I don’t know about you, but I f**kin’ love bacon. When I get married, I want it to be on top of a field of bacon bits, and I want my bride to be wearing a bacon broach.
I love it. And this Cheesey Bacon Log recipe…let’s just say I need a new pair of underwear. (Which is convenient, as my old ones don’t fit my waist anymore.) I mean, the first step is “weave the bacon”. Who even thought you could weave bacon?!
It gets so much better. Wait till they introduce the cheese element…. Read the full article.
OK, I just walked in on the weirdest thing in the world. But before I tell you, let me give a quick bit of backstory so you can understand how truly weird/awesome(?) this is…
There’s this newer IT guy that works at my job, one of those goth-like dudes you’d expect to see wearing a trenchcoat in the summer. Let’s call him Michael. He’s a nice guy, but weird, and I haven’t spoken to him much. Just so you know, he’s a self-proclaimed “magician”. And during our Welcome Back Party, when new people were introducing themselves, he decided to show us a magic trick. He got out a hammer and a nail (a real nail, we checked), and proceeded to hammer the nail into his nasal cavity.
It was gross, weird, kindof impressive — one of those things everyone cringles and goes “Ugh…nooo! Seriously. No.”. And that was his magic trick. Great first impression. So that’s Michael. And here’s the story:
So I go to use the bathroom in our office (a single-seater), and open the door — and see Michael on the toilet. It was one of those awkward, “Oh my god, I’m so sorry” and get-out-as-quick-as-possible moments. The door wasn’t locked for some reason, and I felt awful and queasy.
But as walked away, my brain tried to comprehend what I had just seen….Something wasn’t right. Michael was sitting on the toilet, fully clothed. He was hunched over like he was taking a shit, and he was certainly red in the face — But he had his black pants on, fully buckled, and pulled all the way up. I’m sure of it.
So my question is: Was this guy Magic Pooping? Could it be that he has some magical way of excreting doody without taking his clothes off?! Is this guy’s abilities so powerful that it transcends the basic human pooping process?!
And if he wasn’t, what the hell was he doing just chilling on the toilet? What a weird place to just sit and hang out. At least lock the door, weirdo.
Oh man, what a strange experience. I don’t know what to think — should I feel excited…or extremely creeped out? Someone weigh in on this one. I think I’m going to have to call up “Mythbusters” for this.
I learned something this weekend: not all Germans are Jew Hunters. Some Germans just like to play brass instruments and get really, really, really drunk.*
I went up to Lake Arrowhead this weekend with a bunch of buddies. Lake Arrowhead, for the record, is a quaint little rural community nestled in the mountains about two hours outside of LA. What better place for a bunch of aholes to go and party?
So we rented a cabin in this quiet little village. The “cabin” was actually more like a two story house. Of course, we lied grossly about how many occupants there would be (the max was 6, but we thought 10 was more “our style”).
But onto the Germans. The highlight was certainly the local Oktoberfest. When we rolled up to the town center with our “city slicker” hairdos and “cellular” telephones, we were expecting a pretty big festival. After all, we had read about it online and it promised to be quite entertaining. But when we got there, it was literally just a single tent with a live German band playing on the stage. We were (by about 20 years) the youngest people there.
Now, I’ll stop to set the mood here: it was freaking cold. And not just you’re-a-pussy-because-you-live-in-LA cold. It was like 45 degrees. And raining. I haven’t even SEEN rain in 6 months. So you can imagine my shock and horror and sandy vagina.
So we started going all out on the beer, as I recently learned that Eskimos bathe in beer to warm themselves up. And I have to say, this German band was amazing. I’ve never in my life seen grown adults drink SO MUCH BEER, so consistently, ever. These guys would play a “song” (I put it in quotes because they played the same thing over and over), and then slowly guzzle down their beer. Then, fill it back up.
Now, THIS is the kind of encouragement that they should teach in schools. It’s powerful. In fact, they motivated me right back to the beer line. And this is when it starts to get good…
They call up the women for a “Stein Holding” Competition. If you’re unfamiliar, this is a competition where women have to hold out full stein with one hand, arm straight, for as long as they can. And as an added rule in this local competition, every woman had to be hideous.
The competition really heated up between the last four ghouls/contestants:
Then they moved onto the Men’s Beer Chugging competition. When we signed up, we assumed it would be like a 16 oz plastic cup, but no, no, no. Not with the Heil Hitler Brass Band on the stage. They filled up full 36oz Steins and then had the drink off. One grown man even puked!
