Sex and Free Money

Okay, I only said that to increase my internet search rankings. Now let's move on to today's real topic: How To Choose The Right Mustard.

Okay, just kidding. But beginning this column with the words "sex" and "mustard" is going to seriously skew somebody's internet searches.

Or not.

In fact, as part of my exhaustive research for this column, while my automatic garage door closed, I actually did an internet search for sex AND mustard. And in under a second, the search engine had returned over 1,900,000 results.

One of the search results recommended that I dive in to an article to learn more about South American Population Density and Pollinator Behavior, but I see no reason to drag disgraced South Carolina politicians into this. Moving on...

Nearly 2 million results! Whew. Good thing I didn't search for sex and hot sauce. That could've spun my computer into a weeping jag.

Actually, it wouldn't surprise me in the least to discover that, on any given day, millions of people search the internet for sex and mustard. Maybe these miscreants are mustard aficionados, or fast-food savants. Maybe they're simply shopping: maybe they're members of that nomadic nation who staff the food booths at migratory county fairs, people who for some unknown reason are all named Art Carney, and who all seem to know somebody called "The Snake Lady."

And now the government's urging us to turn in our neighbors if they mention "fish." So before they discover that I dared utter both "mustard" and "sex," let me wrap this up, lest the White House's ever-watchful Opinion Police flag me as unfit, or worse, a potential Cabinet nominee.

What is happening to our country? We're positively obsessed with mustard! Every other day, we hear of some new public figure, proudly announcing that they are coming out of the pantry. Several city and state governments will now pay for their occasionally civil employees to get condiment-change operations - at taxpayer expense!

Recently, a US Senator was arrested in a public restroom. His unique interpretation of his Constitutional duties involved tapping out secret condiment codes on the stall walls, hoping to discuss mustard with like-minded voters.

At first blush, I admit that I found that news hard to believe. But then these are the same elected officials who chastised auto execs for flying their own private jets to Congressional hearings, and then snuck a line item into America's defense budget to buy ... ready? ... their own private jets.

Sharing mustard with total strangers is not really likely to embarrass such fiends, is it? Anyone who's that hopelessly two-faced must, at least once a week, listen to the wrong face and put their clothes on backwards.

Even your most mundane family activities are assaulted by this condiment craze. Should you make a plan for a familial evening at the local cinema, you have to nimbly navigate the theater's lobby, averting your children's eyes from monstrous, full-color 3-D adverts that luridly lure you and yours towards the movie version of the unsubtly suggestive cable TV hit, "Mustard In The City."

And it doesn't end there. Oh, no. To add insult to penury, you still have to deal with the villains running the concessions stand:

You: I'd like four small sodas, two small popcorns and a pretzel.

Spike-Haired-Person-In-A-Mauve-Smock: That'll be sixty-seven thousand dollars.

You: Will you take a post-dated check?

Spike: Would your daughters like some mustard?

[sounds of a scuffle]

Security Guard: SIR! Release the concessions guy! DO IT NOW!

But remember, America - this fetid fascination with food is nothing new. Keep that in mind, the next time you're idling at a stop light and a voice from the next car croons:

"Excuse me. Do you have any Grey Poupon?"