You just made my list!

There’s a difference between seeing Jesus in a potato chip and believing it really is Jesus in your potato chip. I had a marble when I was a kid that had a blob in the exact shape of the Virgin Mary but even as a kid I realized it was a random, meaningless blob. Although, wouldn’t it be amazing if it really was a sign from God and I totally ignored it? Shit, where is that marble?!?

There’s a phenomenon called pareidolia in which a person tries to find recognizable or significant subject matter in random objects. Like when a tree looks like an old man or a cloud looks like a kitten. It’s just human nature to attempt to find familiar objects, especially faces, in random shapes. But believing that face in your Hot Pocket was sent to you by our lord and savior is an entirely different kind of crazy. Why the hell would Jesus choose to make his big comeback in the form of a nacho chip rather than exploding through the clouds on a flaming unicorn?

Here in Chicago we have a famous water stain under an expressway that for several years still attracts hundreds (thousands?) of people who bring flowers, light candles and stare at a crack in the wall. I honestly think it’s incredibly sad to see people praying to a water stain but I’m guessing they find it sad that I don’t.

Here’s the thing about tapas, I love to EAT tapas and that’s where the problem begins. Any time I go to a tapas restaurant I end up eating approximately one cube of potato, three pieces of bread and an olive. But wait, when I looked at the table it was covered in food. There were miniature plates everywhere!

I suppose it’s really my fault for not taking more food from each tiny plate as they whiz by. I just feel guilty taking too much when 10 people are trying to share food from plates that belong in a doll house. Half the time I don’t even get to taste the food I ordered. I just sit there and watch like a hungry dog as my dish travels around the table. As it passes through the filthy hands of my soon to be ex-friends I watch as the cubes of cheese I ordered begin to disappear. I quickly do the math and realize no cheese will be entering my mouth hole this evening. I fantasize about fabulously violent ways to kill each and every one of my cheese-filled “friends.” One will get an oily skewer to the neck while another I will drown in sangria. You will all pay the price for eating my cheese you pieces of shit!

I’ve always really hated this dumb take off of Edward Hopper’s legendary painting Nighthawks. I know you’ve seen this hunk of crap titled “Boulevard of Broken Dreams” hanging on the walls of about 50% of the diners you frequent and 15% of the rooms pornos are filmed in. It features the famous corpses of Elvis Presley, James Dean, Marilyn Monroe and Humphrey Bogart drinking coffee and eating onion rings and I think it’s supposed to bring a tear to your eye and make you want to listen to all 5 hours of “American Pie” by Don McLean.

I always thought this poster was the ultimate example of bad, mass-produced “art” but now that I have done a little research about the artist who created it, Gottfried Helnwein, I am beginning to wonder if this was a joke that just got out of hand. When I took a look at his work I was shocked by how twisted, edgy, bizarre and quite frankly, how fucking cool a lot of his art is.

Even though Helnwein might be a talented artist it does not excuse you from displaying this bad art in your first apartment. If you’re going to do it, at least buy the classy version. Good news, it’s in stock!

Hey Pizza Hut, leave my pizza alone and stop forcing cheese into every hole you can find! And while you’re at it stop trying to convince me your “Tuscani Pastas” are going to fool me into thinking they don’t taste like ass.

Much like the toothbrush, pizza has been figured out and needs no further innovations. The only option Pizza Hut has left is to make the delivery box out of cheese because god knows Americans need more cheese for their fat cheese holes. I’m also kind of waiting for “The Extreme 180 Pizza” which would simply be a pizza delivered upside down. The commercial would feature skateboarding punks taking a break from thrashing and being rad to take “Pizza Hut’s Extreme 180 Pizza Challenge.” They would encourage each other by yelling things like “bitchin” or “hell yeah, eat the shit out of that mother fucker you mother fucker” or simply “FUCK!”

The Onion has a good idea for the Hut too.

I’M RACHAEL RAY AND I LIKE TO YELL! OH BOY LOOK AT THIS SANDWICH, IT LOOKS YUMMERS! JUST NEEDS A LITTLE EVOO! YUM-O!”

