People have weird food tastes. I am no exception; I'll eat pretty much anything, from sushi to curried beef to semi-rancid yoghurt. But I draw the line at lawn clippings.

On Sunday, HearnWife^TM and I headed over to my parents' place to help celebrate the anniversary of the natal day of our friend Tolly, who is tall. David and Steven, among other foodstuffs, brought along some kind of olive oil to dip bread in that is apparently the best olive oil ever devised by man. Personally, my olive oil purchases are dictated by whichever brand offers the most oil for the least amount of money, but The Boyz apparently had to travel to Greece to personally select the olives that were to be used to create this particular model of oil, so they insisted we try it.

So we all dipped some bread in there, and munched away. To be honest, I didn't see what all the fuss was about. It tasted rather bitter to me. Normally, dipping bread into what amounts to liquid fat is a wonderful prospect, but this particular experience was not up to par.

I revealed to Stephen that I wasn't sure I liked it or not, and he replied, "Are you crazy? MMMMM...this is good. You can really taste the grass!"

I . . . but . . . um . . . hold on, GRASS? I'll pass thanks. I thought I was weird because I'll eat sugar packets and have been known to chug Hershey's Syrup straight from the bottle, but grass-flavored olive oil is not something I'm going to go to great lengths to try.

My friends are so bizarre.

In similar news, a restaurant in Pennsylvania has upped the stakes in the Burger Wars, coming out with a fifteen pound burger, which contains 12.5 pounds of meat, 30 slices of cheese, and god knows what other delicious things. Milo and I are hoping to organize a road trip to eat it, and we need additional volunteers to help out. I'd ask my wife, but her idea of a "full meal" is a bag of combos and half a diet coke. She's a weird one.

Grass oil. What the hell.