B is for "Buffalo", as in "Use Every Bit of the Buffalo"

What follows is an attempt to use every word in Patti's list, in order, in a blog post. It is totally based on a true story, which is to say that it's all fake:

So I was sitting down to watch the Apple Dumpling Gang, starring the indomitable Tim Conway and Don Knotts and I'm struck by a perilous conundrum: should I eat a brownie or a piece of carrot cake while I watch this cinematic masterpiece? It's always a touchy decision, dessert. If you choose wrong, man, you're screwed.

Anyway, so when faced with a "zig" or "zag" situation, I always choose "zug", so I opted for a delightful elixir known colloquially as a "French Taunt", made from raw eggs, baby seal tears and ennui. Its name derives from ancient times when a gaggle of Gallic peoples would mix up a big old cup of the stuff and pour it on French peasants while saying horrible things about their aunts, uncles and pet chinchillas. It's true what they say, "Happiness is a taunted Frenchman."

Anyway, so as I was mixing up this brew and listening to the distant lilt of the ice cream truck as it ambled down the avenue, selling joy and bomb pops, an interesting thought got all up on my jock. What if Kleenex were made from sandpaper? That would be horrible! Oh how I laughed and laughed at this thought, so much so that I cried tears of pure limeade into my newly-baked batch of spaghetti sauce muffins.

"Nuts!" I exclaimed as I threw them out the window, accidentally hitting my flamboyantly heterosexual neighbor, Mister Darryl Oats, formerly of the 80's blue-eyed soul duo Pancakes & Oats. You may remember their hit single, "Que Onda Radish?", which was a sensation in Portugal, where it dominated the charts until Señor Sexy released the mega-smash, "Salsa Tomatillo", which I don't need to tell you, really gets your ulnar nerve a-shakin'. Why Spanish disco was so popular in a country that speaks Portugese is anybody's guess. Novelty, maybe? Aaaah, the 1780's. To be 13 again ...

It was at the exact moment as I sat there, humming Señor Sexy's other smash hit, "Forget the Alamo (And Remember To Get Funky!)", watching Mr. Oats pick bits of muffin out of his white-man Afro (Euro?) as he cursed me in twelve different languages (including Esperanto! Impressive!) and threatened to report me to the Vice Squad regarding a rather hilarious - though admittedly "mature" - Dilbert cartoon I had shown him which he found highly offensive (seriously, you Americans and your fear of the nude male form! Talk about your hangups!) that I realized something of cosmic importance: Wheat Chex are not that good! Like, at all! Not to get all xenobiotic on you, but have you tasted these things? Yuck! Like for serious! They're like sticks held together by mulch and bailing wire. Seriously!

Anyway I gotta go and wash this Yorkshire Pudding out of my mustache before it sets like it did last winter. It took twelve firemen equipped with blowtorches and rubber cement 17 hours to remove it. I almost had to lose the mustache and we can't have that!

Talk to you later! Ziti!

Sincerely,
Martin P. Wiggumbottom, Esq.
AKA: "Your Boyfriend"

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Today's post courtesy of Patti, though Ben threw down the gauntlet as far as using all the words in a list as the basis of a post. Ziti!