We all laughed at him, and scoffed at the local Lake Arrowhead man that won — although this man had a permanent bitter beer face, so I figure that should have disqualified him. My buddy, Lou, managed to come in second place despite his skinny, heroin-like physique.
It was great. And they followed that up with the WOMEN’s Beer Chugging Competition. And I swear, you can’t make this up. This old woman — she had to be like 60 years old — beat the crap out of this whole line of women and got 2nd place. I’ve attached a VIDEO of it here, and I insist you watch it. It’s hilarious (and so is the commentary).
By the time all these competitions were done, we were really feeling the Oktoberfest love. And by now, most of the crowd had left….leaving just the drunk people and the band. So we chicken danced our faces off, and yelled out “You Rock!” at the band. Which eventually led to, “Yeah Lester!!”, once we learned the name of the tuba player.
We wound up staying to close the festival down, and it was a blast. I even managed to book the Brass Band for my next Bar Mitzvah. They asked “what a Bar Mitvah was”, and not wanting to stir up the Jewish waters, I told them it was an Open Bar at a Mets game. I think they bought it.
So the lesson here: It’s October. Go to an Oktoberfest, drink some beer, and melt some faces with a chicken dance. If you’re lucky, you’ll get to see an elderly woman chug like a frat boy.
Ever wonder who writes those facts underneath the Snapple cap? I do. And I’ve also heard that not all of them are true. But then again, I don’t know if that’s true either. And now I’m confused.
One thing’s for sure, though — coming up with those facts isn’t as easy as I thought…
I’m not sure how many of you have been following the Olympics, but I will say this: If you haven’t been watching, you’re an an idiot…And a genius. Now I know what you’re thinking, “Hey, man. That doesn’t make sense. Stop it.” And you’re right. Because it doesn’t make sense.
For me, these past 12 days have pretty much been like going through the stages of Alcoholics Anonymous. I started, pre-Olympics, by scoffing the games. Laughing at them. I’ve never been a fan, and I’ve never enjoyed watching. I always equated the Olympics to watching Kobayashi eat hot dogs. Sure, it’s impressive and I can’t do it, but really…who cares?
Long story short, I strongly disliked the Olympics, and said I would never watch. I’ll call this “Step 1: Fear”. This was abrubtly followed by:
Step 2: Discovery(aka What the F**k Country is Toungsylvania?)
The opening games were on a Friday night. I was drinking some beers, an early pregame before going out to the bars. As usual, nothing was on. One of my friends said to me, “Hey, isn’t the Opening Ceremony tonight?”.
Bored, I turned it on. And like a dumb blond staring at blinking Christmas lights, I was drawn in by the bright CGI graphics and cooing of a young Chinese girl flying through the air. There were ninjas and dragons, choreographed. Fireworks, flashing lights, and fascism. Maybe it’s just these Bud Heavy’s kicking in, but this is actually pretty sweet.
I wound up watching the Flag Carrying Ceremony for a bit as well. I was shamed by how little I knew about the world, and also by how many countries I’d never heard of. But not that shamed. Because I had heard of the most important country…America.
I did, however, watch long enough to make fun of India for having 1.3 billion people and only like 25 Olympic althetes. That’s just poor, India. Your numbers are worse than your customer service.
Step 3: Addiction
I’ll simply describe this stage by the day my roommate came home to find me glued to the couch, about 5 hours into an Olympic marathon. I had literally been watching for the entire afternoon, into the evening. Gymnastics, badminton, women’s beach volleyball, swimming, boxing, water polo, softball, Bob Costas. I was there, man. They hooked me in by saying “coming up next”, but then not actually showing that event for another 5 hours. But I watched. I watched the whole thing. And I liked it.
I had a full-on crush on ice-queen Gymnast Nastia Liukin (above), and saw a statue made of butter of her co-gynmast Shawn Johnson. Michael Phelps made me want to get a dolphinoplasty. I knew I had a problem when my roommate Sean said to me, “Dude, this gymnastics scoring doesn’t make any freakin’ sense.” And I actually heard these words come out of my mouth:
“Man, you just don’t get it. Gymnastics is a sport based on deductions. You don’t get more points for doing it right, you get points subtracted for each time you screw up. You see, the start value for her vault was higher than Yoko’s, so that’s why her score was lower for a seemingly equal routine.”
