What does breakfast look like on the morning after Thanksgiving? It looks a lot like a burger. And Ree is a good sport.

Turns out other people have posted video of themselves sampling marshmallow cheeseburgers. Those guys look like they should be wearing condiments when they do that. Here's one in the microwave.

Wow! What a great Thanksgiving. Thanks to everyone that came and shared the day with us--it was much fun and definitely good eats. To everyone else--sure wish you could have been here. We are now gearing up for Christmas and the Grinch may soon be heading to the front yard instead of our living room. John has started to put up the lights and currently it looks very stately--I'm sure that will change when we add the rest of the lights and all the other items to our yard. I can't wait.

John heads to New York this weekend so it will be me and the chimps against the world. We will probably do one of the five hundred Christmas activities I want to do.

Marlena, it drove me insane trying to remember the name of the Capri Sun that is all fruit juice--but when I was packing Joseph's lunch it was in his lunchable--it is called Fruit Waves. By the way my mother got the angel and it is beautiful. It was so kind of you to think of her and my dad.

What, no more Astrotower? We never went to Astroland much, if at all -- our trips to Coney Island were often early-morning visits, traipsing over the pedestrian bridge in the serenity of sunrise, the boardwalk ahead, Astroland to our right. If we hit the amusement parks at all it was after beach-time, usually as things were starting to get crowded on the sidestreets between the boardwalk and Surf Ave. We never stayed very long; maybe we'd hit the bumper cars and shooting gallery. Then we'd head back to the F train to head home -- but not before a stop for taffy and candy-crusted popcorn (seems Don Vito always had a weakness for candy counters).

Of course, Coney Island was a shit-hole even back then (think of those scenes from the movie "The Warriors" -- put aside he ridiculous plot and remind yourself that the scary cityscape was pretty accurate). Now I'm trying to picture a modern water-park in that area. Could be interesting.

On my flight to New York earlier this month my plane crossed the Atlantic coastline just south of Coney Island, then veered around to cross over Brooklyn and Queens to circle for LGA. I got a great view of everything. The parachute jump is still there -- now that's the thing they should re-commission -- clanking up the side of all that salt-eaten steel would be scarier than the Cyclone.

It was a little eerie (a Lake of Eerie, if you will) that as soon as we all grouped up on Wednesday evening, the cooking started -- and not just any cooking, but coordinated, methodical gang-attacks that reduced plain foods into dishes worthy of the holiday table.

It was as if we had rehearsed or something, the way Marlo and Ree clicked right into high gear. That kitchen was humming! (Oh, and so was the grill outside -- at one point its grate was stacked with the dutch oven of potatoes, the full roasting pan of dressing, and the large tray of lasagna.)

We ate. We told ridiculous stories. It was a fanstastic holiday.

And yes, there's still a ton of leftover turkey. Can I interest anyone in a sammich?

The new camera for Christmas takes some spiffy video. Still getting the hang of it -- most clips are too large for YouTube. Here are da boyz reporting on da menu.

Three of the dishes to take with me tomorrow are done. I made au gratin potatoes, mashed sweet potatoes and zebra brownies (chocolate and vanilla cheesecake with an Oreo crust.)

The fourth, a pecan pie, died in the oven. Our oven is a disaster zone anyway because it was not installed right and the door doesn't shut. After several hours of cooperating it decided to burn the top of the pecan pie to an unrecognizable char while leaving the filling soupy. What a waste of expensive ingredients. It was probably my prettiest crust ever with cutout leaves all around the rim. As soon as it cools it goes up the hill to the compost heap. Maybe some mouse or squirrel will find the pecans a delicious Thanksgiving treat!

I have two more pies to make crust and bake. Both will be pumpkin and both baked later this evening when the oven has a chance to cool off and perhaps, Lord willin' , work right. I am not going to try the pecan pie again because I have made five trips to the grocery store to buy ingredients as the menu changed and quite frankly, I am broke.

My friend, Michael, is driving his Mercedes tomorrow so I will just lean back and relax on the 45 minute drive to the cabin (also so that we can escape as soon as possible together with one of us pleading a migraine. Me probably. And probably the truth.) He was a last minute invite and our hostess gave him a list of things to bring as well so we were just commiserating on the phone about how we wished we had just had T-day dinner with each other and called it a day~

Just another reason I am looking forward to a change of scenery. I cannot begin to count the reasons, but they mount up daily. The first and foremost is family!

