Sponge Bob Square Pants 1999-2009

Reuters -- Bikini Bottom
Sept. 30, 2009



SpongeBob SquarePants, the Nickelodean network personality, popular with minivan television viewers, died today after a brief illness at his home in Bikini Bottom. He was 10 years old. The cause of death was "overexposure," according to his publicist.

Schmuel "Spongy" Pinsky was born May 1, 1999 in the mind of artist, animator and former marine biologist Stephen Hillenburg, who quickly changed Schmuel's name to Sponge Bob, because he thought "Schmuel Pinsky" "sounded too Irish."

SquarePants was a hyperactive, energetic, and optimistic sea sponge (although his appearance more closely resembled a well-worn kitchen sponge) who lived in a pineapple under the sea. His pet snail, Gary, was said to be in seclusion upon hearing the news of Bob's death.

The Krusty Krab fast-food restaurant, where SpongeBob worked as a successful fry cook, was doing a brisk business late today with lines of curiously morbid sea creatures 3 deep stretching out the door and into the sand. (Squidward Tentacles, a Bob neighbor, widely believed to have disliked SpongeBob for his alleged child-like behavior, told reporters he would refrain from playing his clarinet for a week out of respect for Bob and would take a brief leave of absence from his job as a cashier at The Krusty Krab).

There was a similar scene outside Bob's pineapple, and the authorities had a difficult time keeping crowds at bay, as the police tape with which they hoped to create a buffer zone kept floating up to the surface or dissolving. SpongeBob's neighbor and best friend, Patrick, a pink starfish who lives under a rock, told reporters that he hoped to "clean up" selling autographs and other Sponge momentos. In an interview, he alternated between crying and counting the loose change at his autograph table.

SquarePants never married and it was not immediately clear whether he had any heirs. Assertions by some social conservatives that SquarePants was a "gay icon" who had an unexplained relationship with Patrick were vociferously denied by Nickelodean several years ago, but the charges persist. Sandy Cheeks, a land squirrel from Texas, long reputed to have been "in a relationship" with SpongeBob could not be reached at her home in an underwater dome in Bikini Bottom. Rumors about an amphibious hybrid squirrel-sponge child fathered by SquarePants following an affair with Cheeks spread both under water and above ground as news of Bob's death reached the masses.

The identity of a SquarePants heir would be a matter of no small import. At his death, SquarePants was said to be worth billions of dollars, and he appeared to be everywhere: from television to movies to Happy Meals and Jolly Green Giant cans.

Plans for a memorial service were still underway at press time. Eugene Krabs, founder and owner of The Krusty Krab said that he would probably host an event "provided people didn't try to eat too much free grub." There was no word on whether Krab would invite Sheldon Plankton owner of the fast-food restaurant, "The Chum Bucket" across the street from The Krusty Krab, but a Krusty Krab waitress said that was unlikely.

NOTE TO KIDS:

Don't cry. It's just a silly joke. SpongeBob isn't really dead; he's fine.

Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy are all dead, though.

The Menu at Chez Thibaut's

Appetizer

Grilled Jellybean "Carpaccio" with Roasted M & Ms Agrodolce & Baby Ruth*12

Beef Jerkey Carpaccio, Black Jelly Bean Truffle Aïoli, Parmesan & Toasted Peanut Brittle* 15

Sushi Grade Twizzlers with Crispy, Crunchy, Ginger & Soy Jelly Beans* 19

"Potted" Foie Gras Parfait "jelly" beans, Toasted pop "Tart" Baguette 16

Maine Crab Ravioli Jelly Bean with Thyme-Tomato Broth 18

"Steamed" "Black" "Jelly" "Beans" "with" "Smoked" "Tomato" "Marinière," "Grilled" "Semolina" "Toasts"* 16

Classic Jelly Bean Escargots, Burgundy Style with Red Wine & Garlic Butter, Semolina "Toasts"* 15

Semolina "Toasts" All By Themselves Without that Other Annoying Crap All Over Them 48

