Who pumped the happy gas into the Food Network kitchens? The hosts are all together tooooooo happy. Cooking should be fun, but relax, you’ve got the job and the check won’t bounce.

California accounts for 70% of the marijuana in the US. To the rest of the states: You’re not trying. I don’t advocate breaking the law, especially if some law and order type can send you away for an inordinate amount of time, but if I had glaucoma or any other disease on the list, I’d move to a state where it’s legal. Like Connecticut for instance.

There was a man who loved every woman he saw on television. He told them so. He whispered it every time he saw one of them reading the news or acting in a commercial. They didn’t hear him, of course, but he told them anyway. He wasn’t lonely. He just loved women. They had always been good to him and those who hurt him probably were having a bad day. He particularly loved an actress who was a spokesperson for a furniture outlet. She was petite and pretty. She smiled. He didn’t need a new couch or recliner but he watched her and whispered “I love you” when she appeared on the screen.  What caused this to happen? Was it mental illness? No. Was it desire? Yes, maybe. Was it lust? Certainly not. His needs were met.  He didn’t want to know the women he saw on television. There were too many and it was improbable. How could he meet them? Some fluke of chance? They never happened. He was stuck in a nowhere job in a nowhere city. He was a nobody in a sea of nobodies, all with their own personal fantasies. He was harmless. When his favorite spokesmodel was fired, he was angry. When he drank, he talked about his displeasure. People laughed behind his back. No one wanted to hurt his feelings, after all he was a harmless old man. Someone took him seriously. He sat at the end of the bar and had talked to many other men whose dreams were taken away. He urged them to act. The people who remembered who he’d talked to and what they’d done he was thwe devil. To others he was just some guy who listened to the drunks and sympathized with them. He talked to the man who lost a woman he’d loved. They had a long conversation. The one people called the devil told his new friend that he had a solution. The friend listened. Not too closely, he’d had three shots and beers. What stuck of idea the man put forth was he should kill the person who caused him pain. The man left the bar and staggered home. He had a pistol, for self-defence. As he sat in front of the television he wiped the oil off the pistol and checked to make sure it was loaded. He had a plan. The next day he was in the bar, drinking. The man who befriended him the night before came in and sat next to him. They talked. One man became angry because a woman he’d loved from afar was without a job. He shot the man sitting next to him. The police were called. They arrested the man who was in love with all those women. The man he shot wasn’t the devil. He was just a guy who wandered from city to city trying to get people to commit crimes. He’d never been arrested, not once. He just liked to talk to people.