the show: 01-22-07

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Transcript

[Fun Winter Song Remix: "Street chicken, stupid chicken, ducky in the freezer. Maybe you can be my chicken, I can be your geyser."]

[Intro by stevetest3: Howdy SportsRacers. Welcome to the show with Ze Frank from Winnipeg, Manitoba.]


All of a sudden I see them hiding everywhere.

Hi there, and happy Monday. Street chicken, stupid chickens, ducky in a freezer.


The LA Times reports that the wife of a hunter who had shot a duck two days prior opened up her refrigerator door to find that duck very much alive. The duck was rushed to an animal hospital where veterinarians say that it has a seventy-five percent chance of survival. However, most likely it will never be well enough to be released back into the wild.

When asked, the duck said that it would spend its remaining years collaborating with designer Nicholas Guadro on a series of electric bath toys.

So . . . (laughs). So they shot it, put it in the fridge, and when they found out it was alive they brought it to the hospital.

It's a sporting chance.


So this weekend, as I often do, I asked the forum for thematic suggestions for the upcoming week.

And the answer resoundingly came back, "Beans."

Beans!

Ahh, so it's come to this has it?

Timshead writes, "Is there a good bean metaphor that could be used for presidential contenders?"

Hmmm . . .


Every four years the family reunion was held in New Hampshire.

There was no good reason for it. In fact it was a bit inconvenient. Most of the family didn't even live there.

Years ago the birth of the Bobo twins had made it necessary and over time it had just become a tradition.

Traditions have a certain inertia and in this case one in particular: the family picnic.

It had always been a barbecue: red meat and white bread.

Inevitably Uncle John would force third helpings of brisket onto one of the children saying, "It'll put hair on your chest."

The Bobo twins had accidently seen Aunt Edna in the changing room and were convinced that Uncle John was telling the truth.


This year however, as the preparations got underway, there was a bit of a commotion.

The barbecue, as always, was potluck. But this year some of the delegates in charge of some of the main dishes decided to change things up a bit.

Beans!

The news first surfaced when Aunt Edna received an email from one of the cousins down south asking for her recipe for black bean fritada.

But it wasn't until rumors surfaced that some New York cousins were planning on bringing chickpea salad that all hell broke loose.


Uncle John was the first to make a phone call:

"Where the hell are the kids gonna get their protein? Don't you know chickpeas can make a man lactate?"

He got even more pissed when he was told that beans have protein too. And before the lactation could be addressed, Aunt Edna got on the phone:

"I'm sorry, he's just upset. Now he's off in the living room muttering something about how white bread and beans 'just don't go together.'

"You know, I like beans, I eat them all the time. But this is a barbecue.

"You know I'd be fine with it, but other people have very strong expectations.

"If you want to bring beans, bring beans that everyone will like: baked beans.

"Beans that are mushy and sweet, not those beans with a tough outer shell.

"Everyone likes those kinds of beans. Not as a main course, but on the side."


But the cousins weren't swayed, saying "There's a first time for everything. And after last reunion's food poisoning incident from the Texas dry-rub, now is as good of a time as any."

They even convinced the cousins from New Mexico to bring some habichuelas.


Uncle John made phone calls of his own, talking about the possibilities of indigestion and gas.

He became vicious, saying, "You can't wash the slime off some beans no matter how hard you try."

Aunt Edna even flew down to New York to visit the cousins.

Sitting in the living room, she said:

"You know this could ruin the reunion. The family just isn't ready for beans. Try to be pragmatic."

Sally, the youngest niece, raised her hand as if she were in class.

"What's pragmatic?" she asked.

Her mother responded:

"Pragmatic? It's the opposite of hope."




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