As Pizza Joe pointed out, we were two Joes short of a complete reunion. Joey Head was missing as was Berea Joe. It was a blast visiting Peppe's. I recommend the lasagna and the Italian hoagie. It was also a blast delivering a pizza to Rosina and Lenny on Sunday and two pies to Ohio yesterday. One pie remains for Don Vito, Merle and Ree to sample later today. Perhaps they will blog their reviews. Pizza Joe welcomes all to visit. I don't have a camera so there are no pictures. However, that is a built-in excuse to visit again.

I showed Pizza Joe several recent photos and videos from this blog and e-mailed the links to his brother Vito. I couldn't help but show Pizza Joe the infamous meatpipe post so it is now a legend in another state.

On Saturday night I called Spumoni to say, "Hi," then passed the phone to Pizza Joe to stun Marie. On Monday night Pizza Joe called the Kahuna to settle a question posed by yet another former resident of 1522. It turns out that this other former resident of 1522 vivdly remembers grandpa playing the accordian and - get this - also relocated to northeast PA to open his own pizza place. In short, it was the Kahuna's turn to be stunned by phone.

Yesterday I did help a little with the oven and counter, serving three slices to a guy named Leon who stated that he was from the Bronx. Did I miss an unwriten rule? Was I supposed to move to PA?

Joey is right about the rotary dial phone at the castle. Pizza Joe has everything you could want to hear on the juke box at Peppe's Pizza: rock, pop, country, Neil Diamond, Sinatra and Dean Martin. And Pepino, that crazy mouse. Someone will have to show the brothers how to load their ipods. Then, watch out!

Once they are filling their own ipods, can SKYPE and blogging be far behind?

Thanks, Spumoni Joey! I haven''t had a pain pill all day (although I will have to cave in soon and take one.)

I hope to encourage all of you to get SKYPE and a microphone & speakers or a headset microphone . . .I think it has potential for conference calling although we haven't checked it out yet. . .it would be chaotic for all of us to chat at once. . .but fun, too. We might be able to get Vinny, Marie and Vito to use the computer if all they have to do is click a button and then chat for free. . .

I have been chatting with JoeMaha on SKYPE and he sounds like the trip is enjoyable for the most part so far.

I also got to chat briefly with Aunt Rosina and Uncle Lenny on his cell phone. What a blast! I dearly love this whole family but they hold a special place in my heart. We shared gardening stories this past summer and I have some cherished seeds stored from their garden: baseball bat squash and broccoli rabe.

I will probably call Berea Rose and Spumoni South on Thanksgiving. I am regretting my agreement to cook for the family reunion as they have changed the menu three times plus keep adding dishes they want me to prepare. I think I know why chefs have a higher suicide rate.

Good thing I am doing this once and only once.

Wow Ellie. That is an amazing occurence. I am happy for your new found facial freedom. In our family not being able to smile and laugh is a disability. And Joe wasn't there to appreciate it. He was out with Pizza Joe saucing the town. I haven't seen Pizza Joe in a while. Now there is a funny guy, i wonder if he let Joe Maha work the counter or the ovens? Now there had better be pictures of all this. Joe and Joe probably should not be allowed to work in the same kitchen. Wish I was there. I'd be the missing Joe.

So my dad has talked the Uncle V into buying an ipod. I do not know how to respond to this. I do not recall there being a touchtone phone at castle 1526 and we know how the direct deposit thing went over. Is there not some fundamental law of physics that prevents you from jumping across evolutionary milestones. What i find most interesting is the fact that neither brother owns or uses a personal computer. I am fascinated. Its a great thing. I am greatly moved by the amount of ambition and emotion my uncle V expresses regularly at Spumoni and I am sure it has everything to do with Big Vin. It is an ideal relationship when 1 brother is mild and impressionable and the other is eccentric and relentless. It is not always so ideal for the mother but hey she has new job so she can get away once in a while.

Test your knowledge about the big T-day bird.

I'm under the impression that there's a big football game about to happen around here. One way I know this: when I took Da Chimpz to the barber shop just now to get their heads shorn they offered to add red Ohio State coloring free of charge. Go for it, I said. Now they're walking around looking like a couple of lit cigars.

