I Just Want Big Butts

This topic seems to be a recurring theme lately. As the father to daughters and husband of 25 years (and hoping for more), I’m always very careful about how and where I use the terminology, “big butts.” There are so many ways to misconstrue such a phrase. Palaver about “big butts” can easily be twisted into a defamatory insult or misogynistic offense. So first, I want to make it clear that this statement in no way demeans anyone to whom I am related, nor does it pertain to any female, either living or dead. I just want big butts.

It all started with the NFL draft. Despite the misery they’ve brought me, I love my Atlanta Falcons. I used to follow four sports – a team in each. Time and a non-sporting household have whittled that down to one: The Falcons. While I love them, I am at times dubious of the leadership. They seem to get enamored with flashy toys. I am of the old school opinion that a football team is built on the front line.

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The more big butts you have, the more you win!

But alas, when the Falcons’ turn to draft came, they found a flashy 190 pound receiver instead of a big defensive lineman. I fear that we will score 100 points every game but give up 101. We don’t have enough big butts.

 

A couple of weeks after that, we were driving home from Birmingham when I spotted a sign on the highway that said, “BUTTS & RIBS this exit!” It was lunchtime and we had been talking about where we could go. I knew in my heart that this was worlds better than Wendy’s or Arby’s!

I had already moved over to the right lane and turned on my blinker when my motives were questioned.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting off the interstate to eat.”

“Where? We didn’t decide on anything.”

“There was a sign that said, BUTTS & RIBS.”

This set off a whole volley of objections and I batted every one back over the net with one simple retort.

“THE SIGN SAID BUTTS & RIBS! How can we not stop when the sign says, Butts & Ribs?”

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I am widely known for my penchant for stopping at any roadside attraction that catches my eye. I can’t help myself – I am just drawn to them like a monkey to a cupcake. Whatever campy, cheesy thing you’ve seen on the highway, I can top it. So can my family… which is why they tried to steer me back into the left lane.

I obliged, sadly muttering to myself, “the sign said butts & ribs.”

Now we’ll never know.

 

So you see, this big butt thing started trending in my life. It was punctuated the other day as I looked dejectedly into the mirror and realized our annual beach vacation is coming soon. I am recovering from a knee injury that kept me from running. I don’t run to get in marathon shape any longer; those days are gone. I only run so I can hit the buffet with impunity.

But like a moron, while I couldn’t run over Christmas, I still ate like a fat kid. The consequence is 10-15 extra pounds of BIG BUTT that will soon be sunning itself in the sand.

That is one roadside attraction nobody wants to see!

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Surviving Hummus

My family is trying to kill me…  one healthy meal at a time.

I’ve got a daughter who has become uber-healthy. While I respect her dedication and discipline, I have a problem with it creeping onto my plate. My notion of healthy living is running more so that I can eat whatever crap I want.

My parade toward death started innocently enough. With granola. That’s how they get you, right? They offer you something you like – almonds, oats, nuts, honey, and just enough sweet bits to tie it all together into a happy, delicious treat. Then slowly it morphs. It becomes good for you. Gone are the sweet bits; replaced with freeze-dried fruits that are a shell of themselves because they’ve had their natural sweetness squeezed out of them. All that’s left is the crusty husk… like me.

Still I eat it. I eat it because things that were the source of life: nachos, Oreos, M & M’s, and pre-wrapped synthetic goodness seem to have been removed from our pantry. I miss my sweet and salty friends. They were the sustenance of my youth. I weep for them.

The desolation that our refrigerator has become is truly abhorrent. I barely have the resolve to open its air-tight door and hear the floooth of disappointment. My heart sinks with the sound of the broken seal.

Where is the cheese?

Green, green, green. Was man truly meant to eat green with every meal? I don’t mind the occasional salad, but unless you dress it up, green things are completely subpar on the taste side. The only thing particularly manly that comes from green veggies is the resultant gas. Lettuce and broccoli are like jet fuel but when the plane starts bouncing down the runway, we get in trouble. It’s not fair. Nature is nature, you feed a man a leaf and you have to be ready for the leaf to be turned over… and over… and over.

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By far the biggest problem in the fridge is hummus. What the heck is hummus? I’ve never seen a chickpea; it has the consistency of paste and no taste – why would we consider it a food source? Hummus has more relevance as mortar than food. If you can erect a cinder block wall with it, please don’t serve it to me! I don’t care what flavor they add to it, when I crack the lid all I can see is the poop emoji staring up at me.

We also seem to be dabbling in the latest craze to assault the American male: quinoa. I can’t even say it, why would I eat it? I thought it was just some made up crap given to us by the flower children who pushed smoothies on us a few years ago. Since I had no idea what this quinoa was, I did some research and found quinoa comes to us from South America. May I remind you that the last mass produced crop the South Americans exported to us was from the coca plant and now we have an entire government agency trying to push that back over the border. Shouldn’t that serve as a lesson?

If there is a point here, it is that a man was meant to live on grease, pizza, and red meat – not beans and sprouts. I know there are some who have chosen a green path and while I don’t understand their earthy, crunchiness, I can look the other way. Most real mean can’t be pulled into vegetableness. It is simply unnatural! I have survived hummus thus far, but I fear the quinoa might be the tipping point.

God gave all his chillens taste buds for a reason.

I just want a little corner of the fridge and one shelf in the pantry reserved for stuff that will clog my arteries. Is that too much to ask?