The Man Who Worked Hard to Make Labor Day Had Three Flavors

As everyone is sitting down to enjoy a nice cold Labor Day Dom Perignon, I have just one thing to say to you all. Shame on you. You probably think this is the day when everyone celebrates everything that labor has ever accomplished. And that is just not so, Labor Day is nothing without Flavor Day.

As a Labor Day baby (yes, my mom was in labor on Labor Day) I was born with this knowledge imbued into my psyche. To truly celebrate Labor Day, we must take a look back into the bloody history of this momentous holiday.

A rare file photo of Peter J. McGuire.
Do note the 2 flavored Neapolitan
mustache he's sporting.

Labor Day started in turn of the 19^th century France. But it didn't actually start out as “Labor Day.” Instead, Baron von Peter J. McGuire, a French noble started out the day as “Flavor Day,” a celebration of the delicious ice cream that McGuire so thoroughly enjoyed. To be precise, Peter J. McGuire loved the Neapolitan style of ice cream, as he felt it perfectly blended chocolate and vanilla ice creams in a taste described as “truly divine.”

What's that you say, there are three flavors in Neapolitan ice cream? Well, keep reading to find out more of this sordid tale.

Peter J. McGuire went around forcing everyone to sample this “unique” flavor and, of course, used his considerable power and wealth to strongarm various government and dictatorial regimes to highlight his made up holiday. Many people compared him to a modern day Augustus with his tyrannical overthrow of social mores.

“You'll never believe this, you think you're gonna hit chocolate, but then it's vanilla, and that vanilla is actually chocolate, so it's full circle, but it's not full circle, but it is full circled in a less circled but total vanilla and chocolate circle,” was one of McGuire's catchphrases. Yes, a catchphrase, meaning before the heat of battle with whatever legislature, he'd repeat this saying. Constantly. Like four times for every normal sentence.

Understandably, the people grew tired of this. Sure, they gave in to his demands and created the renowned “Flavor Day” to be celebrated worldwide, but they also murdered him and compacted his flesh and bones down, placing it into the Neapolitan ice cream he loved so much. While this might sound kind of gross, it's reassuring to know his flesh tasted of strawberries, and the decent ice cream suddenly had a third flavor and the ability to be recognized as the Neapolitan we know it as today.

Neapolitan ice cream as we know it today. Do note
the presence of Peter J. McGurie's cartilage.

However, all of that murdering and food scientisting worked up a great hunger in those noble proletariats, and they decided they needed a day to celebrate their hard work and accomplishments. Since everyone had already penciled in the first Monday of September to celebrate Flavor Day, they simply dropped the first F, got Lavor day and then changed it out of the evil French dialect to result in the Labor Day you're currently celebrating by eating watermelon.

So have a happy Labor Day, but do realize it is a holiday built on the blood, sweat and tears of Peter J. McGuire. And I mean that in the most literal sense. Please do enjoy the delicious Neapolitan ice cream. It DOES have chocolate and vanilla AND strawberry flavors and it is delicious.

Although, maybe this Flavor Day baby just really wants some Neapolitan ice cream.

It's okay Homer, there's still plenty of organic matter.

The finest Spider Erotica ever written

It's Labor Day weekend. And since it's technically illegal to work on the hallowed Holiday, I'm not going to work. Hell, even saying this probably makes Peter J. Maguire of the American Federation of Labor cry in his shallow grave. I must stop talking!

So here's a brief jump back into the archives for one of my favorite BreakMentalDown.com entries. Enjoy!

Tonight is the night. Tonight Christa knew she and Boris would come together as one. They would feel the most human of ecstasy. They would live the teenage dream of pre-marital sex. Tonight is the night.

Christa couldn't believe they had come this far. Boris always seemed so unobtainable. Sure her friends on the rock climbing team called him “Itsy Bitsy,” but she knew they were just jealous. They just didn't understand him like she did. He might be a senior and she a mere sophomore, but her feminine wiles had drawn him into her web.

And Boris. She absolutely loved him. She loved how he was so open about his past. His mother, Charlotte, had engaged in a similar forbidden romance. It even spawned his half-brother, Peter. While Charlotte loved Peter, she lived with that regret for the rest of her life. She never wanted Boris to endure what she had gone through.

But that happened in the past. Boris and Charlotte had drifted apart, and Boris was now his own man, free to be with anyone he wanted. And he wanted to be with Christa.

In Christa's bedroom, Boris performed all the right moves. Christa looked at him as he moved a tuft of raven hair from his face. He worked his hands into her lower back. Pressing, tenderizing, making her feel like a true woman. He moved down and tickled her toes. His movements so deft, he touched all of her toes simultaneously. Each one receiving a playful poke. She stared back, and it was almost as if he had eyes in the back of his head—he knew the moment was now.

He slithered up next to her ear and started giving a tender kiss upon her neck. As the kiss elongated, a pleasureful pain coursed through Christa. This is what all the girl talk had focused on, and now she lived it. She gasped. Might this be her first hickey?

It would be, but it would also be her last. As the pain intensified, suddenly it all made sense. His reluctance to come to this moment. The beautiful sweater he knitted her. His overwhelming fear of water spouts. How he had rooted at the start of “Arachnophobia” and cried at the end. How one of their dates had once been sucking the blood from a still-flapping cicada. Charlotte's Web. The forbidden love. Peter freaking Parker. The eight legs. Boris wasn't the misunderstood genius she had thought. Oh no, he was a spider! A black widow spider at that!

With the mating ritual complete, Boris skittered away from Christa. He mounted her wall where he proceeded to create an intricate web and place his egg sack. That's right, not only was he a spider, he was a female spider... a female lesbian spider!

Bet you didn't see that final twist coming.

I hated putting in this picture as much as you hate seeing it.

And that twist is what will make “Web of Love: An Erotic Investigation into Spider-Human Love” my first million seller. For you see, the spider erotica genre is a virtually untapped market. Just think, before “Twilight,” vampires were just viewed as jerks. Always sucking and tormenting Wesley Snipes—but now the IRS accomplishes that, not some mystical deity.

When “Twilight” hit, suddenly vampires are cool and sparkly and amazing. Sure, I may hate spiders with every fiber of my being, but I figure if Mormons can get over their vampire prejudice to make oodles of money, then so can I.

So publishers, if you are out there, feel free to hop on the “Web of Love” train. I actually already have an unauthorized sequel planned out. I'll release “Spider Shocker: Four in the Pink, Two in the stink” anonymously, so I can be indignant in the press and claim “I am indignant! That is the most disturbing mental image I've ever seen!... please read my latest novel, 'Ten Legs, One Cup.'” Which will further increase my publicity.

Oh, and for anyone who arrived here by googling “Talking Female Lesbian Spider,” you frighten me a great amount, but welcome to the blog! Enjoy!