Semolina Flour, a bowl of water, and a stopwatch * 16

Naive Tomato Bisque with Jaded Basil in a Cynical Parmesan Pastry Crust topped with jelly beans *12

Margerinenut Squash Tortellini, Braised Lucky Rabbit's Foot, Fall Down the Stairs into the Root Cellar Vegetables & Jelly Beans *16

Seared Foie Gras Jelly Beans with Peach Right-Side-Up Cake, Man-handled-Ginger Reduction*19

Snickers Chiffonade, Feta, Kalamata Jelly Beans, "Chardonnay-" flavored Hi-C* 13

30 Israeli Osetra Caviar Jelly Beans, Traditional Accompaniments *125


Entrée****

Grilled Atlantic Jelly Bean Provençal, Roasted Tomato, Red Onions, Fin Herbes & Vinny Cotto* 28

Bordelaise Style Jelly Beans, Roasted Asparagus & Horseradish Whiplashed Potato* 36

Grilled Prime Headwaiter Jelly Bean, Maitre D'Hotel, Horse-Whipped Potatoes & "Chanterelles"* 39

Lady Godiva Gratin Dauphinoise Jelly Beans, Potatoes Whipped into a Frenzy, Raunchy Carrots & Haricots Verts* 42

Half "Whole Roasted" Duck & Wild Jelly Bean Risotto, One third "one half" Dried Wisconsin Cherry Gastrique, Potatoes, yearning to breathe free* 34

Pan Roasted Cornish Game Jelly Beans, Luke-Warm Spinach, Onion & House Cured "sick" potatoes* 22

Potatoes "masquerading" as Jelly Beans 14

Potatoes "suffocated" in a bag, waterboarded, and interrogated under klieg lights *53

Potatoes insulted to the brink of tears*59

Potatoes Lined up Against a Wall and Shot*60

Potatoes "In Your Face," All over your Face, in Your Lap, and all Over the Floor*96 (includes clean-up costs)

****I said, "Come in!"

Sides

Sautéed Spinach & Jelly Beans 9

Olive Oil Roasted Jelly Beans 7

Jelly Beans Americaine' 8

Jelly Beans Louisiane' 9

Jelly Beans Alsace Lorraine 10

The "Rain in Spain" Jelly Beans 12

Raw Potatoes 6

9

8

46

23

17

Hike!

*Contains or may contain or may have contained, or may one day contain, or, theoretically, could contain raw or undercooked ingredients.

Consuming raw or undercooked jelly beans may increase the risk of ordering potatoes as an entree.


Dessert*

We're out of Dessert

*Dairy Free

Made fresh Daily





Pastry Chef, Mr. Potato Head






DON'T FORGET TO VALIDATE YOUR TICKET

(Please note, if you park in our lot, you will be towed).

Moammar Kadafi Addressess the U.N.

United Nations, New York, Sept 23, 2009
Excerpts from the Remarks of His Excellency, President, Moammar Kadafi of the Great Socialist People's Libyan Arab Jamahiriya to the U.N. General Assembly


What's goin' on, New York? Whoooeeeeee am I bushed. I just flew in from Tripoli, and let me tell you people, that is one long schlepppppp. You see how puffy I look today? My god, you'd think I was Charles Bronson on steroids or something. What? Now, now. Simmer down, people. Bronson. Great actor. Respect. Really. HELLLLLLLLLLLO!


So, anyway, I'm a little ferklempt. No sleep, people, ok? I am not kidding you. Here's a news flash to the airline; We all know how to use a seatbelt, ok? I mean, c'mon. Is there really any one left who doesn't know about slipping the metal part securely into the opening until it clicks and tightening it securely around our waists? Maybe one guy in Bhutan didn't get the memo, but he's the only one, ok?--Jeeeez! And what's with the peanuts they throw at you, already? This they call a nosh? What? No roast lamb on a skewer in the galley from our friends at the Lufthansa Kitchen? Pleeeeaaazzzzzzze! Ha, Ha. I'm kidding. I love our National Airline. Why shouldn't I, I own it. Hey, you folks look great from here, let me tell you.

