All of you Ronald McDonald hating fascists are just regurgitating fifty years of Burger King propaganda.
There never was pink slime. Their meat was never gray. Their Filet-o-Fish sandwich was never made up of flash frozen yeast infection.
That was all put into the FAKE NEWS to make you sound smart as you chomped on your Wendy's burgers.
Let me take a few steps back.
SQUARE BURGERS? SQUARE FUCKING BURGERS?! That's a logistical achievement, not a culinary one. The Clown said, "I'll take the haypenny hit on having my burgers look circular like God intended. I'm not about to fit and extra half pound per box just to save a few cents on gas or whatever the fuck Dumb Ass Dave is cooking up at his little burger chain."
Burger King: what are you thinking? Have you ever been to a Burger King you haven't been stabbed at? I've been stabbed fifteen times just walking through the parking lot. It's a miracle I'm here today. They were stabbing me with paper crowns. "They" were my nephews and nieces who were so pissed at me for taking them to Burger King that they tried to kill me with their crown. There's a metaphor there. "Why couldn't we go to FUCKING JACK IN THE BOX, Uncle Andrew? At least there, I have to eat before I throw it all up!" Good point, imaginary niece. Good point.
Speaking of Jack in the Box; does it even know what it wants to be? Their tacos look like the contents of a treasure box in a women's restroom but they taste pretty good (so exactly like the treasure box in a women's restroom). Their egg rolls could fool any Panda Express slogging punk ass. They have seasoned fries. They also have burgers which makes Jack in the Box the Taco Bell of burger joints.
Taco Bell has seven ingredients that they just recombine over and over again and make a dumb name for. What is it? It's a taco wrapped in a burrito. It's a Buraco. What is it? It's a fully formed burrito stuck into a taco shell slathered in refried beans with a gordita shell plopped onto it. It's Gordurritaco. That's all Taco Bell is. The best thing about Taco Bell is when they ask if you want hot sauce and you say yes, they either dump every packet they've ever made in your bag or give you like two for fifteen tacos. Bernie Sanders isn't president yet, y'all and I've been told both these scenarios are likely under Bernie Sanders.
If you don't live in Texas, you don't care but every Texan I've ever heard pronounce Whataburger pronounced it WATERBURGER. It's so ingrained into our collective that I went to a food truck recently with a WATERBURGER on the menu and I had to ask, "Is there meat in that burger?" The guy looked at me like I was crazy but while every other menu item listed their ingredients fully, the Waterburger listed everything but the meat. "Yeah, it's called WATERBURGER because there are water chestnuts in it." Look, I don't call my burger an onion burger just because I put onions on it. I don't call it a lettuce burger just because I put lettuce on it. It's either a burger or it's not, buck-o. It was pretty good.
So how about those elections, eh? Wild stuff.
Thursday, February 13, 2020
Sunday, February 2, 2020
As I've grown, I've learned to throw away the remaining vestiges of plasticity and inauthenticity in my life. Thanks to the advice of my life coach/sexual healer, I've learned the power of authentic relating with humans and pets. Today I'm going to demonstrate how to relate authentically with your dog.
When your dog barks and chews on things it shouldn't, you need to get down to their level, stare them in the eye, and say, "I will not be bullied by you." Your dog should understand that you are hurt but it still should respect your personhood and your value in its life. If it still continues to bark, you need to get down on your knees and say, "Can't you see what you're doing to me? You are hurting me and I refuse to be hurt. I refuse to be bullied, kicked around, or shut up. You will not defeat me."
Sometimes you buy toys or food for your dog that they aren't interested in. If you find a half-eaten carrot lying around the house you need to grab it and stomp around the house until you find your dog. You need to grab it by its ears and say, "I paid for you to eat and you just make a mess all over my house that I invited you into. This contract... this relationship... nuh-uh... I'm not vibing with it anymore. I'm not feeling it. You will eat what I give you."
Your dog will sometimes yelp in its crate while you try to sleep so that you can go to work to buy it toys and food. Whenever your dog disturbs your slumber, you need to get out of your bed quietly, and you need to whisper into your dogs crate things like, "Do you understand what I do for you? I'm just trying to be real with you, I'm just trying to be honest. I'd like for you to know that I am honest with you and if I'm being honest, I gotta say, I need to go to work so that I can pay for food so that you can live. Now, I can simply call in sick and say my dog kept me up all night but then I'd likely be fired and we'd be no better than the homeless people under the bridge that feed their dogs their used toilet paper and toe cheese. Maybe I'll just donate you to one of those guys. Shut the fuck up. Goodnight. I love you."
Sometimes your dog will be incontinent or, worse, diarrhetic. You need to tell your dog, "If you continue to act as if you were a child, I will have to throw you into the street and leave you to fend for yourself like I would a child. I didn't buy a child, though, I bought a dog and I really feel like those fucking kids I passed up to buy you... well, they would have been the better investment because I've never heard of a kid who shit his pants, ate it, then promptly threw it up causing me the believe you had a bowel obstruction and wasting eighty dollars on tests only to find out that you're a goddamn shit eater. OUT OF MY HOUSE!"
Once your dog understands that you are relating authentically with it, you will have a much healthier and real relationship with your dog. You will be happier and it will be happier. Trust me.
Listen up, guy with glasses talking about the socioeconomic metaphors present in sports: shut the fuck up. Nobody is listening to you because we're all here chomping on Beef Lil Smokies and looking for the hidden bathroom the homeowner obviously doesn't want you to know about. He wants to masturbate while pooping in peace.
Listen up, homeowner. I found your little bathroom and your dirty little secret. You're a fucking nerd who takes off all his clothes when he poops because you "get too sweaty" and "nobody likes the smell of poop sweat." Listen up, cowboy. I do. I love the smell of poop sweat and whenever I get a whiff of it, it makes me want to poop. What? Is this a bidet? The hose kind? You certainly don't cheap out and I can understand why you didn't want anyone here using your secret bathroom. I like to stick the hose just far enough up so I get the same sensation of getting water up my nose but in my butt. It's how I calibrate spatial distance in my head. It's the only way I'm sure I'm creating mudslides. Don't worry. I gave the hose a spit shine. I only farted in there and updated my Facebook so don't worry too much.
Listen up, Twitter jokesters: stop with the Superb Owl stuff. It's not funny. It never was funny. An owl killed my entire family in the jungle and I really appreciate it if you take that into consideration before making light of any fucking owl by calling it superb.
All right, go out there and slap some butts. Drink some beer. Eat some Doritos and get some Coke Energy Drink: the one for your nose. All praises be to bitcoin.
Go buy Dark Moon Digest 38. I've got a story called Swollen Dry Sockets in there and DMD is consistently the best horror in the business. Buy direct or subscribe to DMD here or buy it off Amazon.