El Sol Me Pica

Pepinos Suave sits here, tapping out these words, sweating more than a cold glass of cherry kool-aid on a mid-day asphalt driveway. I'm sweating alot, for those who don't drink cold glasses of kool-aid, or who are not familiar with mid-day asphalt driveways on a Cuke County July afternoon.
On your average day, no matter the weather, Pepino Suave has the fortitude of a super heroe. Ask Pepina. Alas, my kryptonite, my aquilis (?) heal, my weakness is what I'm trying to say, are temperatures above 90 degrees farenheit when the humidity index is higher than water itself. When gills break out on my neck. When parts of me I didn't know I own chafe and burn like the coals of a thousand fires. When Li'l Pepinita fails to plead a plaintive and constant, "Let's wrestle". When it really is hotter than Hades. These are the times ol' Pepinito tosses aside his superheroe bravado, slumps his narrow shoulders, shuffles along, whining a mantra of , "Man, its hot", or "Hay pero que calor". Fans, the heat takes the Yippee out of me Skippee. Lo siento mucho. It's just that it is so hot...

Stay tuned for an account of how Pepino Suave endured carribean summers, or conversely, how the locals restrained themselves from pummeling a whiny, sweaty, bald headed gringo.

Hace demasiado calor,

Pepino Sudando

Hay Pero Que Calor

Cuke County is sweltering this weekend. We're all going to the YPCA for a swim this afternoon. Come join us...

Aguantando el calor,

Peppy

Bobble Heads

The hard working white collars at Bob El Gorila's Mobile Laboratory of Yippee-Skippe Games, Songs, and Stories have decided it is time to shamelessly exploit the magic of the Pepino Suave Experience (this concept is trade marked, you sticky-fingered thieves). Besides bumper stickers, giant foam pickles, coffee mugs, and desk calendars, we now offer Suave family bobble heads. Pepino, Pepina, and Li'l Pepinita are forever imortilized with plastic and springs in this series of action figures made by DeSoap laborers in China, and offered at a reasonable price to you, the few on this troubled planet with enough disposable income to enable a market for bobble heads and other useless crap.
Don't call 1-800-PEPINOS yet, as our inventory is stuck in the New York customs. A customs official named Mohamed found our products to be of a "suspicious" nature. Privatization...

Gozando del Mercado Libre,

Pepino "Negociante" Suave

El Vaso Me Queda Medio Lleno

The world is going to Hades in a handbasket. Gas prices are almost as expensive as anywhere else in the world. Our globe is warming. Folks in the MiddleEast aren't playing nice. The sky is falling, apparently.
Still, I get a kick out of the nice stuff that endures in the midst of chaos. Like tonight's cool, breezy sunset. Or Li'l Pepinita's piano playing wafting out into the neighborhood. Or the lady who smiled and waved when I let her into my lane during obnoxious traffic on A Pain Avenue. Or the kids in the neighborhood who just want to have fun, and have it no matter what. Or unsolicited "Te quieros" from sweet Pepina. Or a bunch of laughs and catching up with old pals. Or good food and drink without fail, daily. Or a hope-filled, take -your-breath-away view over the Cuke Valley ridge at sunrise from the back of the Walmart parking lot. Or parents close enough you can bike to, or drop what your doing and get ice cream with. Or grandparent's eyes when they see their grandchildren. Or all the good that overcomes all the bad, all the time.

Que les aproveche,

P.S.

