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The Most Disgusting Sandwich

“Shut your blaspheming mouth!”

“You’re disgusting!”

“I can’t stand you and your opinions!”

“You’re an idiot!”

“The only time I use peanut butter is to trap mice, and that's it... “

These are just some of the charming opinions that were posted on my Facebook after I proclaimed on the radio show that the peanut butter and jelly sandwich is the most disgusting sandwich on the planet.

Wow, people - you’re so kind, and what’s up with the one about mice?

Anyway…. I’m sorry it’s just how I feel. It’s a texture thing for me I guess. The thickness of the peanut butter mixed with the stale cold jelly/jam/preserves that you dig out from the back of your refrigerator - it all just becomes a mishmash of flavors that don’t belong in my belly. It’s a lazy meal and I have no use for it. The flavor sucks and the bread just falls apart. It’s trashy and that’s where it belongs. In the trash.

This particular abomination of a sandwich is reserved for starving college kids who can’t afford a decent meal and for children 10 and under - who just don’t know any better.

That’s it. It’s a child’s sandwich. Just thinking about this crappy concoction takes me back to elementary school lunches. Sitting down in the school cafeteria expecting a delicious slice of leftover pizza from Mom, but to my disappointment, I cracked open my He-Man lunch box to find a nasty soggy greasy blob of bread with some sort of discolored ooze sticking to the inside of a Ziploc bag. After a couple of bites of that monstrosity - the appeal will forever be stained. Toss that junk into the trash and hit recess, it’s time for tetherball!

Maybe that’s why I hate it so much.

I did read a stat the other day that talked about how the average American will eat over 2000 peanut butter and jelly sandwiches by the time they graduate from high school. NO wonder by the time I became an adult I was sick of pounding these barf meals down my jelly hole - my pallet has become much more sophisticated now, and I’m turning my nose up to this American classic.

Another factor in my hatred of this deplorable sandwich probably comes from some of my OCD tendencies. I like everything neat and tidy - in its place - lined up and looking good. The PBJ is a visual disaster, there is no way of making it look presentable. It’s a smeary, sloppy, ooey gooey mess that makes me wince every time I see one. I need nicely presented meats and cheeses on a fresh hoagie spaced evenly apart to satisfy my sandwich snobbery.

I understand this is an unpopular opinion to have toward such an iconic dish - but it needs to be said. This is a stereotypical case of “looks like there’s more for you” - because I’m not backing down. The PB&J is a total puke fest, with or without crusts.

Thank you.

I Can’t Stop Spatchcocking!

Have you been forced to read one of those goofy inspirational quotes at the end of somebody’s email signature - that preaches to you about delayed gratification? It goes something like, “The longer you wait for something, the more you’ll appreciate it when you get it. Because anything worth having is definitely worth the waiting.” Yadda yadda yadda….

Ya, it’s one of the longer quotes out there, and yep I’ve seen it more than a dozen times - and I really didn’t think twice about the message it was trying to convey. I’ve always been the type of person who hopped on Amazon and ordered whatever I wanted without really thinking about lighting my credit card up. Instant purchasing power and 2-day shipping is a wicked combination.

Despite my tendency to consistently hit submit my order, there was one purchase that I had been dragging my feet on for over 2 years - and I finally pulled the trigger.

Now I’m totally living that quote - I waited - I purchased - I’m giddy.

It was SO worth the wait!

For the longest time, I had been lusting for one of those pellet smoker grills that seem to be all the rage in the cooking community. I’d stop and look at them every time I was at Lowe’s or Cabela’s, much to my wife’s chagrin. I’d repeat all the benefits of owning one and cooking on it. I’d explain how it regulates the perfect temperature and make sure not to forget to highlight the included meat probe. I became the perfect pitchman to a random passerby in the store. I even think the guys at the Stock Show knew me by the first name because every year I’d wander into their booth and slowly run my hands over their meat furnaces.

I really wanted one.

