Everybody has a flaw.
Wifey has one that kinda drives me nuts.
She's a great cook but hates to bake. HATES. TO. BAKE.
To me baking sounds a lot like cooking. Not really sure what the difference is.
But I think I know what the difference is to Wifey. Wifey don't be liking the baked goods. Is she a retard? Probably not. But she aint a fan of the baked goods (she's gotta be a 'tard, correct?) and tends not to bake much.
So where is possibly the best news ever as the title of today's blog suggests?
It seems there is gonna be a bakery built about 100 yards from my house. A bakery. Filled with baked goods. For me. To eat. Whenever I want.
Good thing Wifey likes to walk, huh?
Tuesday, September 04, 2007
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10 comments:
Hmm. I can already see you and Mr. Hoag making like Hogan's Heroes and digging a secret tunnel that connects your house to the bakery. Hijinks ensue!
Mr. Hoagy is WIFEY?! Yikes!
No, no, tastycakes! I actually meant that they'd work on the tunnel as a manly buddy night project--after they finished the hairbraiding, waitress torture, cigar caressing, and whatnot?
"Good thing Wifey likes to walk, huh?"
Yup, cuz after that bakery's been there for awhile, NoOprah won't be able to do more than waddle.
Maybe we can take up a collection and get him one of those motorized scooter things once he gets so bloated on cookies and squares that even waddling becomes impossible...
I remember when a bakery opened up near my house...that was back when I could still see my toes.
Oooh I'll have to pay it a visit.
HitMe! I need some cards! HitMe! Not just any cards!
Hiiiiitmeeee!
(Sang to the tune of Help.)
Oops. Wrong blog.
You'll no doubt be pleased to learn that all our baked goods will be free of trans fats and low in sugar! Yes, we know...a dream come true!
Maudit chriss de tabernac show off yankee pig of a dog.
You have wifey who is good cook. hien?
You boast about dis, hien?
Alors certain poor suffering peoples from de nort' countree have the wifes who make ever' ting come out like vidange. Is garbage, dat.
Still she's better cook den her mudder.
So you jus' count de blessings what you 'ave dere nophra. So your wifey she no bake. Big fat hairy deal, dat.
My wife, she ruins take-out food.
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