Pete & Joe

This weekend, Pepinoville was graced with the presence of two very old friends of Pepino Suave, Pete & Joe. Pete & Joe, known as Los Dos de Detroit in these parts, came for their bi-annual visit to a Pepinoville sporting event and late-night euchre-fest. It being summer and all, we went to see the Pepinoville Pickles play Dayton Dills over at the ballpark. It was probably one of the most eventful of all their visits in the past, as we were accompanied by Bompa Suave and Abuelita Suave, the parents of the author of these words. As well, Li'l Pepinita tagged along in a courageous effort to overcome her pathological fear of mascots. She chose to enter the arena of her personal horrors flanked by the hulking frames of Pete, Joe, and Bompa, three fine examples of good nutrition and regular exercise. Or regular nutrition and some exercise, depending on the hulk. I digress. It was a wise move on Li'l Pepinita's part, but unnecesary. She took to this challenge like she did those of her first two-wheel bike, her big-girl bed, sleeping without Lamby, and eating pork rinds. With a lot of whining and squirming at first, before you knew it she was yelling at the mascots, running the aisles with Pete in order to catch a free
t-shirt thrown by the giant muppets. She watched a little of the game, too.
Pete & Joe were a big help. Not just with my daughter's mental health, but also by cleaning up what would usually be left overs of our pre-game bbq. As well, Pete engaged me in a lively discussion of the DeSoap family influence on everything here in Pepinoville. Seems that folks on the other side of the state are pretty curious about a DeSoap heir running for governor. Pete says all they know about DeSoap is that he is very rich cause his Dad made a bundle on a deal where you don't really sell soap, you just get a lot of other people to get a lot of other people to sell soap, and it's is like some big pyramid or something. I said that's all we know about the guy, too, and that every other stucture in Pepinoville has got his name on it.
Anyway, our team won inspite of giving up four runs in the first fifteen minutes of the game, the park was packed with a season record amount of fans, and there were fireworks at the end of the game. Best thing, though, was that a local bread company gave away a loaf (or two) of bread to every fan leaving the park after the fireworks. By the time our gang got back to the BompaMobile (thanks again for driving, Dad), we had nine loaves of bread at our feet. Someone was even heard to exclaim, "Joe, you're stepping on my bread."
As we played euchre well into the next day, we snacked on the spongy bread, comforted with the fact that the company claims that its enriched wheat flour and preservatives would provide us with a handful of essential vitamins. And iron. Pepina scorched a loaf or two in the morning for french toast. Pete and Joe headed out of town with a couple loaves on the dash board. Life was good.
Indeed, Pete and Joe blessed us with more than just the fine company of cherished friends. They bequeathed us with a wisdom earned from a veritable lifetime of television veiwing. The boys explained to us, this during a closely contested euchre game, that Scooby-Doo and his young charge Scrappy-Doo had a bond that goes much deeper than the normal crime fighting partnership. We feel like a veil has been lifted from our eyes...
Usually retuning in the winter to watch the Pepinoville Penguins hit the puck around the DeSoap Memorial Arena, Los Dos de Detroit promise an extrodinary summer return in two weeks to visit Cuke County's famed beaches. We'll keep a loaf of bread in the freezer boys.

Scooby-Dubee-Doo,

P. Suave

Pepina Writes!

Yes, you heard right - Pepina published an entry today on her world famous blog "Mi Vida En Durango". Double click on "Dear Pepina" under "Pepino's Picks" on your right. She reports on some fantastic emotional progress made by our Li'l Pepinita.
May her scars one day heal, and the counseling bill be reasonable...

Un esposo enemorado,

Pepinaso

La Familia Musical

Our Southern Ohio readers have crippled our costumer relations bureau with a flury of calls, letters, emails, and thrown rocks regarding an omition in our report about the Suave Family Reunion. Seems that the author of these fair words neglected to report about the Suave Family Sing-Along. After being berated by dear Pepina over the last 398 years about our lack of musical prowess, we struck back. While she was visiting the lavatory, we broke into a ditty from Pepina's favorite soundtrack, Grease. She re-entered the dining area as a table-full of Suaves belted out, in several keys (most off), "You're the One That I Want". Like the trooper she is, Pepina picked her jaw up off the ground and joined in, as we promptly stopped singing. We're so funny....

Pobre Pepina,

P. Suaveson

Hace Mucho

After many days and 2,240 miles la familia Suave has returned to Casa Pepino in beautiful Pepinoville. Here is the sequence of our journey:

