But Popeye ate it.

Five year olds don't like creamed spinach.

Who knew?

Funny thing is the little sprout would rather eat plain boring spinach than creamed spinach. Call me crazy but, I figured if I toss some cream cheese and Parmesan cheese on it he would like it better.

But of course, I forget, he hates cheese. The mention of the "C" word makes him vomit in his mouth. Is it just me or isn't cheese a weird thing for kids to hate? And more so for mine because he is half Italian. Don't those people love cheese so much they sleep with a block of Parmesan, or is that just my ex-mother in law? I mean, they put it on everything else, so why not their pillow?

Or their spinach?

Hew, speaking of Italian, some guy on our plane Sunday threw up pizza. It was amazing how far he projected it, pizza vomit was everywhere. It hit the ceiling, the walls, even other passengers who then began to throw up themselves. You know how dominoes work? The first one knocks over the second, which then gets the third? Yeah, it was like that on a plane, except the dominoes were people, and instead of falling over they were throwing up.

We were delayed an hour while the airport crew cleaned it up. And what's even better is that because of this one guy vomiting and causing everyone else to vomit some big country star missed his connecting flight to some place. I think his name was Jack Green from the Grand Ol' Oprey, but hell if I know who he was.

I bet if pizza vomit guy knew he was going to make Jack Green miss his flight and have to sit in a plane that stunk like pizza vomit he might have reconsidered eating the whole pizza. But not me, I would have had two.

Speaking of celebrities, my co-flight attendant thinks we had one of the guys from Office Space on our plane, though I could never figuere out which guy it was. When it comes to celebrities, I really suck. I mean, as much as I love Vin Diesel, he could bend me over the chair and take me from behind while he recites lines from Chronicles of Riddick and I still wouldn't reconize him.

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