Remember that old SNL sketch “Fecal Matter with your Host, Doug Fecal”? No? Yeah I figured it was just me. It was a solid (heh) talk show format with a specialized host and topic. Well, we ain’t exactly doing Pod Flies Open around here, but what about in written form, maybe say like a mix between Doug Fecal, Jack Handey, Balls’ 25 questions, Rev’s take on Larry King, and I don’t know, my own fucked up mind? With that backdrop I present to you the fifteenth edition of a potentially sporadically recurring irregularly scheduled Random Thoughts with BFC! Now also (occasionally but not today ) in open thread form! If you want to make this interactive, drop a note/question/bon mot in the comments ala my old Mouth Flies Open attempt at an advice column.

• United 1K: Not just for white dudes in blue sport coats and/or khakis anymore.
• This democratization of amenities is great, except for now the 1K line is like 15% of the plane. How does that even happen?
• Things I saw on the B-W parkway the other day: a shopping cart, two cops assisting a driver who had driven into a grassy area nowhere near an exit ramp, and dozens of people whose cars clearly didn’t come with turn signals.
• Aside from the big three reasons for couple fights, I have to assume one of the next on the list is cleaning before the cleaners arrive.
• Nevermind, it’s still behind “I’ll be ready in five minutes”/other versions of why the fuck am I still waiting for you to be ready when you said we were leaving ten minutes ago?
• You know what’s a great word? Pudendum.
• Building on a sidebar with Sharky in the DFO back office, how great would it be to be able to bartend in a high end cocktail bar where you were allowed, nay encouraged to be a dick to patrons who deserve it? It could be like a classy soup Nazi sitch, with the soup being delicious liquid booze broth (chilled). Rude to a bar back? No drink for you. Reach into the garnishes to grab a snack? Lose your chair at the bar and go stand in the corner. Drink half a cocktail and then send it back? You’re 86’d. Tell the bartender you want them to make up a spirit forward whiskey based cocktail for you and then complain that it’s too strong? We’re cutting up your credit card. Man, that would be awesome.
• Anyone familiar with what I’m less-than-affectionately calling “the most racist rest stop in America”? That would be “South of the Border”, marking the border of North and South Carolina with as many offensive Mexican stereotypes and tchotchkes as even an unreasonable person could imagine. Some highlights include but are not limited to–
  • A MASSIVE sombrero tower visible from space (or at least the highway)
  • Stores that sell cheap sombreros, maracas, and other cliched shit
  • Mexican caricatures that would make Speedy Gonzalez say DAAAAAAMN
  • A restaurant in the shape of a sombrero
  • Everything is “Pedro’s”, and I don’t think anyone who works there/owns the place is named Pedro
  • Billboards leading up to the stop predicated on butchering English (and other tropes)

• Speaking of horrible racists, Tucker Carlson getting the axe is both a moral good and something having a negative impact on Fox, so win-win.  Fuck everyone involved there.
• Whomever invented quiche is an evil genius. Omelets but with pie crust? Yes, I’ll have dessert breakfast, thank you very much.
• That always reminds me of this joke from a simpler time, when making fun of a President for being stupid was more about literacy and neo-con lunacy rather than absolute corruption and the imminent threat to democracy:

George W. Bush and Dick Cheney stopped in to a small diner for breakfast while touring through the country.

The waitress comes to take their orders. Cheney orders an omelette. She turns to the President and asks for his order. President Bush turns to the waitress, smiles, and says sweetly, “honey, could I have a quickie?”

“Mr President!” shouts the waitress. “I thought you were bringing a new era of decency and morality to the White House, but now I see that was all a LIE!!” She storms off.

After a few seconds, Dick Cheney says quietly, “George, it’s pronounced quiche.”

• Ok, one last joke, inspired by Sharky including pickle juice in his most recent cocktail of the week—

A man works at a pickle factory and comes home every day with a lot of anxiety.  He says to his wife “I keep having this urge to put my penis in the pickle slicer.” She, of course, replies, don’t do that! But again and again, he comes home from work and tells her “I still keep having this massively strong urge to stick my penis in the pickle slicer.” His wife continues to be incredulous replies “you know you can’t do that!” But one day he comes home completely forlorn, and as soon as he walks in the door his wife goes “oh no! You did it didn’t you? You stuck your penis in the pickle slicer?!” The husband replied, “yup.” And his wife asks “what happened,” to which the husband answers “they fired me, and they fired her, too.”

• Alright between the rain coming down during my third installment of writing this, the ridiculousness of Aaron Rodgers following in the crocs-steps of BrittFar to the meadowlands, and the Bears being competent-esque in the draft, I think it’s time to wrap this up (I’ll take things Antonio Cromartie has never said for $400, Alex/Ken).
• Here’s this week’s fill in the blank: “Now that the draft is over, what my NFL team really needs is __________.”