• Far Southern Ohio for the Suave Family Reunion. We gathered with kin in the foothills of Appalachia for three days of swimming and nature hikes (er, hike. Sorry blood. We'll watch nature from the window next year. My bad. Calomine for the itchies, little ones).
• Upstate New York to provide cheap labor. Pepino Suave dropped off the Pepino Chicks, Pepina and Li'l Pepinita, at Tia Agronima's Orchard/Fruit Stand. There they visited and toiled along with Tia Agronima, Tio Tractor, Prima Bailarina, Primo Lap Top, and Prima Pennsylvania. Li'l Pepinita even got to work the cash register at the fruit stand where fruit is sold at the same prices as cars. $2,476.08 for a quart of Slap Knee Rasberries. By the way, I love how fruit is named for the market: sugar snap beans, honey nut squash, dew drop peas. I made these up, but you get the idea. The market made like a gazilion dollars, so they''ll probably break even. I can understand, now, why farming needs to be heavily subsidized by our generous government 'cause you can make 3 bazillion dollars on a plot of sun kissed soy beans, but still have to walk barefoot in the snow. In the summer. I'm glad I teach for food....
• Upstate Vermont, where English is a second language. Lots of French spoken along our Northeast border, friends. I attended a teacher conference in a hotel that could have been anywhere in the U.S., on a street that could have been anywhere in the U.S. I really didn't feel I was in Vermont until I drove a few miles to Lake Champlain, where I camped until it rained. Then I felt like I was in Vermont, so I moved to the reknown Ho Hum hotel, down the street from the conference, where I felt like I was anywhere in the U.S. again.
• Side note/rage: Conference was tres excellent. More on that later. Let's talk about hotels, 'cause they got the same thing going as agriculture. Get this, it is a teachers conference, so we got a slim budget, 'cause we squander all our money for bulletin board decorations, and chalk. We decided not to get coffee as part of the hotel package. You know why? I'll tell you why: $16.00 a pot of joe is what these hotels are charging. Yea. And they charge the same for a stale, boxed lunch if you choose to cater that, too. $16 a box lunch. What a racket. I got my coffee from the gas station and stomped right by the registration counter with an air of " I'll show you", my hand gripping a styrofoam cup of steaming coffee, some dripping over the side 'cause I was stomping. I'm going to write my congressmen. I should charge that rate for each lesson. Each kid. Hey....

Stay tuned for more on our week, as well as a review on Papa Pepina, the caretaker of the Suave Estate while we were gone. Be good.

Tu querido vegetal,

P. Suave

Llegamos

We're baaaaaaack! Gotta go check the calabaza patch. We'll update you later...

Hogar, dulce hogar,

Pep Si

Checking In

Found an internet cafe in the hotel of my conference. Thought I'd drop in and say hi.
Pepino got washed out. Been camping since I dropped the Pepino Chicks off at Tia Agronima's orchard. While they provide cheap, albiet documented, labor, I am kicking back at a teacher's conference in the Northeast. In order to curb expenses, Bob el Gorila has asked me to go third class. So I camped on the shore of Lake Champlain until I was rained out last night. Got a room at the Ho Hum motel (I'm not kidding. I'll take a picture of the sign and post it). Watched lots of CNN and ate what was left in the cooler.
Will fill you on all our adventures later. Especially once Pepina and Li'l Pepinita debrief me on their work as share croppers (I hope to pick them up tomorrow afternoon). Gotta go. Last call for the coffee and donuts....

Desde el Motel Ho Hum,

Pepino Andareago

Gone Camping

The pitbulls are fed, the trap door over the piranah tank is greased, and the triggers on the motion-sensored rifles are set on "hair".
Happy Independence, America. We're going camping....

Gozando de la vida,
Pepino Perdido

P.D. Can't promise any entries 'till we get back. Sorry America.. We'll talk soon.

Garage Sale

I'm exhausted. I've been running a garage sale for the last 1.5 days. Our garage sale was supposed to last 3.0 days, but our competition was just too stiff. Not only was all of metropolitan Pepinoville holding garage sales, but some of the best junk was being offered by our very neighbors on Calle Calabaza. We couldn't compete.
By noon yesterday I had all our household overflow packed into the Pepino Suave Express, ready for a trip to Goodwill.
My best costumer was a retired lady who bought one of our old phones for two bits. I tossed in another old phone for free. It was then that the old lady asked me, "You want to know what I do with these phones?" I couldn't very well say, "No", so I just waited for the inevitable. She tells me she sells 'em on Ebay for 25 bones a piece. Either she's on a fine prescription, or she is a savvy entrepreneour (sp?). My thought is, if you're buying old phones on Ebay, for any price, you must be on a fine prescrition, too. Crazy garage sale people...

Walgarage,

Pep Si

Beer Buffet

I entered the corner gas station with the paperwork for the loan on a tank of gas, and to my surprise I saw a salad bar. No, this was no salad bar. Why, it had no sneeze guard. I crept closer, rustling the chip display and stumbling over the full-sized beer wench (I know. I do a double take, too, when I see the 6'2'" bikini-clad blonde with a beverage in her hand. She's not real. She's so fake. She's cardboard.). Sure enough, it was a 12 foot-long beer buffet. Twelve feet of iced alcoholic beverages. I gazed at the sweating cans and bottles reclyning on a bed of crushed ice and reflected on all who had sacrificed to make this real. Harp music replaced the classic rock station, a gentle glow replaced the flickering floresence; until the cashier, truly bigger than life, shook me from my meditation with:
"I got one in my basement."
Seems the cashier, a young lady that could easily be a Monty Python Player, scored a buffet from the beer distributer and put it in her basement, next to the ping-pong table.
Says its a riot.

