1 (16 ounce) can purple plums, undrained 2 tablespoons chilli sauce
1/4 cup olive oil or margarine 2 (3 pound) broiler chicken, cut into 8
pieces
3 tablespoons minced onion 2 oranges
3 cloves garlic, minced paprika
1/4 cup sugar Garnish: orange slices, reserved plums
1/4 cup lemon juice

Remove pits form plums and place in a medium bowl with liquid, reserving 4
or 5 for garnish. Mash plums with a fork: set aside.

Heat oil in a skillet over medium-high heat. Add onion and saut, until
lightly browned. Add garlic, and saut, for 30 seconds. Reduce heat to low
and stir in plums and liquid.

Add sugar, lemon juice and chilli sauce; cook over low heat for 30 minutes.

Preheat oven to 350.

Place chicken in a large roasting pan. Squeeze the juice of two oranges
over chicken. Sprinkle with paprika and rub into skin.

Pour plum sauce over chicken and back for 1 1/4 hours, basting often.
Garnish with orange sliced and reserved plums.

I’m just really annoyed today.

This needs to be done in preparation for going Independent.

Need to pick up some items- after independency~

Folders
Ledger
Something to keep receipts in.
New Table

Need to start keeping track of receipts more better.
Maybe designate one account for biz; one for personal.
Should open a savings account to put tax money in. [w/ effcu]
Probably should keep a spreadsheet too.

Folders for:

Business expenses
Business taxes

Personal:
Taxes
Car/insurance
electric
phone/internet [both of these will also be for biz deductions]

Scientists at NASA built a gun specifically to launch
standard 4 pound dead chickens at the windshields of
airliners, military jets and the space shuttle, all
traveling at maximum velocity. The idea is to simulate
the frequent incidents of collisions with airborne fowl
to test the strength of the windshields.

British engineers heard about the gun and were eager to
test it on the windshields of their new high speed
trains. Arrangements were made, and a gun was sent to the
British engineers.

When the gun was fired, the engineers stood shocked as
the chicken hurled out of the barrel, crashed into the
shatterproof shield, smashed it to smithereens, blasted
through the control console, snapped the engineer’s back-
rest in two and embedded itself in the back wall of the
cabin, like an arrow shot from a bow.

The horrified Brits sent NASA the disastrous results of
the experiment, along with the designs of the windshield
and begged the US scientists for suggestions.

How did Nasa Respond?

NASA responded with a one-line memo: “Defrost the
chicken.”

Tom Koch
MAD #305 (Sept. 1991), pp. 12-13.

Each year, millions of tiny kids are herded into day care centers and
Sunday schools where they are commanded to join in the singing of
traditional songs and carols before they are old enough to read and
understand the lyrics. The result is tragically predictable. They sing the
words they think they hear, and form a pattern that often lasts a
lifetime. Many preoccupied grownups keep right on singing the same muddled
words to the same songs in the same way. This, of course, makes us sound
like a nation of idiots as we stand reverently at such somber events as
patriotic rallies, church services and even baseball games to fill the air
with…

AMERICA’S TRADITIONAL SONGS AS THEY SOUND TO FIVE-YEAR-OLDS

My Uncle, Liz and Me

My uncle, Liz and me
Eat ham with liberty.
Of tea we sing.
Ham that my father fried;
Ham when the children cried.
On every mountainside,
Let’s clean ’til Spring.

The Star Strangled Grandma

No way can you see through this song’s early light
What had sounded like hail in the night light’s loud screaming.
Who brought tripe and Mars bars to the last Eastern flight
On the rampage with scotch while the gals were all steaming.
And our pockets were bare
When they first hit the air
As they proved we were right and our bags were still there.
No way does that star strangled grandma smell Dave,
For the mandolin is free,
And our home is a cave.

That Marine! Him!

>From the Halls of Minneso-ota
To the doors of misery,
We will ride on grumpy ca-attle
In Iran and Italy.
If the Army or the navy
Ever look at magazines,
They will find the creeps with garden tools
Have been smashed to smithereens.

America, The Boot Is Full

Your boot is full of spacey guys,
And candles made by Jane,
>From curdled mounds of macrame
Above the flutes in Spain.
America! America! Go shed your grapes on me.
Your clown’s no good at motherhood.
We’ll see what we shall see.

And if you heard my son sing the National Anthem you would agree. To hear him pronounce National Anthem sounds something like:

Irrational Anthrax

I kid you not.