This was the night that Michael Phelps won his 5th gold medal. The night that the 13 year-old Chinese beanpole — I mean, 16 year-old gymnast — Yuyuan Jiang choked on her Gymnastics routine by falling repeatedly (and was subsequently melted down and turned into Elmers glue by her government). And this was the night I burned out on the Olympics.
Step 4: Anger(aka The Chinese Are Commie Bastards)
I was tired. Tired of watching NBC lie about all these events that said “Live”, but clearly weren’t. And I knew they weren’t live because I just heard the results on SportsCenter. I was tired of how they would string me along by saying “Coming up next, Michael Phelps swims the 500 meter”, where “coming up next” meant 3 hours later.
But more than that, I was pissed. Pissed that when I turned on the news the next morning, I had to hear news reports of the countless ways in which China had cheated and forged nearly all of the ceremonies, skewed the judging of their athletes to give them higher scores, and even lied about the ages of their athletes.
That young girl that drew me in during the Opening Ceremonies with her singing…a sham. Now, while I do find it humorous that the Chinese Government declared the singer “too ugly”, and instead, chose a Commercial actor to lip-synch to her singing, I have to say: that’s a poor effort China. That chick was just as ugly the week before. Way to crush her dreams and make yourselves look like assholes.
But what’s more upsetting is that they faked fireworks during the opening ceremony. Really? You’re China. You want us to believe you’re a global powerhouse when you fake fireworks? Boo you.
Oh, yeah. And they have 13 year old girls competing in Gymnastics where the legal age is 16. Like this girl above, who looks more like a prepubescent, anorexic alien baby, than a 16 year old Gymnast. Maybe China does have a space program…
Step 5: Recovery (aka Doodycakes)
Halfway through the Olympics, I was enthralled by the 24-hour programming. I loved the concept of being able to watch an event, no matter what time of day or night. It was riveting. I actually thought to myself, “Hey, you know a show like EdTV might be pretty cool.” Being able to watch some sort of reality TV, live, 24-hours a day. It drew me in.
But then I realized, I have better shit to do with my time. Watching all that coverage made my brain hurt. And you know what China? I’d rather watch my own government lie to me, thankyouverymuch. At least they don’t censor the internet and turn girls into glue.
That said, I’ll still watch beach volleyball any day of the week. Misty-May, I want to be on you.
The internet has unleashed a side of mankind that I find totally and utterly fascinating. It’s the primal, beastial side of man — the kind that loves seeing people get hit in the nuts, watching people faceplant into concrete, and of course, touching their no-no parts to porn.
If you’d like to know what I’m talking about, go to Break.com. You’ll notice that 9 out of 10 videos on this hugely popular site are of people either getting hurt, hurting other people, failing at something, or more commonly, some form of tits.
Yet, out of this mayhem of unfiltered content, a new form of gross-out videos have taken shape. Ones that combine all of these elements: craziness, pain, and sexuality. The most notable video of this fame has been the notoriously disgusting 2Girls1Cup, in which girls complete a triathlon of awfulness including sex, poop, throw up, and eating all of those things.
It’s horrifying. Yet, I can’t help but watch and giggle. Clearly, with millions and millions of people watching, it must hit some primitive nerve in our funnybones.
But the point of this whole article is not so much to discuss as it is to display. Because I was recently shown a video that may be the most titillating culmination of all these things I’ve discussed. It’s much less gross than 2Girls1Cup, but equally shocking. If I had a choice, I’d say this video takes the cake (no pun intended).
I will say first and foremost, this video is not safe for work. Don’t watch it there. It’s got some female nudity, some cake, and it may be offensive to some — probably many. (ie - Mom, don’t watch this). But I will say, I laughed until I literally cried. Without further ado, I give you…
If you like it, pass it along. If your offended, you probably shouldn’t be. It’s absurdly hilarious. Come on! The girl gets all comfortable and lets her hair down, like she’s gonna make lemonade or something.
But, to the unseen victim: my heart goes out to the cameraman, who withstood a windstorm unlike I’ve ever seen in my life. Chick must have ate a broccoli-prune smoothie prior to her feat. Girls got gas for days.
