to do with Spain. It is a brown French/German sauce.  It’s called espagnole as French and Germans are white while the Spanish are brown. A racist sauce made with unsalted butter?  I’ve tried unsalted butter.  Might as well smear lard on your toast.

Last and least is tomato. Even though it looks like blood, over decades this gore sauce has lost its power as most humans use it out of a jar, premade, pre-spiced and ready to eat. Only a Foodist fanatic would make it from raw tomatoes with the red pulp splattering on their aprons like the medical examiners on CSI.

These five mother sauces have begot numerous daughter sauces which include such standards as mayonnaise, white wine sauce, bolognese, marinara, and more exotic sounding ones like allemande, ravigote and poulette. I won’t go into any of the recipes for these witches brew derivatives.  But what is the one thing they have in common. There are no male sauces! How is it possible for a mother sauce to give birth to daughters without fathers?  This is a sure sign to anyone with a brain that Foodism is a lesbian plot to eliminate men! Our first mistake was giving them the vote.  Then came for our muscle cars, our guns, gas stove, and the sacred incandescent light bulb.  Soon they will force us men into to urban walk up studio apartments where we will have to ride the bus to our meaningless, minimum wage jobs where we will be forces to service women for their pleasure.  And once they design attractive AI sex robots, we will be eliminated!

There is a problem with the above theory that Foodist are satanic lesbians who are scheming to destroy men as a gender. Lately I have uncovered new evidence that not all Foodists are women. Some of them appear to be men.  They are often called Chefs. Even though they are a strange group people who wear checkered pants and mushroom shaped hats, not all of them are gay or trans. Some of them are real men who just love to cook and eat fru fru foods.  Sadly, my own son is one of these. I had hope that he had finally escaped from the cult as he announced that he was no longer a chef.  That hope turned into despair as he proudly announced that he is now listed by his current employer as a “culinarian”. WTF. 

Its long past time that we as men must stop this vile cult. The first step in this crusade is to identify these fem-nazis and their delusional chef fellow travelers.  Here are  the most common signs:

Huge numbers of cookbooks often with multiple post-it notes sticking out of the pages.

Excessive and expensive kitchen gadgets like insta-pots, Kitchen Aid mixers with every attachment for making sausages to pasta, and other miscellaneous devices for which I have no clue as to their actual function (e.g. mandoline, tagine, vattan, le Creuset, pizzelle iron, and the infamous charcuterie board). As an aside, some charcuterie boards are penis shaped! Kinda goes along with my thesis. Oh, almost forgot, any appliance made by Cusinart.

More than one freezer, all of which are crammed with so much food that bungy cords are needed to keep the doors closed. Some of these foods are in unlabeled containers…DON’T EAT THESE, EVER!

Taking pictures of plated food and posting them on Facebook to other members of their coven.

One whole shelf in the refrigerator devoted to multiple small packets of expensive cheeses, one of which is not Velveeta.

A complete lack of premixed dried or frozen foods. (e.g., no Stouffers lasagna, Banquet chicken, Hungry man TV dinners or hamburger helper).

Herbs that are home grown, sometimes hydroponically.

Excessive numbers of spices stored in small label vials. Look specifically for turmeric, cumin, tarragon, marjoram, cardamon, fenugreek, and herb de provence.

Cooking anything in an air fryer.

Having secret recipes.

Shopping farmers markets or places like Whole Foods.

A preference for inedible foods like kale, asparagus, humas, rutabaga, okra, and lima beans.

EGGPLANT! EGGPLANT! EGGPLANT!

You may wonder why I put asparagus as an inedible food.  Yes, it can be quite tasty even though it looks like an alien’s penis wearing a French tickler.  The give-a-way is that it makes your urine smell like cat pee. Even though it effects a Foodist urine the same way, they squat to pee! They don’t smell it, while we, heterosexual, non-chef males have to suffer as we proudly stand to pee our girlfriend’s name in the snow!

I am sure that there are many more of these tells but I feel the need to post this immediately as a Pink SUV with tinted windows and a rainbow bumper sticker just drove slowly past the front of my house and is turning around!