Search hit of the day

The Velvet Blog just got a Google hit for the query: "do plumbers charge for travel time?" But I misread it as "do plumbers charge for time travel?" which is much more interesting, and would make a great title for a Philip K. Dick novel.

Shorter Mitt Romney

"Now, give me that banana."

'Cause when you boil the Romney video (do I even need to link to it?) down to its essentials, that's what it's about. He's entitled to the banana, and anyone standing in his way is a moocher.

Too good? Well, too bad.

Running up to last night's speech by Bill Clinton, the line the Professional Pundit Class was taking was: "Oooooooooo! Clinton's speech isn't vetted! He could say ANYTHING! Obama should be very, very worried! Clinton still has a grudge, you know!"

In between "Hey, that was a solid speech" headlines this morning, there's also:

Bill Clinton: A tough act for Obama to follow

Clinton's political brilliance a mixed blessing

Clinton reminded us that Obama is no Clinton

There's really no pleasing some people.

The stag party's anxiety in diorama form, as executed by Salvador Dali

Since discovering Good Housekeeping's 10 P.M Cook Book on the Gallery of Regrettable Food page, I've been determined to discover the secret of the beans--and I recently tracked down a copy of the book, from 1958, on eBay. But I get ahead of myself. (Don't worry, we'll get to those beans.)

First things first. What is a 10 P.M. cookbook? Judging from the photography therein, it's a deviously clever method of getting your guests to leave the house, tout de suite.

(Click to embiggen the photos--but beware, they are truly hideous.)

Nothing says "sophisticated" quite like serving punch the same exact shade as your skin.

And now the beans, pictured in the book's "When It's Strictly Stag" section (though the recipe appears in the "Teen-age Triumphs" chapter--and the imagery does remind me of a recurring dream I had during adolescence).

How are they able to stand up like that--probably for longer than four hours, and, really, shouldn't they call a physician?

And here comes the ultimate letdown: The recipe calls for dumping three cans of beans in a pan with a few other exotic ingredients (like "catchup"), sticking in your wienies (hee hee), and placing in the oven. There are no secrets for their seeming Viagra-inspired tumescence!

This is worse than the worst M. Night Shyamalan twist ending.

I'll be posting more from this lost masterpiece, but I leave off today with the back cover photo.

Anyone care to venture any guesses as to what this is?