Now, Miss Daisy, you took that turn with me and you was the one holding the map, Torn Slatterns and Nugget Ranchers

A British Scientist claims he has invented a pill that provides the intoxication of alcohol without the hangover; it’s called the “People Who Are Too Lazy to Be Drunks” pill.

The Kardashians held a yard sale over the weekend with the proceeds going to charity; it went well, they sold all of their souls and every ounce of their dignity.

Remember that idiot at the Buffalo Bills game who slid off the railing and fell 100 feet to the next level only to be saved by landing on another spectator? He’s having a bad week. He just lost his job. He is no longer an Obamacare website technician. 

Toronto Mayor, Rob Ford, has admitted to smoking crack in a drinking binge, he has been accused of hiring hookers and of sexual harassment. At the rate he is going Ford will have no choice but to become the Gov. of Florida.

Toronto Mayor, Rob Ford, says he goes to the gym two hours a day. He then asked, “A gym is what they call where they sell crack and hookers, right?”

Lots of people this Thanksgiving will serve a Turducken: a chicken stuffed into a duck stuffed into a turkey. Here is my question: how stoned were the guys who thought up the first Turduckan? “Dude, stuff a chicken into a duck into a turkey? That is jacked-up.”

The Oxford Dictionary has named selfie the word-of-the-year narrowly edging out twerk; in a related story, that humming sound you hear is Ernest Hemingway spinning in his grave.

We need a new food.

My life has been marked by the constant discovery of a mind-blowing new foods. First it was cereal, then a PB&J, then mac and cheese, then pizza, then egg rolls. Then a hamburger. What? Somebody put some melted cheese on top of it? What angel from outer space descended and gave us that? Just when you didn’t think pizza could get better, it did with deep dish pizza.

Then I went to California for college and the world of regional differences were opened up. There is better Mexican food than Taco Bell? One of my college roommates showed up to a barbeque with a piece of fresh halibut. In Chicago, if you showed up at a barbeque with anything other than a hot dog or hamburger, maybe chicken, they would have thought you were a member of a strange cult.

But a piece of fish? What are you? Some kind of Bob Marley rasta freak? At Santa Barbara, the tri tip Santa Maria style barbeque seemed like a holy revelation. Salsa on grilled roast beef? What a wonderful planet we have. Mussel and clam bakes on the beach. Sushi. Thai.

The restaurant I worked in during college, the Elegant Farmer, had a lot of special treats: top sirloin. Beef ribs. Perfectly fried chicken. But on Sunday brunch. Oh my word. The eggs bennie and da kine burrito with chorizo where out of this world. But even they weren’t as good as the giant bowl of sliced bananas that marinated in whipped cream and cream de cocoa.

Then I moved to New York and my food paradigm was exploded. You call deep dish pizza? Fuhgettaboutit. Italian food taken way beyond spaghetti and meatballs into luxury food. Steaks at Peter Luger’s that made me want to fuss at my dad for making me eat those charcoal- lighter- fluid -charred hunks of beef jerky.  There is an entire block with nothing but Indian restaurants.

Ahh, but the calzone. How was it possible I could have lived my life without a sausage and mushroom goey-cheese calzone? And really good and cheap Chinese food that is delivered to your door about the time you hang up the phone ordering it.

Then I moved back to California, but this time in San Diego and discovered more regional delights. Carne asada. Fish tacos? Are you kidding me? How can something that sounds so awful, and launched so many jokes, be so good?

When we moved into this house and bought a real gas grill, a whole new side of me was created. Turns out I can cook. With a great grill suddenly I was not ruining the chicken and tri tip. Then one day an Emeril recipe called for me to make a wine-reduction sauce. What is this devil magic? I can make a sauce? I was like Oscar in “The Odd Couple” who thought gravy just came.

Now I have hit a dead end. We need a new food.

Something from the jungles of Borneo that is a combination rice, bread, meat and cheese that has to be cooked in a ten foot deep pit with Borneo hard wood called Chungasa and wrapped in palm leaves. And it has to be cooked with the magic herb called Dingwhoozy.

And then when you eat it, you have to eat it with special Borneo fliggaga sticks and dip it in flinkhankle sauce and you have to sit on the floor with pillows surrounding yourself so that, if you pass out from pleasure, you don’t hit your head.

And it will be called: Bushansnookus.

Random thoughts:

Jennifer Love Hewitt is such a beautiful woman, but when she smiles she turns into Jar Jar Binks.

Would you feel better about the Knock-out Game if the targets were hipsters in skinny jeans and wool hats?

When are we going to change the name Foodies to Douchies?

Ferris Bueller is what Hollywood thinks is a cool suburban Chicago kid. Nope. He would have been a semi-popular theater geek at best. Vince Vaughn is actually what a cool suburban Chicago kid was. Take Judd Nelson in “Breakfast Club” and make him less douche-like and that would be it. Or maybe Charlie Sheen in “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off.”

Let’s put it this way. Actor Adam “Not those Baldwin brothers” Baldwin is very cool now. He never would have made it as a cool kid in a suburban Chicago high school. Bill Murray would have and did. As his brother, John, my friend, did.

There are three kinds of people in this world:

The best are the people who are kind to everyone. That includes my wonderful wife and daughter. Not only are they kind to people who cannot benefit them - and this is where they leave me in the dust - they are even kind to people who are unkind to them. I only make the bottom of this category because I do not qualify for the huge drop down to the next category.

A-holes. We all know them, but they are flourishing. They used to be restricted to Mall Cops, vice principals, driver's ed teachers and angry DMV workers. Now they are all over, like the drunk woman at the Jack Johnson concert who held her smart phone above her head the entire show to record it knowing and not caring she was blocking the view of everyone in back of her. 

But at least a-holes are consistently a-holes.

The third kind of people are the absolute worst. They are the ones who are charming to people who they need something from then turn into utter a-holes if you can't do something for them. This includes Donald Trump, Kim Kardashian and Chris Brown. And Junior League suburban Chicago area Martha Stewart minions.