1818 Three Traces of Fun

Three traces of fun today.
Recently I ate at a place called the Native New Yorker. I ordered some of their chicken strips. Which can come with any number of sauces you select. I selected the most potent sauce they have, since I was raised in Southern California where hottest sauce eating was a testosterone-laden right of passage in college.
The sauce I ordered was "Suicide Sauce." Let me just say it passed muster. One bite of the chicken strip and I felt like I had swallowed a tracer bullet. And it went through me just as fast. Passed muster and everything else.
Reminded me of the time I was in a cooking competition and sampled some bad humus. It made me falafel. I thought I was going to die. As my own humus was entered in the competition, I was worried. If I died, they may have had to give me the award post-humus-ly.
The other night felt better. I was introducing a reggae band for an outdoor performance at the park. I'd never met the band before and they didn't know me from Bob Marley. So the little imp in my brain decided to have some fun.
I said, "Welcome everyone, you're in for a treat this evening. Something very special. Tonight the bad is going to do an exciting style of music known as "Reggie." (at this point the band gave me surprised and concerned looks, as did about half the crowd.)
"Reggie music," I continued, "comes from a long and historical tradition. It started a long time ago with 'The Archies' and continued through Betty, and then Veronica music..."
The crowd finally caught on and erupted in post-punked laughter.
Dude...Reggae is rebellious and fun.
We be spoofin'...
America, ya gotta love it.