After the haircut we went to the Giant Beagle supermarket next door. I got some things for this week's festivities. In the bread aisle I spotted something I haven't seen in years: Hostess Sno-Balls. I got a package of two. Once I got home and put everything away I decided to try one. It was perfectly awful. As I broke it apart the white, coconut-dusted marshmallow coating stretched implausible. "Like chicken skin," Alane commented. That rubberized coating, the dirt-brown cake it concealed, and the white paste of filling inside that -- each was bad in its own right, contributing to an even worse whole. Blech-o.

Maybe one of Da Chimpz will eat the one that I left on the table. Or maybe they'll take it into their room and make a robot out of it.

This morning's snack went much better: I made a big cup of coffee for myself and opened up a tiny box of pannetone -- a 3oz jobbie that looked more like wooden cupcake than anything else. I peeled away the ornate brown wrapper and got myself into holiday gear. How can dry bread-like cake make a person so happy? Some mysteries are better left unresolved.

You people in Florida are way ahead. Yeah, when most people have parties they bring in caterers, clowns, or hot dog wagons. But a real live fire truck? That's almost bachelor party material!

I never make a long story short, so call me "Tolstoy." However I want to provide some backstory and then tell you about how life can change in a moment when least expected. (IRONY)

Backstory: In 1992 I was injured in a mishap. It was life-changing and I will finally admit that I had no clue who Joe and Jennifer (my youngest) were when I woke up from the head injury. It's been a long road back complete with a quack for a doctor that prevented me from getting the real help I needed. Lessons learned and all that.

Several surgeries and lots of PT later I was told that what I had back was all I was getting back physically. I usually say that I am numb from the cheek bones to my toes, but that isn't accurate. I am leaden from my cheekbones to my toes except for neuropathy pain and all that fun stuff.

After the last surgery I was left with a grimace on my face that makes me look angry and hateful enough to bite nails and unable to smile as I once did. The timbre of my voice changed, too, and peanuts and carrots became deadly foods (swallowing disorder.) You all know about the light-cycling fun where even strong sunlight can sometimes cause a migraine and cookie-tossing. What I missed most, even when I was thrilled to be learning to walk again, was the ability to smile.

I had a smile that would cause people to come up to me and ask if I really was that happy all the time. (The answer was 'yes.')

Enough backstory. (and NO pity please.)

Yesterday I was sick. Really sick. I wanted toast but I couldn't go to the store to buy bread. I baked bread. I bent over at an odd angle to get a loaf pan out of the bottom cabinet and it was like an electrical storm from the base of my skull to my toes. (If I were closer-kin to you all I might tell you why I bent over at an odd angle but that involves bodily functions you all enjoy chatting about far more than I do. Suffice it to say I didn't want to change clothes yet again.)

The result of the electrical storm is that I have feeling back in my face and feel like my body has been released from a vice. I feel a hundred pounds lighter. I can smile with my whole face again. So many mornings I have woken up with my mouth full of enamel crumbs where my clenched jaws scraped the enamel off my teeth. Feeling my face is weird, but it's a weird that I can enjoy. YIPPEE! Whether this lasts or not, I have cause to celebrate. I hope this makes you all smile, too!

PS If this doesn't last and you all see me looking mad as the Queen of Hearts, don't assume I am angry, please. It's out of my control and distresses me a bit, too.

From the relative discomfort of our elliptical trainer I watched The Simpsons tonight. In the opening credits Bart was seen through the schoolhouse window writing something like:

We're not all naked under our clothes.

It's not just that the statement is incorrect -- I thought I was the first to posit that we indeed are naked under our clothes.

It happened at college graduation, 1988, and I made the comment as a quick defensive move. Even at the time I suspected it wasn't a completely original thought -- still I thought it was pretty clever.

The context was a very hot day in May. I decided to forego the suit and tie and attend the commencement ceremony au naturel beneath my cap and gown. It wasn't really a stunt -- I didn' tell anyone. People would see the mortaboard cap up top, motorcycle boots down below, and a dark gown in the middle. Who would know?

Well, we lined up and waited. Regina, being next in alphabetical order, stood alongside me and we chatted. At some point she put her arm around my waist and, well, noticed a lack of waistband. She lauged uproariously, even as I urged her to keep it quiet -- I knew the school was still on edge from the previous year's graduation prank featuring Ed Merhige (yeah, that Ed Merhige) tearing off his gown and rushing the stage while wearing a giant strap-on phallus. Sure enough, as word spread about my, er, choice of foundations, a concerned-looking student life director came over to interrogate me:

"Uh, are you wearing anything under that gown?" he asked.