Well, you know me. I go wherever the winds should blow, and that's where I pitch my tent -- New Jersey, White Plains -- whatever. But, it's great to be back in New York, I mean...no, no, please. You people are too kind, really. Hey IS NEW YORK THE GREATEST TOWN, OR WHAT? AM I RIGHT? I SAID, AM I RIGHT? Hooooooo. Hoooooooo. Hoooooo. I am pumped! I am pumped I, tell you!

But seriously, folks, In the Name of the God of Mercy, Compassion, Peace, Freedom, Justice, and stuff like that, Mr. President, Mrs. President, Miss President, Ms. President (does that cover all the ladies? Don't want to offend anyone), Excellencies, Ladies and Gentlemen, and also a big shout out to Pat Buchanan, Louis Farrakhan, and Hugo (the "Man") Chavez:

Today we have gathered here to exchange views about the world, its future, but mostly, its past -- particularly the years 1939 to 1945 -- my faves! And I say to you in the name of the prophets--Faith. Faith will prove to be the solution to many of today's problems. Faith. Not Faith Hill (tho, not bad on the eyes if I'm being honest), just plain, old faith. This is, ultimately, how the Boston Red Sox came to win the World Series. Faith. That's it. Faith is all you got to hold on to in this crazy, mixed up world. And now I am speaking directly to you, Chicago, particularly the north side -- yeah, Cubbies territory. Keep the faith, baby. Keep the faith. And one day, one day...Yeah. You could win it all. Dig? Right on!

Show of hands -- whose from the City of the Big Shoulders?...Oh, look at that! Lotta Windy City types here, today. Yesssireee Bob. Hey, you know who else is from Chi-town? My son, Barack, that's who. We call him Baracka-a-bye baby in Libya. No, wait! It's a term of endearment, I swear! Yeah, he was just here at this very podium, right? Spoke right before me. I gave him a little fist pump in the hall (I saw the Dalai Lama do it earlier on C-span and I kind of stole that move, but ok, whatever). Anyway, my path kinda crossed Barack's in the hall, and I called out: "Hey Barack, my boy, my son, my fellow African, yo! What it is! Keep on keepin' on!"

He was about 300 yards away, so I can't really say for sure that he heard me, but that short little douche bag, Rahm Emanuel, came running up and tried to kick me in the nuts as a joke, and I said, Hey Rahm! You gotta stand on a ladder to reach MY nuts, you know what I'm sayin, short stuff? But, hey It's all good. Rahm and I go way back. All night bull sessions in Hyde Park after sneaking off of the U of C campus to score a joint ---ooooooooooooooooooooops. Sorry Rahm. Only a few billion people watching the U.N. General Assembly on live TV today, so your secret's still safe with about the 3 billion other people who aren't watching! Yeah! Ha, ha. Rahm, you crack me up.

Hey does anyone here have a copy of the U.N. charter? You do? Hey thanks. Ok. Watch closely. Here's a little trick I picked up in the Western Sahara-- or was it Darfur? Oh well. Not important. Hey! See that? See that? I ripped it! I ripped the U.N. Charter, man! Now, watch. I just toss the pieces on the floor and some lackey will come along later and sweep it up. See that? See that? Pretty cool, huh? Now kids, don't try this at home. I am a pro-fess-ion-al. Oh god, I crack myself up. Oh thank you; thank you. You people are too kind, really.

