You're right! This is what happens when you retire.

Respectfully some what,
Henry

No offense Henry, but I find the very thought of stuffing food into condoms absolutely appalling.  Even I have to draw the line somewhere.  I prefer it the other way around.  Instead of stuffing food into condoms, I stuff condoms into food.  Now I realize that some may disagree with that, but hear me out.  Is it wrong to shag a turkey carcass, after it’s been warmed up in the microwave, if you use a condom and it's in the privacy of your own home? I must admit I’m a bit intrigued with the thought of trying new recipes.  My wife is always saying how useless I am around the house.  So recently, she bought me a simple cook book to encourage me to be more useful in the kitchen.  After looking through it, I said, “I can't cook anything from this book. “ She was a bit surprised by that response and said, “Those are very basic and simple recipes.” “That may be true.” I said.  “But every one of them starts out with… “Take a clean dish...” I have to do something, because my wife’s cooking is never going to get any better.  And the cooking with condoms thing won’t work for me, because the word condom brings back a bad memory in my life that I will never forget.   When I was a kid, my dad sat me down and showed me a bunch of pictures of why it's important to always wear a condom.  They were all pictures of me.  That didn’t stop me from trying, even though my first attempt at using one was a bit awkward.  After about 15 minutes of fumbling around in the dark with a condom wrapper, my girlfriend turned the lamp on.  It made me realize, all that time I’d been trying to open a packet of McDonald’s ketchup.  After that, I seemed to have a problem approaching girls.  Fortunately, that problem no longer exists.  Nowadays, and I hate to brag, but I can usually tell within 19 seconds of meeting a woman whether our sex will be consensual or not.  Anyway, I don’t eat a lot.  My wife says I might have an eating disorder and that I should go and see someone about it.  The thing is, if she’d see somebody about her cooking disorder, I might not have this problem.   The other night I came home from work and said to my wife, “Are we having salad for dinner?” To which she replied, “Yes we are.  How on earth did you know that?” I said, “Because I can’t hear the smoke alarm.” Then as she brought it in the dining room, she said “I am so sick of you complaining about my meals”.  “Next time you can fry your own damn salad.” But seriously, there’s a lot to be said about my wife’s cooking once the vomiting has stopped.  There was this one time that as she served up dinner, she noticed me grimacing.  “You think I undercooked it again, don't you?” she said.  All I could say was “Honey, a skilled veterinarian could still save this chicken.''  I even tried giving her compliments, but she’s never been very good at responding to them.  For example, one night I walked into the kitchen just to tell her that the meatballs she was cooking looked delicious.  The only thing she could think of to say was, “Its gravy, you idiot.”

Look who's talking Sutherland!

You're "Weldcome" Clif!

Respectfully,
Henry