My inner circle of bro buddies purchased their own pellet grills and raved about how great the food was they had been cooking. Sending me daily #FoodPorn pics of brisket and chicken wings. All the while I quietly debated on whether or not to spend the money on something that really was a WANT and not a NEED. I tucked some money back in an envelope that I had in my safe and every once in a while thumbed through the stack of 20’s wondering if my seductive smoker would be worth the wait and the money.

After patiently waiting all that time I can proudly say that with a resounding YES - it was totally worth the wait. I cook on it every night now - my food tastes better and cooking has become super fun! I spend hours on YouTube researching the perfect rubs and marinades. I’ve also discovered that I’m addicted to spatchcocking. I spend my afternoons dreaming of spatchcocking, wondering when I can spatchcock next.

I’ve become quite the spatchcocking pro!

Instagram groups are liking MY #FoodPorn pics now, and the grill company even followed me and showcased some of my meaty masterpieces on their account. I’m beaming with happiness right now, and I have to wonder if all this hullabaloo would have been non-existent if I had made the grill purchase spontaneously.

I’m all in on this embracing, waiting, and daydreaming lifestyle. So far it’s proving to be the more well-done way to go!

Take a listen to a funny clip from the show where we discussed my love of spatchcocking!

Dry Cupcakes with Excessive Frosting

My wife came home the other day after picking our kids up from school and she walked in the front door with a flabbergasted look on her face. Dropping all of their bags and lunchboxes on the floor, she held up a handful of envelopes. Looking at me she said, “You have got to be kidding me….four more!”

Horrified, I smashed my face into the pillows on the couch and screamed “NO NO NO!”

Four more birthday invitations from the kids at school. Dear GAWD no!

A couple of days prior our son came home with 3 other invites, and last month we had to go to 2 birthday parties. Add all of these wonderful party passes up and our weekends are suddenly being consumed with shindigs for goofy classmates that we’ve never even heard of. Parents, are you reading this nodding your heads because you’re experiencing the same frustration? The constant flow of colorful card stock inviting excited peers and annoyed parents to an afternoon of lukewarm pizza, and cupcakes with excessive frosting.

The invites that surprised me the most were the ones that were coming from our daughter's preschool friends. Tiny little 3 and 4-year-olds pining for attention at their Frozen-themed festivities - and yes they’re ALL Frozen-themed. All of them.

We’ve definitely noticed that birthday invites are starting to trend younger and younger. My guess is not at the request of the little pip-squeaks either, but rather Pinterest parents competing to outdo each other in the world of competitive celebrations. Gone are the days of waiting until your child is pencils deep into elementary school before group birthday parties start - nowadays parents get bombarded by bombastic bashes for little blobs that still poo their pants. Talk about excessive frosting.

Fun right?

And let’s talk cost - start adding up gifts for these sweet little angel children. Twenty bucks a pop seems to be the going rate for a gift (more if you want to look like the top parent at the party). Add that up over our kids‘ classes and you get roughly 35 gifts that we have to supply (be boo bop boo - math) you’re looking at $700 bucks a year to bestow presents to kids that your child probably doesn’t even like!

My buddy Dom from the radio show came up with a GREAT suggestion on how to alleviate some of the stress and headaches of having to go to so many of these delightful events. I’m totally on board with his recommendation, how about creating 2 massive birthday celebrations that encompass all of the students at once? One for spring and summer birthdays and then one later in the year for fall and winter babies. How great is that idea!? You’re able to knock out a huge chunk of kids all at once - then you’re only ruining two Saturdays a year instead of a couple of month’s worth. And the presents? Either cancel the gifts altogether or maybe adopt this “fiver party” idea that I’ve seen some news outlets covering. In lieu of material gifts, guests can bring five dollar bills to give to the birthday boy/girl. The child can then take their haul from the 10 kids they invited to their party and buy a $50 gift of their choosing - or save the money! The kids learn a little money management and there is far less stress on the gift giver and a whole lot less money spent on these joyous celebrations. Do you dig it?