Pepina, if your reading this, never a world about your spending habits if you happen to find a beer buffet at a garage sale.
'Nuff said.

Sin buffet,

P. S Out.

Trifecta

Pepina, my beloved spouse, achieved what most bargain shoppers can only hope for - the Thrift Shopper's Trifecta, 2006. Yes, her ever-lastn' effort to find a good buy paid off this week, big time. Like the uncommon triple play of baseball, Pepina's trifecta unfolded so quickly, it took until bedtime for Yours Truly to figure out the immensity of Pepina's accomplishment. Let me lay it out here for you, Dear Reader(s):

Pepina's Thrifty Trifecta (or Triple Crown)

• A 7:00 a.m. wake up in order to begin a forty-mile round trip to her school to buy $3.58 worth of stuff that a retiring colleague was selling and had not used during the last 768 years of her teaching career. Now Pepina gets to store $3.58 of the ol' school marm's stuff for the next 768 years of her teaching career. Phenomenal. Doesn't stop here...
• Pepina drives her Asian Exress for a full week, or 3,876.908 miles, on an empty tank until gas prices reach an all time high ($3.10), then fills up the tank. Backward speculation at its best. Brillant girl.
• Finally, upon shutting down our garage sale for the night (after having sold a few dollars of our household surplus), Pepina goes kitty-corner across the street to attend Pepinoville's 85th Tupperware party of the calendar year (82 of which have been held on our humble street, Calle Calabaza). Amongst the giggles, gossip, and girly gab, Pepina managed to acquire 40 clams worth of burping beverage containers. Sheeesh. Out with the old, in with the new. Tupperware. Put Tupperware in line with Amway of the booths in hell ol' Pepino Suave will be forced to visit if I don't attain The Great Reward. Pepino praying....

On behalf of Bob el Gorila and all that is his, we congratulate Pepina on her (expensive) achievement. We love you.

Con poco plata,

Pepino Pobre

Al Dia

No time now. Pepino is busier than a one legged man in a butt-kicking contest. Since Thursday morn, I am assembling, managing, staffing, and breaking down a garage sale, one of many on our street, Camino Calabaza. When I get off this roller coaster of garbage commerce, I'll catch you up, Dear Reader, on these very important developments in la vida pepina:

• Beer Buffets
• Garage Sales
• Pepina's Trifecta

Don't move. I'll be back soon.

No fio,

P. "Negociante" Suave

P.D. How much for an opened box of crayons with, indigo, and pink missing (lightly used)?

Danger in the Classroom

We here at Bob El Gorila's Mobile Laboratory of Yippee Skippee Games, Songs, and Stories offer you a look into the dangers of the elementary classroom. Yes, the public is hyper-aware of the lucrative salary and cushy benefits ol' Pepino Suave garnars for his labors in early elementary education. But does the average palooka reflect on the inherent dangers of an environment packed with small humans, craft supplies, and staplers? No.
Well, double click on "Danger in the Classroom" above for a taste of my cookie, folks. Published by the distinguished periodical, The Onion, the article depicts just one act of carnage; but carnage that is the potential of any well-prepared lesson plan (and especially for the not-so-well-planned, or any Friday, or week before holiday, or month before summer vacation, or when there is a substitute, or a student's meds are withheld or poorly administered, or the eve of a full moon, or the wake of a firedrill, any pizza day, or when a non-teacher becomes "principal for the day").
Double-click and enjoy.

Hasta alli,

P.S Out...

Bullet Points

• The Pepino Suave telecommunications department (1-800-PEPINOS) has made a request that blog readers please stop calling for Rubia's Ambrosia recipe. Your calls have overwhelmed our operators, who are just as eager as you to get Rubia's recipe. We will post the altered recipe as soon as Rubia gets around to it. I think my dear cousin is on the phone. Rubia, if you are reading this, send the recipe as soon as possible. The world deserves to know.
• It is raining down in Pepinoville. Thunder, too.
• I interviewed a student-teacher candidate last week that was old enough to be my child, had I fathered a child just after adolescence and before my first real job. Pepino Viejo.
• Why do some grown men enjoy lighting fireworks? Why can't these same men contain their pyromania for the appropriate holiday? Bangs and booms, and cracklings lose their novelty when you've been hearing them randomly since Martin Luther King holiday. The Fourth of July becomes just another noisy day. Instead of "bombs bursting in air", fireworks symbolize "money blown out the wazoo."
• As I write these words, I am eating (strawberry) jelly toast. Sticky keyboard. My hats off to neighbor Cocinera, for her superb homemade perserves. Una marmelada deliciosa.

