Cabbage Bowling: the Abuse Abides

It has reached the attention of Of Cabbages and Kings that an unfortunate segment of our population is experiencing regular shame, degradation and physical abuse, all in the name of celebratory amusement.

At events all over the country, and for such frivolous reasons as St. Patrick's Day, quirky radio contests, and the annual Phelps Sauerkraut Festival, cabbages-- that most proud and noble of leafy vegetables-- are being used as projectiles for cruel merriment.

Just look at the cabbagey carnage here at one such event...


Yes, once these were strong, independent vegetative spheres-- with dreams of someday achieving the respect bestowed upon higher-profile vegetables such as Mr. Potato Head... the entire cast of VeggieTales... and local politicians...

Yet now these once-dignified herbaceous biennials have had those dreams ripped to leafy shreds... hearts cut out, and turned into tiny bits of slaw on the Existential Bowling Lane of Life at the hand of thoughtless humans, all for a few hours of bowl-a-rama bliss!

This cannot abide!

What's worse is children are being taught to view cabbages as idle unfeeling playthings from a very early age. I mean, just look at these Bowling Bunnies!...
Okay, sure, sure... it's the cute fluffy little bunny rabbits that get knocked over. Yes, everyone is always soooo quick to worry about the cute fluffy little bunnies.

But what about the cabbages that are impacting them at the rate of low-speed car crashes? Just because cabbages don't have stupid fluffy tails and dumb pink twitchy little noses, do they not merit equal attention?...

If you lob a cabbage, does it not bruise? If you stab a cabbage, does it not slice?

So that's why we here at Of Cabbages and Kings are stepping up to the line and saying "Strike!" to this conscienceless sport. (Even if, you know, a strike is actually a good thing in bowling, yet more of a call-to-action here in in the context of pro-cabbage concerns.)

So, we offer you some Cabbage Bowling Anti-Abuse propaganda-- er, paraphernalia... paraphernalia— to help spread the word about the unspoken tortures our green and leafy friends face regularly...



Yes, feel free to share these at will with family and friends and too-slow-to-refuse strangers on the street, and let them know about the pain currently facing the Cabbage-American community.

Please, won't you take just five minutes a day to help spare the cabbages?
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Help Cabbages Get Inked!

Tomorrow's my annual adventure to the local amusement park, Kennywood. Where wooden roller coasters still clack onward... And Potato Patch fries are slathered in a delightful day-glo orange cheese that was only once vaguely acquainted with a cow.

How I love it!

But our discussion today will not entail just how many chili cheese dogs it's possible to eat before extending them in altered form to the coaster population as a whole...

Or about taking bets on how long the kid in the Garfield costume can stand 80% humidity before smothering in a pile of sweat, faux fur and chickenwire...

Or even predicting the Rorschach pattern of bruises I'll have after three rounds of jouncing around on the Exterminator. (Once I got an excellent seatbelt buckle-shaped bruise on my butt!... It kinda looked like Spongebob.)

But nope. Today, I want to talk to you about tattoos.

See, the one thing I've come to notice, as I wend my way through Kennywood's mouse-maze of ride queues, is that somehow I have come to be the only person in the entire tri-state region who isn't inked.

Grandmas sporting the barbed wire... Teens unveiling the disembodied heads of the Jonas Brothers... Hog-riders flapping Harley wings... Infants showing off that edgy Gerber logo, symbolizing their induction into those tough pre-school gangs...

Yes, one and all, they are branded with their interests... wearing their image on their sleeve. Or 48-inch waist. Or whatnot.

And then there's me.

But, see, the thing about tattoos is, they're pretty much forever. I'd want to really be certain about anything I put on myself until the end of time. I mean, I haven't even had the same shade of hair for more than six weeks sequentially...

How can I commit to something likely to hang around so much longer than that Spongebob seat buckle butt bruise?

So here's where you folks can help. If I were to get a tattoo and blend in with my fellow amusement enthusiasts, what should I choose?

Here are some of the things I was thinking about:


The Monroeville Zombies logo.


It says local. It says undead. And anyone who sees how pale I am would find it entirely believable. Plus, y'know, nobody wants to mess with someone who might, potentially, try to nibble your arm. I imagine I could get through those long concession and ride lines much quicker!


Old King Cole Slaw.


Marketing promotion meets body art! And it would end up being such a conversation piece!

Stranger: "So-- what's with the crown-wearing lettuce?"

Me: (sniff) Lettuce?! It's so clearly a cabbage! And what's with your Woody Woodpecker? I mean, he hardly had the charisma and talent of Bugs Bunny, did he?

See? I'd be destined to make all sorts of new friends!

