Behold, the Biscuit Taco!

Posted: March 26, 2015 in Food, Things I Love

Taco Bell’s new Biscuit Taco is a flaky taco-shaped biscuit filled with eggs, cheese, sausage or fried chicken, paired with a jalapeño honey dipping sauce and a few drops of angel tears. Sweet Lord almighty that looks good.


Sweet Jesus.

I have a suspicion more guys feel this way than we know.

Turns out The Cowsills still have the magic. Who knew?

Nick Young is an NBA player. He plays for the Lakers, who are terrible. His number is 0, which incidentally may also be his IQ. Nick Young acts as if the Lakers are good. Nick Young gave himself a nickname, “Swaggy P”, which goes against all common decency because you can’t give yourself a nickname under any circumstances. Here’s Nick Young celebrating a supposedly successful 3-pointer. Keep in mind it was not a game-winner, simply a regular run-of-the-mill 3-point shot. In conclusion, Nick Young is an idiot.

Listen, I’ve never understood the fascination with these basketball trick shot videos. I mean, you get a couple guys who film themselves taking crazy shots over a period of a few days, then take out the 1000-misses and leave in the 5-makes. Why is that amazing? It’s all in the editing, folks. That’s why I like this video. It puts all those asshats in their place. Nicely done, kids.

Just a brutal takedown by the dog, huh? Just a diabolical hit. No worries, though, the toddler’s just fine. You know, other than a knot on his forehead the size of a cantaloupe.

Remember this guy?

RUN FOR YOUR LIVES! RUN FOR YOUR . . . wait. Deep breath . . .

Today’s entry in the Cool Animal of the Day is The Giant Isopod. Predator, anyone? You know, the movie? Never mind. Giant Isopods live way down in the ocean and can grow as large as 4-pounds and 30-inches long. They also possess the ability to curl up into a ball, where only the outer tough shell is exposed. You know, like an armadillo. Sort of. On a related note, for the life of me I can’t imagine why anything would attack this ungodly beast. They’re distantly related to shrimp and crabs, but it’s been years since they’ve been invited to family reunions. Anywho, there he is, kids. What a cutie.

aGiantIsopod aGiantIsopod2

Thanks to Jason Vesey for the heads-up. Finally, a worthy contribution from the Babe Magnet.


Preach it, brother!

This map shows the place where reported missed connections occurred most often in each state.


No, this not some creature from prehistoric times. It’s an Alligator Snapping Turtle, and it resides in these here southeastern United State of America. Good Lord almighty, look at that bad boy. He’s the heaviest freshwater turtle in the world and is given his name because of his immensely powerful jaws and long spring like neck, as well as distinct ridges on its shell that are similar to the rough ridged skin of an alligator. The largest Alligator Snapping Turtle ever caught weighed, wait for it . . . 249-pounds. If you’re not terrified enough already, it has one of the strongest bite forces of any animal and eats anything it can, including unsuspecting male swimmer’s penises.* They try to attract fish and other prey by sitting quietly at the bottom of murky water and let their jaws hang open to reveal their tongues, which look like small, pink, worm-like lures in the back of their gray mouths, and literally lure the prey into striking distance. Good God. Anyway, have fun at the old swimmin’ hole, kids!

* I totally made that up but admit it, that’s what we were all thinking, amirite?

1 1a


Looks more like Roger Daltrey to me.

Daily Mirror – After a small landslide in the San Francisco area of Putumayo in Colombia a likeness of Jesus has appeared in the landslide scar.  The newspaper reports that the apparition is attracting hundreds of visitors – enough to need the presence of the police to control the crowds.

There he goes again, just popping up right and left everywhere you go. Heck*, I remember a couple years ago when somebody saw Jesus on a dog’s butt.

*I don’t know, “hell” just didn’t seem appropriate today.

I searched up “Face of Jesus” on The Goggle and found that HE has appeared on an Ikea Door, a roast, mold, various walls, drainpipes, a Chinese takeout box, bread, a cider bottle, a bruise, a ham sandwich, a chicken, and yes, on a sock. Not even kidding. Check ‘em out:


You know, I’ve never understood the insanity surrounding this “Face of Jesus” phenomenon. People just go nuts flocking to see them, falling to their knees and praying, just losing their gourds. But what’s the big deal, really? I’m sure I could find the face of Elmer Fudd everywhere if I looked hard enough. And why would Jesus make his face appear on a potato chip in the first place? What’s the point?

Then again, maybe Jesus just has a great sense of humor. Perhaps he’s up there just messin’ with us. I can see it now . . .