And that's when it just sort of fell out of my mouth:

"Are you wearing anything uder your clothes?"

Original insight or not, it defused the situation. I got my degree, put on clothes, and was treated to a lovely sushi dinner in Hawthorne.

Pointless story? You bet. But I gotta have something to think about as I'm working out on the elliptical. After about 30 minutes of that (I don't have an attention span to go longer) I sat down with the boys to watch the last minutes of The Simpsons. That's when Mojo's loose tooth finally came out. His first! (A little late, if you ask me -- not only had Cookie lost several by this time last year, but Mojo's permanent teeth are already filling in... behind the baby teeth... in a second row... kind-a like a shark).

No meatballs today: roast pork instead. It came out very nice. I made some broccoli rabe on the side, along with sauted mushrooms and polenta slices (the fancy-schmancy supermarket had a big tube of polenta, so I bought it).

It was nasty rainy today, so we stayed in most of the day: Mass at 7:30, breakfast with Joe and Jean afterward, and then a trip to Home Depot for odds and ends. After that we did some Erector Set construction before Alane got the pig-slab into the oven.

Da Chimpz are still digging the night-in-shining-armor stuff -- they covered it yesterday at Cookie's Cub Scout meeting, and I took the opportunity to get Excalibur from the library. That's a great movie (though I couldn't get the boys to sit through the whole thing -- wouldn't want them to anyway). Tonight I read them the (abbreviated) story of Saint George. I recall those terrible commercials from WLIR:

"Does the dragon have fire in his lungs and does he breathe it?"

Yeah baby! I used to drive around in my Beetle with a cassette tape playing in the glovebox-mounted deck: Golden Shower of Hits recorded on one side and We're the Meatmen and You Suck recorded on the other.

Those were the days of real music... I only recently found the Butthole Surfers' Rembrandt Pussyhorse on mp3 (what am I gonna do with vinyl these days?).

Marlo, you bringin' back the memories...

I love my Human Sexuality class, not because of its contents, but because my teacher, Dr. Skinner, is so lively. He's the guy that hooked me up with the Sea World Killer Whale Watch. Where I got to deeply exploit orca behavior around the clock. Documenting bowel movements, arousal, you name it. So this morning we discussed sexuality in children, or shall we say experimentation in children. Then he put on a video of young boys sitting around playing with their jiblets, and said "Sometimes children will engage in circle jerks." I nearly exploded, all I could think of was John and Guido discussing a band they liked back in the '80s named the Circle Jerks. I'm glad I had this class because I would still be convinced it was a punk band with a funny name, not a name of such substance. Rock on.

These gorillas wake up entirely too early -- cutting into my pre-dawn coffee-drinking and newspaper-reading time. I went to BJ's Wholesale last night and picked up, among many other things, a bag of ciabatta rolls. On the way back I stopped at Heinen's, the local version of a Food Emporium (or what that used to be), and got a dish of prepared broccolini. I got home, heated a roll, nuked the greens, annointed it all with olive oil, and had myself a killer sammich. Washed it down with some Merlot -- Little Penguin, cheap but pretty good. Hear that Leni? We're going to do wine-tasting when you get here -- you're not leaving until you can tell the difference between a chianti and a pinot noir with cheese-blocks taped over your eyeballs. (I'm not sure I can do that myself; maybe I need to do a dry run tonight!)

Vote early and vote often, they say. So that's what I did this morning after leaving Da Chimpz at school. I got to my polling place and after a short wait stood at a Diebold terminal to enter my selections... only to have the machine malfunction before my vote could be cast. I called over some worried-looking poll-workers who voided my completed but not-yet-cast electronic ballot, opened the fritzy-printer mechanism, and directed me to a different terminal that appeared to operate normally.

I never thought I'd be nostalgic for those ridiculously-outdated painted steel behemoths of New York with the little levers and the big red curtain handle.

Cookie wrote in his journal tonight about how he is an election assistant. The spelling made the words almost unrecognizable, but I'm a little surprised that he took it on himself to write something up in his notebook. He's doing very well with reading. Last night we all went to the library (where we did not happen to see Carl Monday with his pants at his ankles) and got them some bedtime books. Last night I read them the story of Perseus slaying Medusa. Tomorrow I'll read about Hercules' to-do list.