Well, what I came here to talk about was how Jack Ruby (ne Rubenstein) shot Lee Harvey...why are you laughing? You didn't know he changed his name from Rubenstein? You didn't know that? Yeah. Dig it. Jack Ruby was a Member of the Tribe and I'm not talking about the Cleveland Indians, if you get my drift. Grew up eating cholent and kasha varnishkes, and gefilte fish -- the whole 18 yards. You didn't know that? Well don't you think it's just a little, little strange that Jack Ruby had the same given name as Arthur Rubinstein the pianist, not to mention Helena Rubenstein the cosmetics industrialist? (Did you pick up on that? In-dustri-a-list...No? Nothing? Ok, people, I know I'm speaking in code, but do I have to spell it out for you? C'mon. Don't you think it's just a little, little bit of a coincidence that Ruby changes his name and then goes and shoots Lee Harvey? Maybe Benjamin Netanyahu doesn't want you to hear about this, but what do you expect? Who do you think invented the tuck rule in the NFL? The Jordanians? You know what we call Netanyahu in Libya? Nutt'n-Honey. Cute, huh?

And speaking of nuts, I hear Mahmoud Ahmadinejad from Iran will be speaking later. I caught his show last year and let me, tell you it is wild. He is one wild dude. Crazy, man.

Do you like my cloak? I sewed it myself. Yeah I was talking shop with Hamid Karzai from Afghanistan just before I came here, and he told me to ditch the Generalissimo look with the epaulets and the military cap, and everything. No really. He's a cool dude. very stylish. Doesn't have my boyish curls, but then, who does?

Here's a little song I wrote. Gonna chant it, note for note: "O mighty Lord, I pray to you to hasten the emergence of your last repository, the promised one, that perfect and pure human being, the one that will fill this world with justice and peace. And while you're at it, please send me someone to love."

Ok, that last line I kinda lifted from Sade.

By the way, capitalism sucks.

Hey, who do you have to schtup to get a an ice cube around here? What is this, France? Ha, ha. Just kidding, Nick. That's my man, Nick Sarkozy in the 4th row down there, everybody. Stand up and take a bow, Nick. Oh, you are standing up. Sorry. Try the Gravity Defier shoes, Nick. They promise to add 2 inches to your height. Very comfy, too.

What's that? No ice? How about a little seltzer? No? Soda water? No? I'm on my 4th glass of water and that's all you got? Whose got the drink concession in this place? the Zionist entity? Could you turn those lights down a little, at least? It's hotter up here then a Tripoli greenhouse, of which, by the way, there aren't any. God awwmighty, global warming is a bitch!

Hey here's an idea. Let's move the Security Council to Mogadishu. Yeah. And let's get to the bottom of this Jack Rubenstein/Ruby Lee Harvey business once and for all. I didn't know if you noticed but jet lag is a bear. Man! Man! It's like the middle of the night back home and my body clock is so out of whack I barely know what I'm sayin'. Oh to hell with these notes. I'm just going to throw them on the floor. Chill. Chill! The lackey will be along in a minute to sweep up.

Oh, nice. The music is starting. Looks like I'm about to get the ol' heave-ho. Well, you people have been great, really.

I want to give you all a big Libyan kiss. It sounds a little like a Bronx cheer. Ok, who'm I kiddin? It pretty much is a Bronx cheer. Ppppppppppppppppppppbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbshhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

You're beautiful. I'm here all week.

Peace.

Riddle Song (un-Traditional)

Set-Up

I gave my love a candle,
that had no wick
Also a stick of butter,
without no stick
I gave my love a lolli (pop),
it had no lick
I gave her the remote clicker
sans the click

Mystery

How can there be a candle,
that has no wick?
How can a stick of butter
be out of stick?
How can a lollipop, sir,
be missing lick?
Wherefore a TV clicker
without a click?

Payoff

A candle when it’s melted,
it got no wick
And same thing with the butter,
voila, no stick!
When the lolli's eaten,
you're out of lick.
The clicker won't take double-As,
and thus, no click.

Epilogue

My love she don't use candles
she's ee-lek-trick
She uses extra virgin;
it’s just as slick.
My love she don't like lollis,
they make her sick.
She got a back-up clicker
for endless clicks.  

