Fork Split My Ass

The carton of English Muffins reads:

1. Thomas' Original English Muffins are fork split. Gently pull apart.
2. Toast or brown until golden brown.
3. Serve warm with favorite topping.

Translation:

1. Thomas' Original English Muffins have been slightly punctured somewhere off-center along the edge. Good luck finding the holes. If you run your finger along the side, you should find something to grab onto. Gently pull halves apart, rending your muffin into little crumbly pieces. Good luck picking those little seeds from under your nail.
2. Place cumbled remnants into toaster oven. Small pieces will fall through the grate, settle directly on the heating element and catch on fire, setting off your smoke alarm. Wait until neighbors call fire or police departments.
3. When fire or police arrive, serve charred smoking muffin with favorite topping.

I Hate Cell Phones

I know it's a very Andy Rooney-type sentiment. But I really do hate cell phones.

It is amazing how cell phones can deliver instant, on-the-spot communication at any time to anyone anywhere. But then some people take this way too far. For example, here's a cell phone conversation I overheard from the person in front of me in line for a sandwich at Subway this afternoon:

Customer answers phone: Hello? Oh, hi, Cici. Yeah, did you hear about daddy? No? Didn't Aunt Tessa call you? News like this she would have called. Can I have a 12-inch Italian on white? They think it was a heart attack. No, I wanted that on white, please. Can you believe it? He was only 45. Provolone, please. So now I have to go to Virginia tonight. Yeah, he just dropped dead. Just like that. Can I get extra cheese? I meant to call him last night, but I fell asleep. Isn't that just weird? I wish he'd taken better care of himself. Lettuce, tomato, hot peppers, sweet peppers and olives. He was just too fat. He'd been having heart trouble for years. He never listened to nobody. Just mayo and oil please. So the funeral is on Friday and I'll be back for Tara's party on Saturday. Yes, the meal please. No, I'll be fine. Thanks for offering. Can I get a stamp? Okay, bye. Bye!

Of course the sandwich maker took no notice this sad conversation. Because she, too, was on a cell phone.