Maco Mondays!

Maco (mah-ko) is just a taco made for Mondays since Tuesdays seem to lord over the taco world. Shame on you Tuesday. Get something else. Monday needs tacos…and alcohol…and softball…and random people giving you a duffle bag filled with $243,000 in cash.
In the meantime while I am patiently waiting for the above things to come to fruition, how’s about we do a little blog writing? Maybe a little internet magic collaboration? This could work. You think of a number and I’ll think of a number, any number.  OK I have my number, do you have yours? Was my number 243,000? OMG! It was! Magic is so cool!
What? That was totally a legit trick. Who else on the planet could’ve figured out my number? Probably a handful of people at most. OK still no ice cream truck driving by and slinging duffle bags. Poop. I’m guessing today may not be my lucky day. So in the hopes that today is not a lethally unlucky day, let’s get on with it!

Right now I am listening to dead people on At the time the people in question were alive but in the present day they are no longer alive. Jani Lane. Kevin Dubrow. Robin Williams. Dave Williams. And a few select others. I have a playlist called Dead As A Doornail featuring some of my favorite artists who left the main road awhile back. Since we are on the subject, how did the door-nail become the gold standard for deadness? I guess back in the 1350’s people didn’t have much to compare stuff to. So when their gaze came to rest upon the heavy door-nail that secured the metal door knocker, they were utterly certain that this represented the thing most devoid of life on the planet. Yep the door-nail. It’s fifteen minutes of fame sure have lasted a long time. It’s legend spans even to these times where most doors do not contain nails. Some have screws, epoxy, hinges and glass but no real nails. The door-nail’s legacy endures, although it may finally cease to be acknowledged once the current generation eradicates the planet of all pre-existing life.
Oh was that subtle? Yep I just called out Generation Bieber as the generation who will kill off all their predecessors. Mark my words. Mark them! In fifty years, their smart cars and douchebag ways will unravel the fabric of human existence. Only so much can be fixed or affected by swiping left or right. Skynet will digitally vomit every day until it can come forward and take the reigns of planet Earth. Oh you think I’m rambling and going off on a tangent? Perhaps.
In digression, have a taco or two or a dozen. Tuesday can’t rule our lives. We can have those tacos or taco salad any dang day we want.



In the Bieber song, Love Yourself he talks about how his mama don’t like you and she (indiscriminately) likes everyone. Whatever argument he is trying to make here is inane. The point of reference here that comes across is that apparently his mama is crazy or at the very least very gullible. Aside from this one person, assumedly a girl (but you never know), his mama likes every one else. Really? Michael Vick? The guy from the Saw movies who is helping Jigsaw but designing traps that aren’t really fair and will certainly kill the victim? Guys doing the three-card Monte scam? Republicans? Democrats? People who make computer viruses? The person who calculated how to make the lotto scratch off tickets with that stupid silver film so when you are done that crap is all over your fingers and clothes and you got really close but don’t win anything? People who have excessive body odor? People who defecate on public restroom toilet seats and don’t clean it up? Mark Zuckerberg? People who cut you off in traffic without using their blinkers?
C’mon dude! I’m discarding your mom as an unreliable source. If your mom really likes every one, I would keep her away from the Craigslist personals just to be safe. That being said, the rest of the song is OK. It is the one and only song Mr. Bieber has that doesn’t make me want to peel the skin off my face with a fast food spork. Cheers!

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