Esperando a Rubia,

Pepino Bailarin

A Reflexionar

Hermano Miguel sent the following entry in a recent email. Once our editorial board, Los Gorilas Ocho, got their mits on it, they insisted we post it today. Upon reading it, I think you'll understand their enthusiasm. You'll go ape.

If they know of him at all, many folks think Ben Stein is just a quirky actor/comedian who talks in a monotone. He's also a very intelligent attorney who knows how to put ideas and words together in such a way as to sway juries and make people think clearly. The following was written by Ben Stein and recited by him on CBS Sunday Morning Commentary, Sunday, 12/18/05:
Herewith at this happy time of year, a few confessions from my beating heart: I have no freaking clue who Nick and Jessica are. I see them on the cover of People and US constantly when I am buying my dog biscuits and kitty litter. I often ask the checkers at the grocery stores. They never know who Nick and Jessica are either. Who are they? Will it change my life if I know who they are and why they have broken up? Why are they so important?I don't know who Lindsay Lohan is either, and I do not care at all about Tom Cruise's wife.Am I going to be called before a Senate committee and asked if I am a subversive? Maybe, but I just have no clue who Nick and Jessica are.If this is what it means to be no longer young, it's not so bad.Next confession: I am a Jew, and every single one of my ancestors was Jewish. And it does not bother me even a little bit when people call those beautiful lit up, bejeweled trees Christmas trees. I don't feel threatened. I don't feel discriminated against. That's what they are: Christmas trees.It doesn't bother me a bit when people say, "Merry Christmas" to me. I don't think they are slighting me or getting ready to put me in a ghetto. In fact, I kind of like it. It shows that we are all brothers and sisters celebrating this happy time of year. It doesn't bother me at all that there is a manger scene on display at a key intersection near my beach house in Malibu. If people want a creche, it's just as fine with me as is the Menorah a few hundred yards away.I don't like getting pushed around for being a Jew, and I don't think Christians like getting pushed around for being Christians. I think people who believe in God are sick and tired of getting pushed around, period. I have no idea where the concept came from that America is an explicitly atheist country. I can't find it in the Constitution, and I don't like it being shoved down my throat.Or maybe I can put it another way: where did the idea come from that we should worship Nick and Jessica and we aren't allowed to worship God as we understand Him?I guess that's a sign that I'm getting old, too.
But there are a lot of us who are wondering where Nick and Jessica came from and where the America we knew went to.In light of the many jokes we send to one another for a laugh, this is a little different: This is not intended to be a joke; it's not funny, it's intended to get you thinking.Billy Graham's daughter was interviewed on the Early Show and Jane Clayson asked her "How could God let something like this Happen?" (regarding Katrina)Anne Graham gave an extremely profound and insightful response. She said, "I believe God is deeply saddened by this, just as we are, but for years we've been telling God to get out of our schools, to get out of our government and to get out of our lives.And being the gentleman He is, I believe He has calmly backed out. How can we expect God to give us His blessing and His protection if we demand He leave us alone?"In light of recent events...terrorists attack, school shootings, etc. I think it started when Madeleine Murray O'Hare (she was murdered, her body found recently) complained she didn't want prayer in our schools, and we said OK.Then someone said you better not read the Bible in school .. the Bible says thou shalt not kill, thou shalt not steal, and love your neighbor as yourself. And we said OK.Then Dr. Benjamin Spock said we shouldn't spank our children when they misbehave because their little personalities would be warped and we might damage their self-esteem (Dr. Spock's son committed suicide). We said an expert should know what he's talking about. And we said OK.Now we're asking ourselves why our children have no conscience, why they don't know right from wrong, and why it doesn't bother them to kill strangers, their classmates, and themselves.Probably, if we think about it long and hard enough, we can figure it out. I think it has a great deal to do with "WE REAP WHAT WE SOW."Funny how simple it is for people to trash God and then wonder why the world's going to hell.Funny how we believe what the newspapers say, but question what the Bible says.Funny how you can send 'jokes' through e-mail and they spread like wildfire but when you start sending messages regarding the Lord, people think twice about sharing.Funny how lewd, crude, vulgar and obscene articles pass freely through cyberspace, but public discussion of God is suppressed in the school and workplace.Are you laughing?Funny how when you forward this message, you will not send it to many on your address list because you're not sure what they believe, or what they will think of you for sending it.Funny how we can be more worried about what other people think of us than what God thinks of us.Pass it on if you think it has merit. If not then just discard it, no one will know you did. But, if you discard this thought process, don't sit back and complain about what bad shape the world is in.