A few years back, Al Pacino starred in a movie called "Any Given Sunday". To my sincere disappointment, it turned out to be just another film about football...this is what it should have looked like. We had a blast this weekend with Merle and Jenia, who journeyed to Spumoni South for our local Italian Festival which provided us all with plenty of limoncello and fried ravioli, as well as an endless supply of hysterical people to look at. (We do in fact have pictures to prove the latter, but the public nature of the blog prohibits me from posting). It was also fantastic speaking with Guido on Friday (who we all love and miss), and I hope our Scott Baio story helped break the ice with his ex-celebrity-kindred coworker. Anyway, its just about time for a cup of "cawf" and some pastry that the Vin-man bought at the Feast. Indeed my life is good.

American Airlines? They're slipping. Two days ago I was scheduled to depart from Baton Rouge on American at 3:25 PM. That particular piece of hardware didn't leave Houston until 4 PM! Payback, of course, for TSA not strip searching me. How long did that gushy KY feeling last, anyway?

I suspect that many of us can identify with the bored flight attendant droning on with their well-rehearsed safety briefing. Necessary? You bet. Fun? Rarely.

Two nights ago I flew on that rare, fun flight.

It started innocently enough, with the early announcement that cell phone would have to be turned off when the jet bridge door closed.

Once the cabin door closed things changed for the better. The head flight attendant said, "Those of you still on your cell phones, repeat after me. Honey, I love you, I'll call you when I get to Omaha. Goodbye."

He then said that we'd be flying the 584 miles to Omaha at "33,000 feet and 7 inches" and that "the temperature in Omaha was minue three degrees...," and, after a long pause, "Celsius. That's 28 degrees Farenheit."

He started the seat belt portion of the safety briefing saying, "This is for those of you who haven't ridden in a car for the last 40 years..."

Normally you hear that a sudden loss of cabin pressure causes masks to drop. Rarely do they specifically tell you to, "Stop screaming, put on and tighten your mask, then pull on the tubing to start the flow of oxygen. And if you're travelling with a child, or someone who is acting like one, put your mask on before helping them with theirs."

A newly required announcement, he indicated, was that "The forward lavatory is for the use of First Class passengers only. The rest of us will have to use the two porta-potties at the rear of the plane."

We got the normal warning that they'd turn off the lights inside the cabin before takeoff, but I never knew it was "to enhance the looks of the flight crew."

We landed a little early and he said that we should consider it a payback on previous delays. Of course that didn't make up for the earlier flight that day, so they still owe me. But it caused me to make the later flight, which was more entertaining than most.

The porta potty comment made me wonder if he was one of us.

Just got in after spending a few days in the big, big city. The experience was typical: I tried to time the limo to leave me a safe cushion but we hardly made it a block down Seventh Avenue before were stuck in a snarled Times Square traffic and some nasty cross-town congestion. I began to fear that I'd left too little time. But once we got through the tunnel and into Queens it was smooth sailing to LGA. Got through the TSA disrobe/dress insanity, made it to my gate at around 7:00, and the monitor showed my 7:45 flight as "On Time."

Yeah, right.

The hardware didn't even arrive until 8:00 and we didn't get loaded, belted, and off the ground until about an hour after that. Screw you, American Airlines.

Anyway, I stayed at Guido and Kay's the last couple of nights and it was much fun. We even consult with Frylock last night so we could send Guido to work today with interesting stories to tell co-worker. After talking to Frylock, Guido and I had a very exciting time: we sat up drinking port wine and watching Nova. Black holes: pockets of infinite mass dimpling space-time. I wanted to send the bastard into a black hole this morning when he busted into the bathroom to pour a bucket of ice on me in the shower. Puckered my nebulae like I really didn't need. "You dick!" I screamed and caught sight of Kay in the other room, fixing her hair, shaking her head, perhaps wondering if we were all back in college. Kay and I rode the train together this morning, searching the New York Post for outrageous headlines.

I miss the Post.

Next week, I get back to a more reasonable commute -- journeying each morning from the bed in the next room to the desk in this room. The way it ought to be.

Wow. I feel so humbled and satisfied. We are so fortunate to have all of you behined us during this move. I know there will be razzle dazzle in this one as well. As a matter of fact, I'm almost sure there will be more. Exrazzle Dazzle. I love you all so very much. Thank you again for all of your love and support. Many Kisses.