I read an article today that made me realize that the impending doom of this word may be closer than I thought. No, it’s not the 2012 Nostradomous crap. Or the cost of gasoline. And you’re wrong, it’s not the Middle East crisis either. It’s much more horrifying than all of that…
When the largest fast food chain in the world can’t keep the cost of it’s delicious, loose-doody-inducing burgers to $1, the end is definitely near. How is it that they cant pump more sawdust into the burgers, or use concentrated lard-cheese, to somehow offset the cost? You’re McDonalds. You give people delicious diabetes and happy-meal heart attacks. You must be able to keep this world afloat!
While reading this article, and a wave of fear came over me. What’s next? KFC Snackers? Wendy’s Shakes?! Taco Bell Tacos?! NOOOOO!!!
Sure, they say it will only increase by a few cents. They’ll call it the “$1-$2 Menu”. But my mind can’t deal with that math. That’s communist talk. I refuse to subject my American stomach to such insubordinance.
Just like that, their empowering “What can you get for a dollar campaign?” turns to nothingness. Which made me realize, as I’m sure every other American has now realized: you can’t buy shit with a dollar. All the hope that the Dollar Menu gave us…now gone. It’s like the Statue of Liberty replaced it’s ever-burning torch with a stiff-jointed middle finger, and hurled it’s feces at our minds.
Now, while I fear for myself, my hopes and prayers goes out to all those drunk college students who just lost their prime food source. Where will they stumble with their pocket full of loose change? How will they survive the treacherous “drunk midnight munchies”?
I’m afraid there’s no way of knowing for certain, but it doesn’t look good. I’m hoping for the best: that McDonalds gets relief funding from our government, but I’m preparing for the worst: Cannibalism. Hide your small cats and dogs.
There’s nothing like dropping $140 on dinner, only to be told “there’s a better place by my house”. Much like the raw fish they so fervently protect, the Sushi Snob is a smelly, arrogant vagina that may make you sick to your stomach.
They are an unwanted conosuerre of the dining world, a pompous and brutally-picky purveyor of all things sushi. You may have thought you were just going out to dinner, but no — you are actually being judged. Every bite of spicy tuna brings with it the guilt and judgement of a Jewish mother. Sure it tastes good, but it could be so much better.
The Sushi Snob feeds off of their own self-importance. They need to be the only person in the know. And they won’t be outdone.
First, they’ll ask if you’ve heard of “their” sushi restaurant. Then, they’ll roll their eyes and say “oh, of course you haven’t”. This is key. They will always try to make you feel ignorant and useless. Forget the fact that “their place” is an out-of-the way, hole-in-the-wall spot that no one has ever been to. You’re an uncultured dick for not knowing about it.
Eating with the Sushi Snob is one of the most unpleasant experiences known to man. If they’re not smugly pushing around their sushi with chopsticks, they’re talking about how there’s “too many white people at this place”. It’s very important to them to not eat sushi around Caucasians. It cheapens the experience. (more…)
Need to loose weight fast, but not willing to do anything to accomplish it? Have you tried all the other diets and not had the willpower to stick with them? Do you like cookies?
If you’ve answered yes to any of these questions, there’s a man you should meet. His name is Dr. Seigal (yes — the creepy, salivating man to the right). And he’s got a solution. The Cookie Diet.
Using his patented “eating cookies” formula, patients will “snickerdoodle” the fat away. It’s easy:
The essence of my system is simple. First, my patient undergoes a typical medical history and examination. She (most of my patients are women) then begins an 800 calorie-a-day diet that includes six of my hunger-controlling cookies.
Once cookie eating has commenced, just get a glass of milk, and watch those pounds melt away.
Doesn’t that sound nice? You loose weight by eating special cookies. Reminds me of that time in college when I went on the Taco Bell Diet for three months. Man, that was a good diet.
All those chalupas and taco supremes made me feel like a new man. And I was. I gained about thirty pounds. But don’t get me wrong, I felt the burn every day. Usually about twenty minutes later in the bathroom. (more…)
Everyone knows the standard clichés for bad luck. Black cats crossing in front of you. Breaking the mirror. Walking under a ladder. Everyone knows them. Even if your not superstitious, you try and avoid these things. And come on…everyone knows at least one Mother who had her back broken because some careless idiot stepped on a crack.
So here are a few experiences where the caution flag waved right in my face. Stuff that comes up in everyday life—but slaps you across the face saying “something isn’t right”. Here’s a couple notable ones:
The PooPo Platter
I was eating at a Chinese Buffet with my family—a delicious place, one I’ve been to many times before. And as I’m stuffing some seasame chicken down my throat…I see the flashing of red lights. Faint at first, but then glowing brighter and brighter. And in a minute, an ambulance pulls up silently outside the window. I say to my Parents, “There’s no f****in way. This can’t possibly be real.”