“Hey angels, watch this. I’m gonna put my image on this Cheeto and see if Harvey Weinbaum notices. Wait . . . wait . . . dang it! He ate it. Didn’t even look. Shoot. Let’s try it on Georgette Hugglesworth down in Mississippi. I’ll put my face on some grits. Here we go. What the heck? She chugged it down like a slurpee at the state fair. Holy cow.” 

And so on . . .

Seriously, if I was Jesus I’d appear during the Super Bowl. I’d be 20-feet tall and just pop right up on the 50-yard line. I’d do a moonwalk and the splits right in front of the world like a boss. Then I’d twirl, take a bow, zoom back up to heaven and watch everybody run to church and pray for their sorry souls. But have my face appear on a banana peel? Not so much.

Note: I once saw an image of Kate Beckinsale on my shower curtain but that’s neither here nor there.

I didn’t think Sparky could surprise me anymore, but I’ll be damned if he didn’t do just that.

Anybody who has read my Sparky stories knows how smart he is. The little dudeSpark1 does things that boggle my mind, and my mind is not easily boggled. However, recently he’s been doing something so amazing that I’ve hesitated telling anyone other than my most dog-loving friends for fear of being viewed as a lunatic. Here’s the dizzle . . .

One cold winter’s day a few week’s ago I was driving down the road as Sparky lounged on the passenger seat. Suddenly he got up and began rooting around the dashboard area in front of the gearshift, like he was looking for something. I thought maybe he smelled some food or something that had fallen into a little storage area there, but alas, nothing.

He did this a few other times, just poking around for no apparent reason. I was confused because he was sort of poking his nose at the dash. It was weird.

Then, one day it hit me, but my suspicions were so outrageous that even I couldn’t believe them. No, surely not. No way. Impossible.

But I had to find out.

The next frigid morning Spark and I hopped into my Jeep. Well, I climbed, he hopped. Anyway, he got into his spot in the passenger seat as I watched closely. Soon he rose up and poked around the lower dashboard area again, just like he’d been doing. At that point it happened . . .

As I watched, I witnessed my dog press his nose against a button on the dash.

The button that turned on the heated seats. The seat on the passenger side. His seat.

He’d apparently made the connection between seeing me hit the button and the seat getting warm. He’d decided to take matter into his own paws, so to speak.

Listen, I know some of you are questioning my sanity, but I don’t really care. This is a dog, after all, that puts the windows down in the car when he wants to and helps keep our house tidy by putting his toys away with regularity, all on his own and without being taught. He also wakes me up occasionally by dropping various items on my face, but that’s another story.

So anyway, yeah, my dog has been turning on the seat warmer in my car so he’ll be more comfortable. Man, that sounds really weird when I actually read that sentence.

Just another experience in my life with Sparky.

Note: And yes, I know what you’re thinking. I’d been warming his side all winter, that’s how he made the connection. Why would I warm the seat for a dog, you ask? Because he clearly liked it and would lie down on his belly ever time I turned it on. Hey, I love the guy, what can I say?

Laugh-out-loud funny.

Hard to be menacing when you’re taking a header.

Sort of interesting, right? Right?


Check out the sloth down there, trying to make it across a road. Incidentally, he probably won’t make it because sloths are slow. Really slow. They’re so slow they make a good habitat for moths, beetles, cockroaches, fungi, and algae. That, my friends, is disgusting. Sloths diets consist of buds, tender shoots, and leaves, which is similar to mine minus the tender shoots and leaves. Hey-O! Sloths’ tongues have the unique ability to protrude from their mouths 10 to 12 inches, an ability that is useful for collecting leaves just out of reach and also in getting that big date with Tina over in accounting. As much as two-thirds of a well-fed sloth’s body weight consists of the contents of its stomach, a characteristic similar to New Jersey Governor Chris Christie. Anwho, sloth.

Asloth asloth2

Pimpin’ ain’t easy.


Let’s put aside all the other stuff. The gambling, the lies, the unseemly behavior. Lord knows baseball is full of all sorts of miscreants and assorted ne’er-do-wells anyway. Let’s just cut right to the chase here, or even better, the numbers:


That’s the number of years major league baseball has been in existence.


The number of players who have played major league baseball since its inception.


The number of major league baseball players who have at least 3,000 hits.


The number of major league baseball players have at least 4000 hits.


The number of major league baseball players who have at least 4,256 hits. That player’s name, my friends, is Pete Rose.

