Here’s how to prepare Nutty Chickle-Que (Peanut butter-enhanced chicken and pickles with barbeque sauce), one of the sexiest recipes of all time.
Peanut butter. Chicken. Pickles. Barbeque sauce. Adjectives from romantic novels. Combine these. But not all at once.
And also, spinach, honey, salt, pepper, and garlic powder. And more adjectives.
In an lubed pan, lustfully cook the chicken to an internal temp of 165 degrees Fahrenheit. Otherwise you’ll get a throbbing case of diarrhea.
Titillatingly add in the other stuff, and groan enticingly as you do. Let the peanut butter melt sensually, then stir supplely, while wiggling your hips swivelingly.
Erotically wait while everything heats up and blendingly blends. Sweatily remove the pan from the heat, being careful not to drip perspiration in the pan accidentally.
Hornily wait while it all cools. Serve on a plate, and eat ravenously.
Moistly fill your sink with water, clean the dishes regretfully, and wait yearningly until your next meal.
The recent Adrian Peterson controversy is one with many possible angles and viewpoints. Is it okay to beat a four-year-old child with a switch and rip open his scrotum if it is going to make him behave? We’ll never know. Is it okay to beat a 29-year-old man with a stick and puncture his nugget pouch for tearing into a four-year-old’s gonad bag? There is no scientific answer.
But the most disturbing question of all is this: why has no one offered up a proposal that would force the NFL star to change his name to Adrian Beat-his-son? It shames him, it’s a fun play on his real name, and the NFL would make even more money when Vikings fans have to re-buy updated number 28 ‘Beathisson’ jerseys.
All I’m asking is for the government and NFL to give some good old fashioned public humiliation a shot.
Dogs stink, plus they’re stupid, and they are also dumb.
I like cats.
Happy National Dog Day.
ALS is a disease. Who it affects, I do not know. What the letters stand for, I can only guess. Celebrities are talking about it. Why? Maybe because there is no point in giving to charity if people don’t know you are doing it. But there is one thing I do know for sure about the condition. It is horrible, and must be stopped.
Luckily, we already have a cure—if you are a normal person, dump a bucket of water over your head on a hot summer day. If you are a celebrity, make a public announcement that you have a lot of money. Uncomfortable, yes, but it doesn’t leave a scar and you get to keep all your hair. I for one didn’t even realize I knew this many people who were battling ALS, which is why they call it The Silent Killer. It has been such a joy watching my friends and family being healed right before my eyes. If only this cure had been discovered 25 years ago. A lot of pain could have been prevented.
That brings us to the next “hot” disease of the moment—Ebola. It too ravages the human body in unimaginable ways, by attacking some pretty trendy organs. Organs that most people know about. This is huge in the disease community, as you don’t have to sit around and explain what necrotized tissue is, or why polythelia is such a problem for today’s youth. Nope, none of that with Ebola. We’re talking strictly liver and kidneys here. All-American meat-and-potato organs. And the best part is, Ebola is 100% curable, just like ALS. People do not know this.
This is why I am here to start The Ebola Barf Challenge. The name explains it all: simply film yourself barfing—in your yard, on a friend, on yourself, on your pet, anywhere you see fit—tag it on Facebook as #EbolaBarf and then challenge three of your friends to do the same within 24 hours. How does this stop Ebola? It’s a good thing you asked, because I wouldn’t want you to blindly jump on a fad without knowing what it’s all about.
Ebola can’t get in your body if you barf. It’s that simple. Barfing is like the body’s bouncer. Ebola is like an artificially tanned guy wearing white-rimmed sunglasses inside a bar at night. So the big, meaty bouncer (your barf) walks right up to the douche (Ebola) and tosses him out.
But sometimes the douche (Ebola) comes back. This is why it is imperative that you barf at least four times. That is how easy Ebola gives up! It gets barfed out of a body four times, and it quits! It’s weaker than the flu.
Please join me in this challenge; it is the only way we can band together and stamp out Ebola.
Once Ebola is extinct, we can film ourselves eradicating a number of other serious diseases that have recently become treatable—AIDS is cured when you drink your own crotch sweat, Lupus goes away when you rub raw fecal matter on your upper lip, and homosexuality reverses when you man up and touch a woman’s boobs (guys) or jiggle a guy’s weener around (girls).
Film yourself doing these things, and then put it on the internet so that everyone knows you are a generous, caring person, and be sure to only mention how much money you donated if it is over $1000, or risk being branded as a cheapskate.