Riddle Song II ( The Sequel)

She gifted back the candle,
Its wick don’t work
She threw at me the butter;
called me a jerk.
My shoes she stuffed with suckers (wet),
I went beserk.
She always tunes the clicker
to the Style Network.  

Turn-by-Turn Directions

1. Back out of your driveway and start going north. (You will know you are going north if the sun is setting to your left). Or, if you are driving at night, you will know you are going north if you pursue the direction of the north star (this is the prominent pole star that lies closest in the sky to the north celestial pole and which appears [approximately] directly overhead to an observer at the Earth's North Pole, i.e. "Polaris," which lies about two thirds of a degree from the north celestial pole, at the end of the "bob" of the Little Dipper asterism in the constellation Ursa Minor). If it is not possible to discern either the setting sun or the north star, you may judge whether you are going north by holding a finger out your car window stretched upward to catch the breeze of the north wind. This is a wind that blows from a northerly origin in a southerly direction a/k/a "Boreas." In Greek mythology, Boreas was the god of the north wind and bringer of cold winter air. (Brrrrrrrrrrrr!)

If neither the setting sun, nor the north star, nor Boreas (the "north" wind) are at your disposal, you may ascertain north by witnessing the Aurora Borealis. As you will have now deduced, the Aurora Borealis are known in the vernacular as the "Northern Lights" but in parts of Quebec as "les aurores boréales." If, by some unfortunate circumstance, you have no access to the setting sun, or the north star, or the north wind, or the northern lights, you may still determine whether you are headed north by reading one of the literally hundreds of thousands of road signs that are posted conveniently along the highways and byways of North America (except in Massachusetts). These signs, as a rule, indicate, not only the name of the road you happen to be traversing, but also the direction you are going. Thus, for example, if you spot a sign which reads "I-95 South," you will almost certainly have a clear indication that you are not going north, at which point, it would be prudent to determine the approximate direction of the setting sun. (On Cape Cod, direction can be determined by ignoring altogether indications of "north," "south," "east," or "west," dividing by 2 and adding 6. Thus, if a sign should read "Route 6 East, Provincetown," you will know that you are, in fact, driving around in circles.

2. At the end of the block, turn right. (You will know you are going right because, in fact, the road itself turns to the right and it is not possible to go in any other direction unless you back up, which is not advised, because of the spikes on the ground placed there by the evil car rental company to ruin your tires should you decide, in a fit of exuberance, to back up).

3. Continue straight (turning neither to the left, nor to the right, nor to the north) for precisely 1,397 feet. While some wags may find it amusing to bring a 12-inch ruler along and stop and start the car 1,397 times to place the ruler on the pavement so as to mark same with chalk to arrive at absolute 1,397 feet, this has proved to be needlessly time-consuming and painful. In fact, you will know you have gone precisely 1,397 feet if you have sung the first 4 bars of "Alice's Restaurant" while maintaining a steady speed of 3 miles per hour. As soon as you have sung: "da-da-da-da-da-da-da-dahhhhh, Alice's Restaurant," you will have arrived at your destination. Another way to tell that you have gone precisely 1,397 feet is that a large brick wall with a brightly painted logo bearing the legend "Lil' Peach Convenience Store," will prevent you from proceeding any further. You have arrived at your destination. (Do not back up!)

4. Next time, consider walking, as you surely need the exercise.


Approximate distance: 2,398 feet.

Approximate drive time (not using the ruler method): 3.5 minutes.

Approximate number of times the word "approximate" has been used in these directions: 4

Approximate number of times the word "approximate" has been used ever since the beginning of the world: 3,457,895,235,982.

Approximate number of people who have read these directions (not counting the person who wrote them): 0.

Screwing Around with the Declaration of Independence

When, in the course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to stretch the rubber bands which have connected them with another, and to assume that the powers of the earth know what the hell they are talking about, the separate and equal Plessy v. Fergusson train station to which nature and nature's God cry out "cuckoo, cuckoo," a decent respect to the opinions of anonymous Internet cowards requires that they should declare the causes which compel them to wear wigs and stockings and write things down with quill pens.

