Cool Beans.

I hate that phrase. What a stupid phrase.

What ever happened to Mr. Bean? What is he doing with his life? Cocaine? Is he fat? Is he gay? Married? Is he a scientologist? Did he make a rap album? Is he pregnant? Has he gone off the deep end with Sheen? I have so many questions.

There was his run with the television show, Mr. Bean, then he starred in one of my favorite movies of all time, Rat Race, apparently he was the voice of Zazu in The Lion King (who knew?).

Then there’s a laundry list of other random films like Johnny English, various James Bond parodies, Scooby Doo, and Love Actually. Why is he famous for being verbally challenged?

Holy shit. I just found out he was born in 1955. He’s probably dead. As you can see, I am Googling/Wikipedia-ing this information as I go along. I’m kind of disappointed to find out that his name isn’t actually “Mr. Bean.”  I would have found it perfectly reasonable to discover that his first name was really Mister and his last name really was Bean. I refuse to refer to him as “Rowan Atkinson.” He has to understand that he will only and can only be addressed as “Mr. Bean” for the rest of his life, assuming he isn’t rotting in the earth yet (I’ll find out).

I just realized that Bean being born in 1955 makes him just 56 years old. Haha. Never mind. When you’re born in 1988 like I am, anything before 1980 seems really, really ancient.

I’m stupid.

Do not post your relationship status as “complicated.”  Here’s what it means:  “I cry a lot.” No one wants to know you spend your nights weeping and listening to country songs about heartbreak and stalking your not-ex-but-not-current-boyfriend’s female friends online, waiting for booty call text messages at 2:13 a.m. on quarter-bowling night, and littering our news feed with lyrics about being lovesick. Basically all “complicated” eludes to is that you were once in a relationship, but now you just hook up when you’re 11 Irish Car Bombs deep and neither of you can do any better, but you haven’t cut the umbilical cord yet and realized the other person is a sleazy shitbag that doesn’t care about you or your feelings.

Just hide your relationship status. Please.

Alright. Bean is alive. He’s married to a half-Indian woman. Two kids, lives in London, worth 100 million pounds. He actually has a stutter in real life. That’s all I care to know. I was hoping for something a little more scandalous. You can’t always get what you want.

But sometimes, you get what you need.

Why is Velveeta so delicious? It’s so gross. It’s like a block of silicone with a hint of orange food coloring to it. It’s like a big melting rectangle of hot glue. It’s like a bunch of fake breast implants globbed together and then melted down to dip tortilla chips into. I can feel it sluggishly oozing through my veins like Elmer’s school glue. The marriage of Ro-Tel, Velveeta, and chorizo is one of the greater concoctions on the planet though. Can’t stop, won’t stop. Don’t care how radioactive it is.

Love, peace, and chorizo grease.

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“You can tell it’s an aspen tree because of the way it is.”

Looking for: something sloppy.

How does Facebook define being in an “open relationship” exactly? I’m curious what it constitutes as. My initial reaction would be that being in an open relationship means that two people are generally interested in each other and bone each other on a weekly to bi-weekly basis, but have no problem playing the field if a “bigger” fish comes around. In short, you are publicly announcing to your entire network that you have a regular fuck buddy. Congratulations.