But yes, I watched as the Paramedics slowly, and very quietly, brought in a stretcher—right into the restaurant—and proceeded to put an old woman on the stretcher. Not a word to any customers. All business. All stretcher.
Lets be honest, the last thing you want to see when you’re eating at a Chinese buffet is the vision of impending doom. The clear picture of apocalyptic kung pow, waved right in your face.
It was surreal. While everyone is eating god-knows-what deep-fried cat meat, we are watching someone getting taken away in a stretcher. And it’s worth saying again—man, these Paramedics were quiet. It’s almost as if the owners bribed them unlimited buffet trips if they could keep it on the DL. If it weren’t for the flashing red lights blinking through the window, you would have never heard them tip-toeing around. And never seen an old Asian lady being loaded into an ambulance.
But I did see it. I saw her clinging for life—desperately trying to hold on—while a piece of low mein was desperately clinging onto her shirt. And the whole time, I’m thinking to myself, “What the hell did that lady eat?!!”
And praying to the big man above that it wasn’t the sesame chicken.
The Airplane Talker
So I was taking a red eye flight back home (more…)
Listen, Mr. FancyPants expensive restaurant. I’m on to you and your bullshit prices for fountain soda. “Violated”, “UnAmerican” and “Horse Shit” are a few words I’d use to describe a recent trip to a high-end restaurant on the Sunset Strip. Fuck em—it was Le Petit Four. A place probably well above my stature, but hey—work was buying it, so I picked the best place I could.
I had ordered a Coke—you know, the red, white, and blue of fountain sodas. America in a carbonated liquid form. It was refreshing, cold—I regret to say—slightly watered-down. And while eating, the waitress came over and said “Wouldya like another, honey?”
“Sure,” I said. “I’ll take a refill.” And don’t call me honey.
Now I should note now: these weren’t big-boy cups, they were slightly smaller than normal. I’d describe them as “fat-cat cups”. Aristocrat Chalices. You know, the type of glasses that put aesthetic appeal before functionality. (more…)
OK, I just walked in on the weirdest thing in the world. But before I tell you, let me give a quick bit of backstory so you can understand how truly weird/awesome(?) this is…
I’m not sure how many of you have been following the Olympics, but I will say this: If you haven’t been watching, you’re an an idiot…And a genius. Now I know what you’re thinking, “Hey, man. That doesn’t make sense. Stop it.” And you’re right. Because it doesn’t make sense. 
But more than that, I was pissed. Pissed that when I turned on the news the next morning, I had to hear news reports of the countless ways in which China had cheated and forged nearly all of the ceremonies, skewed the judging of their athletes to give them higher scores, and even lied about the ages of their athletes. 
The internet has unleashed a side of mankind that I find totally and utterly fascinating. It’s the primal, beastial side of man — the kind that loves seeing people get hit in the nuts, watching people faceplant into concrete, and of course, touching their no-no parts to porn.
I read an article today that made me realize that the impending doom of this word may be closer than I thought. No, it’s not the 2012 Nostradomous crap. Or the cost of gasoline. And you’re wrong, it’s not the Middle East crisis either. It’s much more horrifying than all of that…
Sure, they say it will only increase by a few cents. They’ll call it the “$1-$2 Menu”. But my mind can’t deal with that math. That’s communist talk. I refuse to subject my American stomach to such insubordinance. 
Need to loose weight fast, but not willing to do anything to accomplish it? Have you tried all the other diets and not had the willpower to stick with them? Do you like cookies? 
Everyone knows the standard clichés for bad luck. Black cats crossing in front of you. Breaking the mirror. Walking under a ladder. Everyone knows them. Even if your not superstitious, you try and avoid these things. And come on…everyone knows at least one Mother who had her back broken because some careless idiot stepped on a crack. 
Listen, Mr. FancyPants expensive restaurant. I’m on to you and your bullshit prices for fountain soda. “Violated”, “UnAmerican” and “Horse Shit” are a few words I’d use to describe a recent trip to a high-end restaurant on the Sunset Strip. Fuck em—it was Le Petit Four. A place probably well above my stature, but hey—work was buying it, so I picked the best place I could.