Please rip my ears off and put expanding insulating foam in my bleeding ear holes! Why is it that the more annoying a person is the more likely they will be hugely popular? Especially when it comes to the Food Network. It’s a parade of loud mouth jerks on that channel.

Rachel Ray is so painfully boring I can barely find the strength to write about how much better I am than her. Are white, suburban women really so bored with life that all it takes is a slightly less-bland version of themselves to make them lose their minds with excitement? I think I’m a little jealous of these people. I walk around all day wanting to fling poop in everyone’s face but these women drop their panties with excitement anytime Rachael Ray says “EVOO.” I want their blind happiness. I want to find “EVOO” charming rather than something that causes me to black out from rage. Save me Rachael Ray!

I will now show you something that should shake you to your very soul. It should make you question everything. You might want to drink 7 beers before looking at this photo.

First of all, I worked in a restaurant for two years and I know first hand how INCREDIBLY difficult and stressful it can be. Working in a busy restaurant sucks giant hairy ass because every time you start your shift you know the next 8 hours are guaranteed to be total chaos. EVERY DAY!

So anyway, I went to lunch at a nice-ish restaurant with two coworkers (fuck you, yes I have a job) and a couple of us ordered the tortilla soup appetizer. What we received looked more like orange chili or maybe this, but OK not a big deal. Before the first spoonful touched my lips I already smelled something suspect but I like to live on the edge so into my mouth it went. YUMMY, soapy bleach, just like mom used to make when she wanted me to slowly die! I took another small bite and it was clear something had gone horribly wrong with this soup. I asked my friend is she felt the same way and of course she did because it tasted like hobo’s armpit.

We quietly discussed the possibility of sending the soup back but didn’t want to be dicks. Ultimately we decided it needed to be sent back but unfortunately our waitress refused to check back with us. I think she saw us discussing the soup and was avoiding us. Finally she stopped by with our sandwiches and in my shyest, most polite voice I said “I’m sorry, I know you are going to think we are crazy but this soup does not taste right. I really think there is something wrong with it.”

Her reaction? She stared at us like we just said “I think this soup is evil, it’s stealing our thoughts.” All she said was a long, sarcastic “O Kaaaaaaaaaay” before removing the bowls of poison soup. Here’s the thing, even if we WERE dicks and the soup was JUST FINE she still should have said “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. Let me take these from you and check with the chef.” Then she can go into the kitchen and flip us off or spit in our food but to our face at least PRETEND to give a shit.

She never said sorry once. Well, that’s not entirely true, when dropping off the check she lazily said “again, I’m sorry about the soup.” Again? Again? Too late to start working for that tip.

I realize this long boring story about my soup seems trivial but I just fucking hate people in the service industry who treat you like shit when you are being VERY polite to them. I don’t care if you hate your job, most people do, deal with it. I have worked some HORRIBLE jobs but I never took it out on the customer, it wasn’t their fault that I was too stupid to get a good job.

Be like me, I am perfect.

I have never wanted to see a crane collapse as much as when I stare into the soulless faces of these jerks. How bored do you have to be to pay something like $20,000 to eat while hanging from a fucking crane? You will not find a human being on this planet who is more bored than me and yet I somehow have avoided calling “Dinner in the Sky” to come hoist my lazy ass 150 feet in the air for a little fine dining while strapped to a chair like a turd. YAY, now you have a lame story to tell all your lame friends down at the country club.

If I didn’t know this was real I would assume it was an internet gag. The best part? Here’s the first item on their FAQ page…

“Toilet Facilities – It’s like in a normal restaurant: you ask where they are to the waiter and… you go down. It’s just a bit less discreet because the whole table goes down but it takes less than a minute.”

It’s not going to take less than a minute if it’s me who’s using the toilet facilities. “Hey everyone, I know you all paid like a million dollars to eat up in the sky so all the poor people could watch but I need to take this bitch down for a sec. I REALLY have to shit you guys. Sorry but I am touching cloth over here. Very expensive cloth.”

Hey rich jerks, YOU WON ALREADY! You don’t need to prove it by eating from a crane for all to see.