I recently drove to Hill Country to see a wonderful friend, who came down from one of those states with cheese in it's boasting of what's great in the state. We love seeing each other, and I think it's because I make her look tan. I took a picture of our legs, mine on the left, and the camera couldn't even focus in on the paleness:

The camera literally groaned when I pushed the button. I know it's hard to focus on something that reflects every color known to man and nature and then adds luminescense to the mix, so I only threw it across the playground once in frustration. Then I went and stood in the sun until I was Bezelbub's long-lost sister, which then faded in 23 seconds.

We spent some time at a park, then went to have lunch. I was a little perplexed by what I saw at a glance on the kids menu. Take a look and see if you see what I thought I saw:

That's right. I thought it said Dildos. I was about to protest to the manager--how dare they steal the name we call our kids and put it on the menu without giving us royalties? Then I read it correctly and saw that it was meaning the animal I recently saw featured on "Go, Diego, Go" because I'm not allowed to watch anything without commercials for sugary cereals or toys with a cute jingle and breakable parts that will get lodged in my kid's throat. Have you ever hit an armadillo? They will fuck up your fender. But they are delicious with some garlic butter and thyme.