My Wife Has A Gas Problem

My wife - I love her, I really do. Mostly because she keeps THIS goofy dude in line. I give her mad props for dealing with all of my annoying behaviors, weird smells, and my tendency to spend way too much money on guy gadgets that I’m lusting after. Interrogations about Cabela’s and Amazon purchases on the credit card are fairly typical occurrences at my house - I usually just play dumb and then run and hide in the basement.

My latest purchase - that didn’t go over very well. #PitBoss

She also hates it when I don’t clean the microwave after something explodes, my hoodies are always on the floor, and crumbs on the coffee table, ya - those aren’t mine.

In addition to some of my idiosyncrasies, she blames me all the ding-dang time for having “man-vision” around the house. You know what I’m talking about - I’m looking in the cupboard for the peanut butter searching searching searching - I can’t find it! Frustrated I yell out “where is the PEANUT BUTTER?!” She calmly walks over and takes a quick look on the second shelf of the cupboard and BOOM pulls out the giant tub of deliciously creamy JIFF. Turning slowly in my direction, she shoots me a glare and walks away. Whoops, that’s embarrassing.

Needless to say, she puts up with a lot from me, but it’s time to turn the tables on my smooth-skinned lover. Yep, I admit I have a few minor irritations that she has to put up with, but they all pale in comparison to the ONE BIG annoyance that I’m sick of dealing with.

Honey, we need to talk…why is it that you NEVER fill up your car with gas?

EVER!!

This is a gas pump. Use this device to put gas in your vehicle. It’s very simple to use.

Dudes that are skimming this post - are you with me? Does the wonderful woman in your life neglect her parched vehicle and just cruise by every gas station?

Survey says? YES!

I’ve asked some of my other friends and it seems to be an epidemic. None of their wives or girlfriends fill up either! Thirsty gas tanks all around the country are being neglected due to a blatant disregard for that little needle on your dash - pointing directly to the giant E. Is it laziness or is she just not familiar with how an automobile works? “Oh, so that’s what that little door on the side of my car is for…”

I was always taught to never get below a quarter tank just in case you have to leave in an emergency. Maybe you’ll get stuck in a traffic jam and you have to idle for awhile, or what if you get stuck in one of our Colorado snowstorms? You want that baby full - you’ll need that petroleum power!

I’ll tell you when it gets super annoying is on the weekends when we load up the family to head out for some fun and errands and I look down to see her gas light on. Why can’t she just fill up Friday after work on her way home? It takes about 10 minutes of your time and it would avoid our weekly driveway argument - I’m sure our nosy neighbors would appreciate the quiet.

Maybe I’m overreacting, or maybe I’m an enabler because I’ll go fill it up for her when it’s low - because I’m a gentleman. I think she’s set in her ways and I might have to chalk this up to one of life’s big mysteries.

I just wish that one of these times when I go out to use her car, I fire it up to find that needle pointing to the F. Which in this case would not mean “FULL” but instead, “FINALLY!”

Stop Calling Me "SIR"

I guess I’m either really uncomfortable with aging or I’m just deep down NOT a morning person – but the security guard in our building has me super irritated lately. It all comes down to one word… “SIR” and it’s not sitting well with me. I’ve always been under the impression that using that title was reserved for a man with years and years and YEARS of life experience or a man who has held a position of great prestige or respect. You know, police officers, doctors, firefighters, Sean Connery.

Someone with some sort of authority – not a goofy radio dude wandering into the radio studio with crusty goo still in his eye.

Before you freak out on me - I understand that “sir” is a term of endearment and used for general social politeness aka – social lubricant – BUT it’s not for me. It makes me feel old and super awkward. Would it be acceptable for me to tell Paul Blart to stop calling me that or do I just go with the flow and politely nod as I saunter past the security desk?

Turned out to be a pretty funny discussion on the Dom and Jeremy show – especially when it came to alternate ideas on what we should call guys - take a listen.