Take a sniff and smell the blue cheese

I am back. It is another screwy type pad, but who cares and none of you see it, so.....

I checked and the other Psychotic Sunday was a posting called the Day of Disconnect and it was October 2nd of last year. I was off by a month, but the point is still valid, though modified. It is not a Sunday in September type of deal but a Sunday thing. Sunday in the fall, not just football but football and psychoses. I think that the NFL could use that tag line, given the incidences of steroid rage ('roid rage) among some of those NFL behemoths.

The outlaws were over for dinner on Friday. That was fun. I barbecued some burgers and got compliments all around. My mother in law, in order to be nice, compliments me before she even takes a bite. WTF! Am I blind? Who is she kidding, my fucking eyes fail to take in the sight of her actually biting the thing? I called her on it. I mean, say nothing or "lie" (it would not matter if she liked it or not, she would still say it was wonderful. You could serve the woman shit on a stick with a parsley garnish and she will tell you it is wonderful, it is nice but not something I will actually hang my hat on as feedback.)

Anyway, my wife is telling her father that we had blue cheese burgers the night before. They were President's Choice. They were made with blue cheese. They were pretty good. I did have to get over the blue cheese stink as they were on the grill. Man, that smell is pungent. When the lad was little and capable of sitting in the shopping cart, I would take him by the cheese and put the packs up to his nose for him to smell. His face when smelling the blue cheese was priceless. Come to think of it, that explains his reluctance to try anything I suggest he try (be it food or anything). I guess we really do reap what we sew.

Anyway, my father in law responds that he has never had blue cheese. It was more like, what the hell is that blue cheese? I have never had anything like that before. The wife argues with him but he cannot fathom blue cheese. The fact is we were at a steak house for his birthday (and the lad) and he had blue cheese dressing on his salad like I did. So, the point is.....he's demented.

Yes, they were gone by seven thirty, without dessert or tea. That was not in doubt. That was okay, though. It was getting dark and even I could hear the voices. Radio. Duck. Paste. They said. Fuck if I know what it means, they weren't my voices.

I was thinking of getting him together with yesterday's psychosis subject. I am thinking of a cage match...Dementia vs Psychosis, who would win. I can see big bucks in the pay per view. Who is with me to help bankroll this puppy? Ciao!