Oh thanks beautiful angel for letting me eat your sauce-soaked hair!
There’s only one thing horrible enough to wake me from my recent lazy holiday writing schedule. Angel hair pasta is the pussy of all pastas. I don’t mean that as a compliment, as in, angel hair pasta is awesome like female sexy parts. No, I mean angel hair pasta is the nerd of the pasta world. Spaghetti is James Brown* and angel hair pasta is the Spin Doctors.**
I think I would rather eat actual hair than ever put another lifeless, slippery tangle of angel hair nonsense in my pretty mouth. Plus, angel hair pasta is always slimy and over-cooked because it’s so fucking thin it’s practically already cooked just from being near a boiling pot of water. It’s like when a little kid pukes just from seeing a roller coaster whiz by. At least in that scenario the people on the roller coaster are having fun, with angel hair pasta everybody loses.
*This could either be the young James Brown or the old drugged out, bat-shit crazy James Brown.
It’s amazing that an actor trying to be cartoonishly annoying can’t even come close to being as annoying as the real Guy Fieri. Very funny though. Thanks to Ken for tipping me off to this nice piece of Guy Fieri bashing. Sadly, Guy Fieri is too fucking dumb to realize this is a joke on him. He will see this and think “Am I really THAT money?”
Have you ever been sitting around your trailer at 3am and thought, “Well, I have five pieces of bacon and four paper towels, how can I turn this into something?”
Are you wealthy enough to own a microwave*? Then guess what Jethro? YOU-ARE-IN-LUCK! Genius and all around loud person, Rachael Ray, has developed a “recipe” that even your pathetically stupid ass can manage. The creativity doesn’t stop with the recipe, Rachael has even given her creation a catchy name… “Late Night Bacon!”
At first I was confused because when I go trolling for street-walking prostitutes I refer to them as Late Night Bacon, and although both activities require at least four paper towels, I eventually figured out Rach was talking about something completely different.
So sit back and enjoy Rachael Ray’s Late Night Bacon recipe. I recommend reading the comments (including one from me buried in there somewhere).
*It’s like a TV that you stick your food and wet socks into.
Based on the shape of the “meat” found sadly cowering inside the McRib bun, McDonald’s would have us believe that it’s entirely normal to eat the bones when eating ribs. Forget about pulling the meat off the bone, just stick the whole fucking carcass in your mouth and chew it up like you’re a… you’re a… I can’t even think of an animal that eats bones.
I’ve also found that most award-winning ribs are the color of Guy Fieri’s hair.
Yum, your black golf shirt looks delicious Dennis! Or would I rather have a slice of your Dockers? It’s a tough choice, black and khaki are both such appetizing colors. I guess I could go for a piece of your beard, or maybe I should skip you altogether and just eat your golf cart. It’s so hard to choose, your Chamber of Commerce networking event is so mouthwatering!
Fuck it, I’m skipping the whole thing and eating this.
Guy Fieri… meet the female you. Wait, the female you is actually you. Um… meet a more attractive female you.
Only a few short hours ago I thought there was only one annoying, rockabilly, Swingers, loud, 1995, talentless, douchebag, rocker chef in the world. I will refer to that time of my life as “the good old days.”
Everyone, meet Nadia G, I’m sure you will be hearing a lot about her in the pages of this worthless waste-of-time I call my website.
How can I describe this bore? Mix a pound of Andrew Dice Clay with a pound of Guy Fieri and a cup of Joey from Friends. Stir in some Kat Von D, a pinch of Gwen Stefani and mix until it makes you want to rip your own face off. Words can not begin to describe how much I hate this woman and her two-bit, cartoonish Goodfellas persona!
Try to sit through this entire two minute segment without cutting your sack off, pulling it over your head and suffocating yourself.
Want to know what to get me for Christmas? Just ask me to open a jar for you.
Nothing makes me happier than to hear “Can you open this jar for me?” You might as well have just asked me if I want to have a threesome, it’s that awesome.
There are so few chances in modern society to prove your dominance (I mean worth) as a man and, sadly, opening a jar for a female in distress is just about all that is left. Helping the cute girl in the office figure out how to add clip art to her PowerPoint presentation doesn’t quite give me the boner that opening a jar does. In my mind, hearing that little lid pop is not unlike killing a water buffalo with my bare hands.
This activity does not come without pitfalls however. As I approach my prey there’s always that nagging thought in the back of my mind saying “What if this is the jar I can’t open?” Luckily for you girls I will work a jar lid until my hands bleed, I will never give up and I will never fail. Yeah that’s right, if Hulk Hogan and Clint Eastwood had a baby and it was eaten by a gorilla, I would be that gorilla.
FYI, ask me to get something down from a high shelf and there’s a 98% chance we will be making love right there on the kitchen floor.
Just look at how cool you think you are, coconut. You think just because you are occasionally filled with boobs we should all give a shit about you. Here’s an idea, don’t taste like paste.
I sure do love foods that require power tools to eat. After 30 minutes of pounding and smashing, how do you reward me… with your shitty “milk” and your shittier “meat.” Fuck off you round jerk.
You ruin everything you touch (with ONE exception). Oh, and you kill people! All you fans of coconuts just think about that for a second, your precious coconut with the cute little face on the shell wouldn’t think twice about killing your stupid ass.
So if you want to eat an impossible to open, shitty tasting seed with a crappy texture, have fun, I’ll be eating a delicious pluot in my car.