Inappropriate sharing, incomprehensible ramblings, uncalled-for hostility: yup, it's a blog.

Thursday, June 18, 2009

Cups of tea

I was staring at a bowl of--no kidding--peperoni pizza pasta salad. Bought it for Greg because hey he likes pasta, he likes peperoni pizza, so why not buy something that combines the two? Plus FreshDirect was having a sale on it.

Peperoni pizza pasta salad is what it sounds like: small cuts of peperoni, some marinara, some mozzarella cheese and some elbow macaroni. I pulled the plastic container out of the fridge and looked at it. The macaroni noodles pressing against the sides of the container were all bone-white, like when you press your nose against a window. Except every bone-white macaroni noodle was laced with red marinara sauce, so they were all really bone-white and bloody-looking. And there was the occasional chunk of peperoni muscle, also bloody.


Not my cup of tea, I thought, sluicing the "salad" into a nuke-friendly bowl. And then I had a vision.

While the salad heated up in the microwave (which, fyi, made the mozzarella melt into this creamy substance that had the consistency of Silly Putty, and caused the coagulated-bloodiness of the marinara to soften and spread over the macaroni and peperoni like that scene from The Shining), I rushed into the bedroom to share my vision with Greg.

"Try to visualize," I said, pushing the door open.

Greg was playing The Sims 3. He looked up, did a great sigh, and said, "Visualize. Okay."

"It's an idea for a cartoon."

"Oh jesus."

"Visualize." Greg stretched. I continued. "We see an old guy hunched over two cups of tea. He's in the kitchen, and there's a teapot to his right and a tray with two teacups on it to his left. He's got a sinister look on his face. Beside the tray is a box of poison."

"I'm way too high for this."

"You're not high."

Greg pointed to his tiny water bong. "I've had the whole day off."

"Oh. Right." I thought about the possibilities of a day off with a water bong and Sims 3. "Concentrate. So, he's there with his teacups on a tray and this box of poison, and he's got this sinister look on his face. The tea in one cup is foaming. Next panel: the tea in both cups is normal. Tranquil. The guy lifts the tray. Next panel: he goes into a dining room. Small table. Another person is sitting at the table."

"Male or female?"

"Doesn't matter."

The microwave beeped. "Weren't you making me food?"

"So the guy goes into the dining room, right, and he carefully places the tray with the two cups of tea on the table, and he reaches down and lifts his own cup. The other person does the same. They eye one another over the rims of their cups. Then both drink." I stood up straight and delivered my punch line. "The guy who made the tea tosses the cup aside in horror and says This is not my cup of tea!"

Greg stared at me.

"Get it?" I struck a 'yuk-yuk rimshot' pose.

"I'm HIGH," Greg said.

"He poisoned one of the teas, intending to, you know, kill the other person. But he got the cups mixed up and drank from the poisoned glass, and so he says--"

"Oh christ."

"This is not my cup of tea!"

"That's terrible. Jesus."

"I thought it was funny."

"That's awful."

"It's a New Yorker cartoon. It's baffling and witty shit."

"Food?" Greg pointed to his stomach and made a pleading face. I went back into the kitchen, pulled the bloody peperoni pizza pasta salad from the microwave, and laughed. Not my cup of tea. Who the hell would eat this shit? Took the bowl into the bedroom, set it down on the computer desk, and Greg sampled a bite, shrugged, then ate a half-pound of it.

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