Well--even if it's a bad song, I would guess that would be better than the no song which is my category. And my guess is that there will be no Alane song. Now if someone did an Alane song, I'm not sure what genre I would like--half of me says that Alejandro Escovedo and Patty Griffin could do some serious lyrical magic and it would be this moody folky piece that leaves you feeling just a little sad after hearing it. The other half says it should be some sort of total nonsensical song like Mony, Mony.

Yesterday was all Saints day. The school the boys attend let the first graders come in dressed as a saint for the mass. So once again, not really thinking things through to well, I opted to dress Cookie as St. Jude Thaddeus. First I did not realize that it would be nay near impossible to find a white sheath like thing to use as the main garment. I did go on line and found a Jesus costume for kids but I just wasnt willing to pay out for it. So therefore on sunday i was madly dashing to target to see if I could find the elusive vestment. Luckily they had a clearance cleopatra costume that I was able to turn into a serviceable white dress thing. I then needed a walking stick--which seemed like it should be easy to find and once again proved daunting. I found a long bamboo stick at a craft store that was suppose to have a flower on the end but it had fallen off. I took it up to the cash register to purchase this prize and the lady just gave it to me. St. Jude is always pictured with this medallion that is suppose to be this piece of fabric Christ wiped his face on and gave to Jude to give to a king to cure himself. So I was in need of a shroud of turin type thing. So at about 10:00 at night I'm cutting up this picture of the shroud of turin john printed for me and attempting to glue it to a paper plate. Which all seemed so wrong--it was just a bit creepy cutting a reproduction shroud and gluing it. I was then frantically coloring the edges of the plate gold to complete this thing. I finally finished about 11:00 and vowed that Joseph would be a much easier saint next year. At least I have the sheath ready to go...
The amazing thing about this whole thing was almost the whole class was dressed as saints, and some of these folks had way more elaborate get ups then cookie. I will have John post St. Jude and his brethren as I am not technically savy enough to do it.

Steve, Adam Sandler's song is about a guy who just doesn't give a rats. I think it's great, that's all you need. Ooh, John gave me a cd with a song called Marlena on the Wall, by Suzanne Vega. Good stuff, I like it, thank you! Unfortunately sometimes Name-song association isn't always a fun time. When I have children, I want to name one of my daughters Lola. I love the name, it makes me happy, shows free spirit, and shall I dare to say...it's feminine. Anytime the conversation comes up someone sings Lola by the Kinks, about a trannie. Makes me queasy. Billy Joel sings a song about Viktor, a Ukranian veteran who gives balloons to kids, it's nice but a little creepy. I'd rather hear about Victor, the Ukranian veteran who carries refrigerators on his back, and eats display fish at buffets, but that could just be me.

I'm working at my desk and in the last hour I've heard "Mandy" by Barry Manilow and "Brandy" by Looking Glass, and I started thinking how first names are viewed by different songwriters. The Mandys and Brandys of the world have an inherent positive association with their name. My sisters are both lucky...there is "Three Marlenas" by the Wallflowers, as well as "Marlena" by the Four Seasons (which by the way has an excellent doo-doo doody-doo refrain), each song depicting the singer pining for a chance to be near her. There are too many pop hits named "Maria", but I'll mention the Ricky Martin and West Side Story versions(although my favorite unquestionably remains the TKA dance classic in where the singer is jealous of the drug dealer shes dating) but once again both songs are a celebration of the title character's beauty and virtue. There is "Oh Marie" by Louie Prima, and even "Vincent" by Don McLean, (albeit a sad ode to Van Gogh ), there is "Johnny Be Good" by Chuck Berry or "John the Revelator" by Depeche Mode, there is "Good Golly Miss Molly" by Little Richard and my personal favorite " Joey" by Concrete Blonde. Everyone in my family has a nice song....except for Frylock. Can anyone think of a single song that paints a nice picture of Steve? There is only two songs that I can think of that even mention my name, and well you decide.....

1. "Lets Talk About AIDS" by Salt n Pepa, in which the lyric goes "Uh oh...Steve forgot the condoms"

2. "Steve Polychronopolous" by Adam Sandler. Heres a verse from that:
"I'll leave your gate open
So your dog runs away I
'll make fun of your pimple
Then I'll grab your sister's ass
'Cause my name's Steve Motherfucking Polychronopolous

Anyway, time for me to return to work. State Buon.