We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal, but after that only the well-endowed (by their Creator) get the hottest chicks not to mention certain unalienable rights, such as life, liberty and the pursuit of foxes. That to secure these rights, governments are instituted among men, driving them insane with power, irrespective of the consent of the governed. That whenever any form of government becomes destructive to these ends, it is the right of the people to re-elect it. Prudence will dictate that governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes. (Prudence is a dictator). Accordingly all experience hath shown that mankind are more disposed to suffer through insufferable speeches than to change the channel if the remote but be out of reach. But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such government, and to provide new guards for their future security. -- (What does this mean, exactly? Who knows? But it sounds good, don't it?) Such has been the patient sufferance of these colonies (can't get to the remote); and such is now the necessity which constrains them to alter their former systems of government. The history of the present Monarch of Great Britain is a history oft repeated on the History Channel.

We, therefore, appealing to the Supreme Judge of the world for the rectitude of our intentions, do solemnly publish and declare, that we are, and of right ought to be free and independent and that, having most of our wits about us, and with a firm reliance on the protection of Divine Providence (but not Prudence -- Prudence is a dictator), we mutually pledge to each other our lives, our fortunes and our sacred honor.

And so, let us eat.

Not With a Bang, But a Whimper

I was minding my own business at the pathetic little outdoor cafe table hard by the drycleaner, judging the passersby quietly to myself (negatively) when an odd-looking sort walked up to me with a latte and a clipboard. I feared him instinctively as a do-gooder with a petition (see earlier post on fear).

"May I have a word with you?" he asked politely in hushed tones.

"No," I answered politely in hushed tones.

Ignoring me skillfully, he sat opposite me and got right to the point.

"I sense that I can confide in you, unlike the others" he said, looking around nervously.

"You're wrong. You can't trust me," I said politely in hushed tones.

"You should know that I am from Mars," he said.

"Oh, really?" I replied. "Which exit?"

"Only a select few have been chosen to receive this message," he said.

"What's the minimum donation?" I asked hoping to skip the mishegos and get the pain over with.

He leaned over the table and looked right through me, sort of the way courtroom clerks do. "The date has been chosen," he whispered.

"Ok," I whispered back. "I hope that you and whatshername are very happy together. Where are you registered -- Bed and Bath?"

"March 26, 2012 in your calendar," he said.

"Aren't you going to drink that latte?" I asked. "Maybe it's getting cold." He didn't respond. "Ok, I'll take the bait. What's March 26, 2012?"

"That's the date the earth will begin anew," he said.

"Oh, I see," I said. You mean that's when the world ends?"

"Begins anew," he repeated.

"Ok, great. Begins anew. I'll be sure to put a reminder on my laptop. Of course, it will crash long before then, but whatever. Why are you telling me, anyway? What am I supposed to do about it?"

"You will be contacted with more information," he said. "You have been selected."

"Hey, are you from Publisher's Clearinghouse?" I asked. "What gives with the clipboard?"

"When you are contacted, you will know," he said standing up and looking vacantly into the distance.

"Yes, well it's much better that way," I said. "If I'm contacted and I don't even know it, the whole thing's kind of a waste. That would suck ever so much."

"Only the selected will be brought out," he said, looking straight ahead.

"If you're talking about the Rapture, I'm pretty sure I don't qualify," I said.

"You have been selected," he repeated. Then he vanished. I didn't see where he went. I wasn't sure how he disappeared, but he did.

In a few moments a young man wearing an apron and an obligatory lip piercing stepped out of the cafe, walked up to my table, and pointed in the direction of the trajectory that the Martian had presumably taken. Because of the apron, I took him for the barista, but I suppose he could just as easily have been a guy with a big hole in his pants trying to make it through the day.

"That guy said you'd pay for his latte," he said holding out a cupped hand.

I should have trusted my instinct about fearing clipboards.