Speaking of corn

On Saturday the Gentleman Husband and I were driving down to Provo for a BBQ with my family. On the way we listened to the songs on his iPod because he has attitude about the songs on mine.

A song by U2 started to play (I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking for) and I asked a question that has long puzzled me.

Me: So what's the King of Corn?

GH: The what?

Me: You know, in the song. Bono says he "believes in the King of Corn."

GH: I . . . don't think that's what he's saying. Wait, do you mean when he says "I believe in the Kingdom Come?"

Yeah. He pretty much has not stopped laughing over that one.

But speaking of "Corn is King," have you seen the new high-fructose corn syrup commercials put out by the Corn Refiner's Association? You need to watch this, and then watch the response put out in the next clip.

Heh.

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I don't sneer at GH enough

GH and I watched Twilight last night for the first time, courtesy of GH's little sister, whose copy we snagged last weekend.

One of the things I found fascinating was watching the way Bella and Edward meet and interact. Who even knew that falling in love is best portrayed in film through snorting, flinching, grimacing, and mouth-breathing? Call me crazy, but usually you do these things around people you don't like.

While watching Kristin Stewart's portrayal of Bella Swann something familiar kept nagging at me. There was the open mouth, the monotone voice, the sullen facial expressions, the staring . . . and then I remembered where I've seen those things before.

Clearly they are twins separated at birth. He got the brains, she got the looks.

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Clearly I missed the memo

There was one day last week wherein there must have been some sort of signal rising up from the library, Batman-beacon style, which telegraphed a message calling all crazies, drunks, over-tired children, and inattentive parents to the library.

"Tonight's the night! Come do your worst!"

This happens every now and then and we just deal with it in our various ways. My way involves locking myself in the janitor's closet with liquor. And also threatening to call the cops when a patron won't leave and wants to stand there defending his right to use the f-word to other patrons because if you look at the word's German origins it's really not that bad. I'm Day 1-ing it, dude. You do not want to dance with me, because nothing would give me more pleasure right now than to END YOU.

Anyway. Stuff like that happens. And I kill people and glory in the slaughter.

I don't think any of us, however, expected that night to find HUMAN POOP on the carpet in the children's section. Thankfully it was child-sized poop, although I suppose a perusal of this book could have helped us with identification. We found it in several different places, which was extra joyous. No one claimed responsibility. This was just after learning that an entire wall in the bathroom had been sprayed down with urine. It was all I could do not to stand up on a chair and bellow, "Which one of you let your child flipping CRAP ON THE FLOOR!!!" (Day 1, you remember. Not a safe time. For anyone.)

So, yeah. Apparently not only was it Bring on the Crazy Night, it was also National Library Defecation Day, and I didn't even realize it. If I had known, I could have put up a display or something.

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