Thus concludes our study. Thank you and goodnight.



Actual photo of Big Burly, except not really.

Ever laugh so hard you cry? Ever happen at the License Bureau? That’s what I thought. But it happened to me.

My son had just turned 16 and I took him to Chillicothe to take his driving test. No big deal, hell, he’d been driving on his stepfather’s farm for years. He was good to go . . . until we pulled into the License Bureau. It all started as we were sitting in the parking lot waiting to go in for the test. Well, he was waiting to go in, I was going to wait in the car. As we’re waiting a big, bearded, burly, tattooed gentlemen walks by the front of the car. The guy glanced at me and looked away, then snapped his head back around, stopping dead in his tracks.

“Mr. Shoe? Is that you? MR. SHOE!”

He then runs to my car door, I hop out, and suddenly I’m on the receiving end of a bear-hug to end all bear-hugs. Turns out Big Burly was a former student who claimed I’d nurtured him through some tough spots during my days teaching in Greenfield. I barely remembered him but apparently he remembered in detail the words of advice I’d given him because he proceeded to recount them in detail. Then he looks in the car:

“Kip? Is that you? Holy Jesus! The last time I saw you you were barely walking, dude! KIP! Get over here!”

At that point the bear-hug treatment was repeated with my son, who was looking over the dude’s shoulder at me, like, “Dad, you have some maniacally loyal former students.” He was also probably thinking, “Is he going to let me go?”

So far this has just a heartwarming story of a teacher and a former student, correct? Not so fast my friend. You’re about to see just how loyal some of them can be. The guy then asked what we were doing and I told him Kip was there to get his license, blah-blah-blah. He seemed genuinely concerned and proceeded to tell Kip not to worry, he’d pass with no problem, that it had only taken him 3-times to get his license. He then wished Kip good luck, gave us both a couple more bear-hugs, and was on his way.

Or so we thought.

Kip went on in to take the written portion of the test, followed by the parking and then driving. Finally, he emerged from the Bureau, sits in my car, and immediately put his head in his hands.

Me: “What’s wrong? Did you fail?”

Son: “Oh no, I passed. You’re not going to believe what happened though.”

He then began to tell me the story, stopping frequently to laugh his ass off. It seems all was well until he walked out to take the parking test. He got in the car and put it in reverse. As he looked in the sideview mirror he saw it. Or rather, saw him. Big Burly was behind the car, looking at Kip. He was crouched over so that although the instructor couldn’t see him (theoretically), he was visible to Kip in the mirror. He was motioning with both hands to pull the car on back slowly. The realization then hit my son. Dad’s buddy is using hand signals to try and help me park. Kip, realizing he’d flunk the test if the instructor saw the guy, immediately looked to the passenger side mirror to avoid eye-contact. No luck. The guy simply leaped to the other side of the car. This went on until, somehow, Kip got the car parked perfectly. To this day it’s a mystery how the instructor didn’t see the guy, but Kip got through the parking test unscathed.

After he got the car parked, Kip then pulled out to take the driving portion of the test. As he did so, there was Big Burly walking nonchalantly up the sidewalk, just struttin’ like he owned the joint. As Kip drove by the guy glanced over, winked, and gave the thumbs-up sign, confident in the fact that he had just helped Mr. Shoe’s son pass that driving test.

And who knows, maybe he did.

.00003% tippers.

Bars are institutions as old as man himself. You can literally go back to the beginning of time and find references to places where people gathered to have an adult beverage and enjoy the company of their fellow man.

Consider these historical nuggets . . .

  • King Tut was buried with a stash of wine jugs.
  • Monks brought whiskey, the “the water of life”,  to Ireland and Scotland as a medicinal anesthetic and antibiotic.
  •  When the Puritans sought religious freedom, they brought more beer than water onto the Mayflower to survive. Why? Because beer didn’t carry diphtheria.
  • In New York, The Sons of Liberty met in Fraunces Tavern — a bar — to plot America’s independence from Britain, the same exact tavern where General George Washington would later bid a fond farewell to his officers after they won the Revolutionary War.
  • Hey, there’s even a theory that man gave up his hunter-gatherer lifestyle in order to stay put and cultivate the grains needed to produce beer. Makes sense to me.

With such a time-honored history, bars deserve a modem of respect, don’t you agree? There’s nothing worse than some doofus disrespecting a place of such honored history. With that in mind, I give you Shoe’s Bar Etiquette 101: Rules to Imbibe By. Let us press on . . .


