craschworks

[From my lavalife profile]

My parents like to grill. Breakfast sausages. Pork chops. Hamburgers. Steaks.

Hearty meats, fit for the hearty Mormon couple they are.

In fact, they have a grill built into their counter. Underneath the grill, a mason jar collects fat drippings.

When I went home for Christmas, I wanted to help out in the kitchen, and I noticed the grease jar was full. It seemed a waste to throw out such a rich source of calories.

So I mixed it with dog food, and gave the mixture to my parent's Great Dane “Weezer”.

She loved it.

Have you ever seen a pool of vomit four feet in diameter?

I have.

Feeding a Great Dane with a delicate stomach half a quart of beef fat was not my greatest decision ever.

So what does this have to do with dating? Well, you see, dating is risky. And costly. I'm a guy, so my numbers may be off here, but I'm guessing you might spend $40.00 for a haircut, $100.00 for a new outfit.

And for what?

Maybe a date that makes you feel like “Weezie” after eating that beef fat.

I'm happy to report that none of my dates has vomited. But aside from not inducing nausea, what else can I offer?

First of all, I'm a junkie. Every day I shoot up with the good stuff: NPR, Instapundit, Livejournal, Slashdot, Flutterby, Marginal Revolution. If you're an infojunkie too, I'd be happy to share my rig with you.

Second, I once made a meatloaf that was compared to pate. From a recipe off of a saltine cracker box. Unfortunately, I've lost the recipe. But I'm sure, given time, I could reproduce it.

Third, I have a very juvenile sense of humor. Bodily functions are funny. If you like booger jokes, I'm the man for you.

So if any of this intrigues you send me a note–I'd love to meet you. I promise not to feed you beef fat.