The only drawback? Old King Cole Slaw becoming famous like this... well, he'd be likely to develop a big head. He'd be charging me for appearances here... Copping an attitude about the temperature in the crisper drawer... I don't know. I see trouble ahead.


Some Kind of Symbol I May Or May Not Know What It Means.


So often I see people with Chinese or Japanese characters, or swirls or Celtic knots, and I think it's so amazing and impressive how well-versed everyone seems to be in all these other cultures and languages.

I mean, how else could you guarantee that in Japanese it didn't say something like, "I'm an overweight, Japanese-illiterate American. Kick me"?

Now, me, unfortunately, I don't know Japanese or Chinese, or as much as I should about Celtic knots and ancient runes. So, to ensure the symbol I chose actually meant something-- even if I didn't know what it was-- I thought I would tap into the greatest, most extensive symbolic repository I knew--

The Wingdings font I have in Word.

There just seem to be so many options! I'm leaning toward one of those curlicue squigglies, or perhaps the file folder symbol. Either one of them could totally say "me."

What do you think?

Well, I'm anxious to hear your opinions. I suppose if I don't make a decision in time for tomorrow's amusement park outing, I can always save it for next year...

Sure, I'll be the only woman under 50 without a giant Tweety-bird on my boob. But good art takes time.

Hmmm... I wonder how I'd look with a cartoon sheep?....

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Of Cabbages and Kings Official Questions You Never Actually Asked

You have questions.

Okay, well, maybe you don't...

But in honor of Cabbages' one year-- er-- sorry, five month-- anniversary, I thought I'd answer all the questions you don't have... or might have... or would have asked... if you didn't have a lot more important things to think about during the course of the day...

Like why we sniff milk we know is probably soured. And stuff like that.

So here goes.


Q: Who is that nameless cabbage up there in your header?
A: Why, that's no nameless cabbage-- that's "Old King Cole Slaw"! He's the Of Cabbages and Kings official mascot. And he prefers to be referred to as His Royal Cabbageness. (He's got a bit of a big head.)



Q: I've seen that cabbage mascot singing and driving a car, yet it has no hands, no feet, and is also a vegetable. How do you explain this?
A: The Department of Motor Vehicles does not discriminate when handing out drivers' licenses. If the driver is able to complete the proper tests, the driver is issued a license regardless of the number of appendages or its flora or fauna status. I can't believe you'd even ask such a thing! Really! The noive!

And as for questioning his musical abilities, doesn't he have a right to express himself in song? Plus, there are plenty of vegetables out there who sing and drive. Virtually any celebrity news story will confirm this.


Q: Where do you get your graphics?
A: Off the back of a truck, in an alley, in this dodgy part of town, right next to the Fake Designer Purse shop. But shhhhh, don't tell everyone, or it'll get really competitive...

Okay, no, actually, I make them myself in Microsoft Word using the program's shapes tools. This is because I am cheap-- er, creative, yes, creative!-- and the only royalty issues I want to have to deal with is that cheeky monarch cabbage up there.


Q: How much truth is really in your memoir posts?
A: Well, I take a soft nougaty center of verity, surround it with a thin outer layer of rich creamy fillers, add some gooey transition sentences to hold it all together, and drop in the nuts. A lot of nuts.


Q: What is the answer to the meaning of life?
A: You'll have to take this up with Douglas Adams. Unfortunately, he's deceased. So while he's possibly in a good position to know, that may not be abundantly helpful to you at present.

Also: 42.



Q: Are all those people you mention in your stories real?
A: Yes, but their names have been changed and their identities shrouded in mystery. That's unfortunately what happens when you become friends with a humor blogger. You don't want everybody knowing that you know one. The Witness Protection Program has been really helpful for them.


Q: What is your favorite color?
A: Are we really sinking so low as to ask a question as shallow as that?


Q: Well, yeah. Can't we?
A: 'Kay... green.



Q: If you were stuck on a deserted island...?
A: Hey, come on now. Don't you have anything more constructive to ask than cheap teeny-bopper-style interview questions?



Q: Hey, who's asking the questions here?
A: Well, a fictitious reader, really. Which is sorta what's starting to concern me.



Q: Do you talk to yourself often?
A: Yes, all the time. I grew up as an only child. I mean, if I didn't talk to me, who would? It's only if I ever start answering myself that I need to worr.... um.


Q: How have you been feeling lately?
A: Not so good, apparently...


Q: Lie back on the couch and tell me about your family...
A: Okay, I am outta here!


Q: Do you have a question for Of Cabbages and Kings?
A: Just share it in a comment below and we'll try our best to answer it. Or not. Sort of depends on how strong the meds are that they put us on.


Q: Why are we talking about ourselves in plural now?
A: Go AWAY.


Thank you.


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