Listen, there’s nothing worse than walking into a crowded bar and finding a couple and their 3-kids waiting on a table and sitting at the bar. Hey, if there’s an open stool no problem, but if an actual paying customer walks in looking for a seat, tell little Corey he needs to stand up.


Let’s say a couple walks in but there are no two stools open side-by-side at the bar. Folks, do the right thing and hop over a spot if possible so they can sit down. It’s the right thing to do.


Yep, if somebody moves over for you the least you can do is set them up with a drink. Pay it forward, kids!


My general rule is, if you can’t hear me I shouldn’t be able to hear you. There’s nothing worse than some guy screaming at a person sitting 3-feet from them. Yes, we know that the drunker you get the funnier you think you are, but trust us when we say you are not. And we realize you’ve had issues with mommy regarding attention and stuff, but don’t make us pay for it. Get some counseling, but in the meantime keep it down, man.


In particular, the table or the bartop. See mommy issues in the previous category. We see you. Also, it’s plain rude.


I’m forever amazed at people who treat bartenders poorly. I mean, you realize they’re like, you know, making your drink, right? As in preparing something you’re going to ingest into your body? You may not want to piss them off.


Guess what? Your bartender’s name is not “Bud.” Nor is it “Chief.” And it is certainly not “Dude.” Ask their name when you place your first order. From that point on call them by it. This is not Advanced Metaphysics and Epistemology, folks.


No matter how hard you’ve been trying to get her attention from your bar table, don’t ever grab her by the arm as she’s walking by. She’s busy. She’ll get to you. Chillax, man. Do that to the wrong woman and that might not be relish on your next hot dog.


Listen up. Bartenders are going to flirt with you a little. They’re going to smile and make you feel special, at least if they’re good at their job. They do so because they earn their living primarily through tips, not because they’ve fallen in love with you. So take a deep breath, step back, and look for Mr. or Miss Right elsewhere.


If you’re a couple people back in line to be waited on, please figure out what you want before you get to the front. There’s nothing worse than some tool getting to the front and asking. “So what do you have that’s good?” Good God man, this isn’t the Plaza Athenee in Paris and you’re asking about the Risotto Truffles. You’re in a bar. On a related note . . .


Don’t wait until your drink arrives to pull out your fake leather money clip and start counting out the George Washingtons. Have it ready, dumbass. People are waiting behind you.


General rule. If you can hear the money hit the bar you’re a bad tipper. Unless your bartender was absolutely God-awful, tip at least 20%. Trust me, if you’re a regular it’ll pay off in the long run. ‘Nuff said.


If I was a bartender I’d have a rule to never wait on anyone while they were on their cell phone. Dead serious, I’d pretend you weren’t there, like Patrick Swayze in the movie Ghost. But that’s just me.


I’ve seen this more often than you might think. It’s not just when somebody drinks too much either. I’ve seen people at a table who maybe want to leave but their friends aren’t ready yet, so they decide to be a party pooper and take a nap. Don’t do this. People are laughing at you. Go out to the car and take your negative vibe with you.


Do I have to even say it in this day and age? The days of your local cop giving you a lift home are long gone, folks. Either know when to stop, be smart enough to have friends that will tell you to, or have a designated driver. Way too much to lose. Be responsible.

To reiterate, t’s OK for consenting adults to enjoy an adult beverage or two as long as you’re intelligent and responsible about it. Just please remember Shoe’s Bar Etiquette 101!

On a related note, I’ve always found eating in the bar much more enjoyable than in the restaurant. You service is better, and so is, almost without fail, the company. There’s also no screaming kids in high chairs, which is a definite plus.

You’re standing at the bathroom sink. The shower curtain moves . . .

Bonus pic:


Last night SMU was defeated by UCLA on a controversial call in which Yanick GTY 466918386 S BKC USA KYMoreira of SMU was called for goaltending when he leaped up and touched a 3-point shot that was clearly going to be short of the rim. Anyway, the point is that Moreira should never have jumped up there with the ball that close to the basket. Afterwards, there was a press conference. In a world where athletes and people in general continue to make excuses and point fingers at anybody but themselves, Moreira’s reaction was special. Here’s what he said:

“It’s all my fault. I should have let the ball hit the rim. I take the blame on myself.”

And then he broke down. He didn’t blame the referees like a lot of people were doing, didn’t become indignant an say he was just “trying to make a play.” He took responsibility for his mistake, plain and simple.

God bless him. And young people, take note.

Here’s a vine of his press conference. Be sure and unmute in the bottom right corner.


Whaddup, southwest Texas?