Mayonnaise

Does this happen to you?  You're feeling a bit peckish.  You're wandering around, sort of fitfully cleaning up the kitchen, reflecting on the relationship between a man and his stomach.  You open the door of the ice box and see the jar of mayonnaise (which, apparently, is spelled with two Ns and just one S), and suddenly you realize you cooked an artichoke last night and it's just sitting there, under some foil, waiting to be eaten for lunch?

And that qualifying for the Grand Prix of the United States is about to start?

This, dear reader, is surely anybody's recipe for ecstasy.  At least until Sebastian Vettel qualifies first and Fernando Alonso qualifies ninth.  And then you just want to vomit?

And then somebody is moved to the back of the grid for some miscellaneous penalty and Alonso gets moved up to 8th, which is about the same as 7th or 9th, and which is definitely not first, except that 8th, unlike 7th or 9th, is on the dirty side of the track.  Which actually makes it worse than 9th since when he hits the gas at the start of the race his wheels are gonna spin like crazy while everybody on the clean side of the track is gonna take off like a scalded cat.

And then you really feel like vomiting?

Wow.  Thank God the Jets are playing tomorrow.
You're just fucking with me, aren't you?
Yes I am.

The solution is to come down to the studio to stretch a canvas that will, on some level, be something like this ...

As filtered through this ...

I love that blue hair.