The Dead Horse

Friends and family often accuse me of never letting go of a joke.

In the PETA-Disapproved vernacular, 'I will beat a dead horse.'

Then I will eat that dead horse.

With grilled onions. And peppers. And a tall frosty mug of Einstok, this delicious Icelandic beer I discovered at a hipster eatery in Santa Monica.

Wait, where was I? Oh yeah, well, it's Thursday. Time for another back and forth with the ever-so-accommodating ladies of AsiaDate.com.

I don't get a lot of feedback from you people, so I don't really know if I've milked this premise and should move on. But I look over at the most popular blogs from the last month (the column to your right) and I see 40% of the entries come from these Thursday missives.

So I guess I'll just continue.

I'm sorry, but the desperation, the confetti-like use of the English language, and the obtuse cultural references are just too tempting.

It's like bringing a fat guy to a football-field long, all-you-can-eat dessert bar.