About Y.P.R.

Yankee Pot Roast is not a licensed therapist, but studies the collected works of C. G. Jung in its spare time. Y.P.R. is a Capricorn, which means that Y.P.R. is stable and serious; confident, strong willed and calm; and has a firm stick-to-itiveness and deep resolve. Y.P.R. is five feet eight inches tall. Y.P.R. doesn't really have any political leanings, but knows that it does not like John Ashcroft. Y.P.R. thinks that life does exist on other planets and that their heads are freaking huge. Y.P.R. is a good conductor of electricity. Y.P.R. can outrun four out of five dentists in a Dizzy Izzy race. Y.P.R.'s appreciation for Zen koans, feng shui, yoga, and origami provides a nice, calming Eastern balance to its Western manic-depressive fits of Must-See TV, sugar-coated cereal, and football. Y.P.R. does not support war, but really enjoys the spectacle. Y.P.R. knows things that would keep you awake at night. Y.P.R. thinks scratch'n'sniff stickers are neat, and wonders what ever happened to them. Y.P.R. was schooled at the State University of New York, the finest educational bang for your buck. Y.P.R. is neither here nor there. Y.P.R. awakes every morning and mourns the death of irony, but knows it will be reunited with irony in the afterlife. Y.P.R. is nostalgic for the days when Pluto was still a full-fledged planet. Y.P.R. likes getting caught in the rain, but thinks piña colada tastes like sweaty socks. Y.P.R. is a small-time operation that secretly yearns for global domination of Coca-Cola proportions. Also, like Coke, things go better with Y.P.R. One time, Y.P.R. earned twelve bucks in an impromptu contest in which participants were dared to eat things which are not usually eaten but are, technically, edible. Y.P.R. has difficulty grasping the notion that light can be both a wave and a particle, and thus secretly wonders if the scientific community is pulling some funny business. Y.P.R. will never lie to you: This page is intentionally left blank. Y.P.R. previously existed as Shits & Giggles, and then, for a fleeting moment, as Super Happy Lucky Best Funtime Web Site, and it is probably in the best interests of all parties involved, including you, the reader, that neither of those existences had any lasting effects. Y.P.R. has many pet projects it devotes its spare time toward; first and foremost in Y.P.R.'s collective heart is The Road to Mlaxizor 7, a script treatment in homage to the classic Road to . . . films of Bob Hope and Bing Crosby, updating our wacky heroes to outer space in the distant future. Like, maybe, we can have Space Commander Bing and his robot sidekick, BØB. Oh, the misadventures they'd have, sailing through the galaxy in pursuit of women and fortune, chased by interplanetary pirates. Brendan Fraser would be perfect for the role of Space Commander Bing. BØB might have to be all C.G.I. But, wait, we're getting ahead of ourselves here. Y.P.R. recognizes the misgivings that you have, and it urges you to put them aside and do what's best for you and your family. Y.P.R. insists that it picks up the tab. You paid last time. But seriously, folks: Y.P.R. likes short, concise, succinct, brief, terse, pithy, economical, laconic, curt, and tight writing (do not judge Y.P.R.'s fondness for brevity by this "About Y.P.R." piece, which egregiously ignores shortness and also, as it turns out, is not really about Y.P.R., or anything else, for that matter--and yet, while not about Y.P.R., the piece manages to say more about Y.P.R. than any attempt at accurate description possibly could). Y.P.R. really enjoys humorous pieces of fiction, particularly if said humorous fiction can cause Y.P.R. to laugh; even more so if said laughter is out loud and accompanied by the flowing of milk from Y.P.R.'s nostrils; a thousand times more so if said milk is sweetened with chocolate syrup; and if said syrup is Fox's U-Bet, man, can you dream of anything greater in heaven or on earth? Y.P.R. really likes to laugh. Y.P.R. will sometimes feature non-humorous pieces--even serious pieces--but do not harsh Y.P.R.'s buzz. Y.P.R. also encourages correspondence with strangers. Y.P.R. thinks that letter writing is a lost art.

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