Krab, with a "K"

HELLO, EVERYBODY! American singing legend, and fullback, Kate Smith shares with us her"pet Jell-O tricks", Strawberry "festive" mold and a cucumber "tang" salad. The strawberry mold looks like the Ford Rotunda .

"Yeah, let's see bitching about the party now, 4C."

So. Much. Wrong. I prefer my shortcake with strawberries, thank you very much.

So yesterday it was about Ken, today it is about Brad.  And Brad has it all going on.  Yeah, he is Christie's boyfriend, but he would also look mighty fine with Barbie.  And unlike Ken who never says a word, BRAD is a chatterbox.  "I talk." and, "I say many things."  Evidently, Brad was educated at Oxford because he also does not use contractions.

But you are Ken, you are.  And you are just too rigid with the way you carry yourself. When Barbie needs someone to fill out her "plus one,"  she calls you, but the rest of time, you are in the box with Skipper. The problem is, Ken, your wardrobe isn't something that you can share with Barbie.  Midge would like to wear it because Midge is Dykadelic.  But Barbie?  Not so much.

Natty Boh is the official beer of Krab with a K. No craft beer for Krab lovers.  That snobby BS is for the more refined lovers of "Crab".  No one here calls it "National Bohemian - it's always been "Natty Boh" or just "Boh". But its still good trash beer.  But the "Pleasant Living" in "Charm City".  A total crock of shit. 

...never attractive and are often downright ugly. If this guy gets on the bench, remember, Hell Hath No Fury like Brett Kavanaugh Confirmed.

...what is it?

Isn't that the truth.

I hate to pop that childhood illusion that millions of baby boomers fell for: but Winky Dink never really needed your help.  It was a scam. You were played, Dork. Winky Dink always made it from one side of the screen to the other.  You didn't have to draw a bridge. How? Winky Dink was a Warlock and floated across the screen. Drunken Warlock.  Look at that red nose. So what happens to all that rage?  Trump wins the White House.  That's what. Every God damned Trumpster loving dickwad that voted for the President did so because they fell for the Winky Dink Scam. And in the back of their minds, Winky Dink could never have made it across the TV screen.  Winky Dink only made it across because these idiots were there for Winky Dink. Then the world turned on them and shattered the myth. And the outcome?  Trump. Think about it.

This is all sorts of Baltimore, all over it.  After reading this page, I can tell you that peanut butter and mayo sandwich is deeply offended because it was left off this page.  Peanut butter and prune made it.  What of peanut butter and mayo? On white bread. It's the loving wife who will mash up 3/4 cup of baked bean and top it with applesauce and wrap that mess on white bread in wax paper for her man at the shipyard. 

I am serious.  Is Baltimore forgetting Divine? It's a question that I ask myself all the all the time. When guests come to "Bawlimore" I ask them, "would ya like to meet Divine, hon?" The with it guests are always up to it.  The straight guests are like, "Huh?"  The cemetery where "Glen Milstead", "DIVINE" is buried is right off the traffic circle in downtown Towson.   If it weren't for the pine trees, she'd have an unobstructed view of Macy's. Granted Divine is an acquired taste.  Either you have had that buxom beauty up on the screen, or you haven't.   And I am not talking about Hairspray Divine, I am talking about Pink Flamingo's Divine. Outrageous, Divine. Last month I took a neighbor lady to see the grave and she had no idea it was this close.  She's a bit warped like Cookie, too. When we got to the burial spot and parked the car my friend looked at a sign on the other side of thane and s...

We all knew that the bride was heading for heartbreak. She married the Tapioca Prince, but it didn't work out because he wouldn't touch her, and she was not gonna let that gunky lunky white stuff slide down her throat.  They were on an espresso track to a dessert, when she decided that like all 1950s girls, she would commit to her husband because in heart she loved him.  And because no one really likes a canned Danish ham go to waste. Admit it.  Now that you have seen Princess Spamalot, you are tight like two dollar watch because your caterer never gave you this option.  That buffet plate needed a little bit-o-height, but not enough to outshine the cake. Marry in haste, reception at leisure. Now that you know what your friends are missing, take one to their wedding.  The secret is that dressed meat is hiding a crocheted toilet paper holder for a skirt attached. This centerpiece goes from the buffet table to the bathroom just like you will!

Growing up we used to call meals like these "Strike Food" because it's what you ate when parent(s) could were on strike from work and money was tight.   And you ate it not because you you wanted to, but because you never knew if next week of meals could be fish sticks.  Tarter sauce was for the rich kids.  If money was really tight, then something called "Emergency Steak was what you got and it was made with Corn Flakes soaked in beef broth and then molded into a steak form.  That came from Mom's WWII rationing cookbook.  It was enough to ask for beets. BTW, did you miss us?  It's been a year. But we're still here.  No more excuses.

It's the holiday weekend and we here at Krab with a "K" want to offer up some ideas for your holiday meals.  Something other than the traditional, and boring hamburgers and hot dogs. No idea what it is, buts it is festive.  Some type of ground/shredded meats in aspic.  Serve with a salad of potatoes tossed in mayo and tit like biscuits. If you MUST cook out, try canned meats this year.  So space age. I can't bring myself to tell you what it is, just read the instructions on the image.   Remember, everything is better when you fill the holes with beans or peas.  Yes, strange as it may seem.  Have a happy fourth!

I don't know if just me, but for the life of me I think that the word "Frankfurter" is dirty.  "Frank" I get, and I have eaten many of frank -both the processed food and men with that name. It's the "furter" that leaves me feeling dirty.   Maybe because it reminds me furtive. Even back on the farm that grandparents and then aunt and uncle had, where you soon learned that "sweetbreads" were not cinnamon sugar toast, a hot dog was fine, so were franks.  But "frankfurter" was as alien to me as those damned "New England Style Hot Dog Roll." And I have to add that the "New England Style Hot Dog Roll" v "Hot Dog Bun" argument rages in our house.  My husband is from New England.  I am from the "Western Reserve" in Ohio - land owed to Connecticut after the Revolutionary War for service in the fight for Independence.  And in the Western Reserve is a hot dog bun, damn it. But I digress - ...

So, as I was saying, life in Bawlimore is mostly like Milwaukee, but without the glamour. Sorta like Velveeta - it looks like cheese, but its not.  Anyhow, I found the above headline picture and it made me feel a wee bit nostalgic.  This is how I remember grocery stores from my early childhood.  Mother's dressed to go shopping, looking over the space-age foods that we were lucky enough to afford.  And there, on the top shelf, I spotted the old familiar VELVEETA box of my childhood. I did a search on Google for the old Velveeta boxes from my childhood - the ones like this: Well, this is the box, but in my Ohio childhood, all the writing was in English.  But everything is better in French, right? I mean - "Fromage Fondue Pasteurise" sounds so glamorous, right? There was nothing pissy about the name.  I mean it is VELVEETA in bold block letters that mean this stuff is all business, people. "Take no shit, take no prisoners". And then I star...