Me pongo a pensar,

P. Suave

Potential

Li'l Pepinita got two hits! She ends the season 2 for 1,453! After a season of struggling at the plate, she wacked two balls clear past the pitcher's mound.
I'm telling ya', the family Suave could taste these hits at the dinner table. We knew something special was going to happen. Our little pelotera had been slapping wiffle balls at the back of the garage all week. She was determined to change things. Last night, the last game of the season, Li'l Pepinita was walking different. She was swinging different. She was determined. Her first at-bat, she stepped up to the plate like she owned it, took a couple of fierce practice swings, and stared down the pitching machine like it had eaten her twinky. The crowed settled in for the wait - by now accostomed to Pepinita's pitch selection that would make a turtle seem impulsive. After letting a couple of high balls go by, she swung, hit the ball, and ran to first faster than she's ever ran, even faster than when she chases the Pepinoville icecream truck, or when she runs towards anything that contains high fructose corn syrup. She ran fast.
Her next at-bat she repeated the same, except that time she carried the air of a veteran. Like it was normal to get on base.
Her last at-bat was different. She was meloncholy. She returned to her old form. She struck out. I walked over to the dugout and asked the pouting Pepinita what gives. She said, "Nothing. I'm just going to miss my coaches." Aw, shucks, these kids have big hearts, don't they America?
Hey, and three cheers for Li'l Pepinita's Coaches and for Coaches all over Cuke County. These guys, and gals, are exceptional. Thanks for your time. You make a difference. Li'l Pepinita dedicates her last strike out to you.

Orgullosamente,

Peppy

Ambrosia

Prima Rubia, the very oldest of all the Sauve cousins, alerted the Pepino Suave Blogsite Editorial Board of Chimps, Rubber Chickens, and Other Lawyers (PSBEBCRCOL) of an error in the previous entry entitled "El Pescador de Frisbees". It was a ghastly error of omission, made worse by the fact that it slighted a much older cousin of Pepino Suave, the eldest of the Suave grandchildren, the heir to Grandma Suave's haircurlers: Rubia. In the comments for that wayward entry, amongst Spanish comments produced by translation programs (who is their Spanish teacher, anyway?), was Rubia's plaintive "call out" for her picnic dish, Ambrosia, a Suave tradition. Seems I omitted any reference to the sticky concoction. Rubia's side-dish insecurity is unwarranted, our fans realize, as everyone knows a Suave meal includes a mixing bowl heaped with Ambrosia. Es obvio.
Still, the fact remains that this writer, whose keyboard is soley used for goodness, wisdom, and fart jokes, slighted Rubia, a cousin revered by my siblings for her heartwarming family tales about life on a glacier. Rubia, the keeper of family traditions (wrestling with mamoths? What fun it must have been in her youth!). Rubia, whose youthful good looks belie her advancing years. Rubia, if she were a tree, would have more tree rings than a, well, a real old tree.
Dear Rubia, our sage cousin of the youthful good looks, how can we, the good people of Bob El Gorilas Mobile Wharehouse of Yippee Skippee Games, Songs, and Stories make it up to you?
Tell you what, Los Gorilas Ocho and I got together around the kool-aid cooler and brainstormed a solution. Send us a slightly altered version of La Familia Suave Ambrosia recipe and we'll post it right here on this beloved blog. No, not the original, top secret version etched in a stone tablet and hidden in your brazier, but an altered one. One that will give our audience an idea of our famed Suave tradition, without giving up the entire secret you've been guarding since the French Indian War (Tell us again how you translated for the French. Oui?). You know, maybe switch brands of marshmellows. Or replace sliced peaches for melon balls (worked that one in there for you, Hermano Miguel).
Thank you, esteemed Readers, for allowing us to make things right with ol' Rubia. Our picnic was anchored by her sweet, spongy Ambrosia. Rubia would never forget, regardless her advanced age. My bad.

Me gusta,

P. Suaveson