THE LITERARY COMMUNITY—J.K. Rowling recently confessed to plagiarizing a large portion of her Harry Potter series from a manuscript she discovered in Ayn Rand’s tomb, titled The Virtue of Voldemort. The nearly 8,000 page draft, unfinished at the time of Rand’s death in 1982, was to be the story of Tom Riddle, aka Lord Voldemort, a supremely talented individualistic wizard and the ultimate hero of Objectivist philosophy.
J.K. Rowling admitted that she raided Rand’s black marble tomb in search of the manuscript, a mythical book which until now was only rumored to exist, much in the same way Lord Voldemort acquired the Elder Wand from the white marble tomb of the deceased Albus Dumbledore.
According to Rowling, the original text portrayed Lord Voldemort as the protagonist, personifying the ideals of Objectivist philosophy, with Harry Potter cast as a communist degenerate who unselfishly took the lives and feelings of others into consideration during his time at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Previous heroes of Objectivism include Howard Roark, a rapist; Henry Rearden, an adulterer; Ragnar Danneskjöld, a pirate who robbed the poor and gave back to the rich; and a variety of other grown human beings who acted like that one kid you knew growing up who would steal the ball and run off when the game didn’t go his way, ruining the fun for everyone.
After vilifying Voldemort, Rowling took other extensive creative liberties with Rand’s version of events, most notably flipping the main theme of the story around, and making a hero of Harry Potter.
A journal of handwritten notes by Rand, found with the newly discovered tome, highly contradict the spirit of Harry Potter we all know and love and dream about today:
Character sketch of Harry Potter, the half-blooded commie hypocrite asshole, by me, the greatest writer ever, Ayn Rand.
-Potter spends the first ten years of his life living, for free, off of pure generosity from the Dursleys, who owed him NOTHING, yet were kind enough to take him in after his parents dared defy the greatest wizard ever to live, Lord Voldemort. He then expects to be treated as an equal to their son, Dudley.
-Potter yearns to become an Auror, and one day work for the Ministry of Magic, an institution hell-bent on stifling innovators like Lord Voldemort, whose only crime is being unique and perfect and hot and sexy and powerful and I would let him do ANYTHING to me.
-Potter jacks a bank. This would be okay, but instead of stealing from lazy gross poor people who could stand to learn the value of not being lazy and gross and poor, he attempts to seize a goblet from the Lestranges, a wealthy family who were smart enough to be born of pure wizarding blood. Hell no you di’int, Harry.
-Potter shares a large amount of his gold to fund the poverty-stricken Weasley twins’ joke shop. Gold he acquired by winning a contest in which his rival was supposedly ‘murdered’ by Voldemort, conveniently leaving Potter as the victor. Gold that shouldn’t be shared, because no one should share anything with anyone because we all have our own crap to deal with and everyone should be selfish dicks and not help other people because only look out for yourself and no one else and I’m Ayn Rand and powerful men can bone anyone they want because they’re men and they’re powerful and that’s hot and what woman wouldn’t want to be boned by a powerful man and poor people are poor because they just can’t be as good as rich people and they never bothered to learn words like ‘opulent’ and ‘ostentatious’ like I did so I’m better than homeless people I really am because I’m Ayn Rand and everyone could be rich if they wanted but they suck too much at being selfish so only selfish people get to be happy.
The notes go on like this for hundreds of pages, Rowling reported.
Rowling omitted nearly all scenes involving He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, including a disturbing rant that Rand called in her notes ‘the greatest love tableau ever painted,’ which Rowling confirmed was a 75-page God-forsaken hellbroth of pent-up lust between Voldemort and Dolores Umbridge in which quote ‘Tom’s snaky, bone-white body stood quivering before her chubbiness, a chubbiness that suggested a life of indulgence, a life she deservedly took from the mouths of the looters and altruistic.’ (Editor’s note—that’s really how Rand wrote)
Truly disgusting stuff.
Lonely disciples of Rand, who have no friends, have criticized Rowling’s modified tale for reducing Voldemort to an incompetent hack who couldn’t even kill a baby, while normal people generally enjoy the story of Harry Potter.
Some suburb in MN—Rapper Steven Anderson decided over the weekend to mention his 5 7/8″ long reproductive organ on his newest track, tentatively titled My Penis is Right In Line With The American Average.
“For the opening line, which can make or break a hip-hop song, I was thinking something along the lines of ‘My five and seven eighths/always satiates.’ It drops right in with the beat, and people will be like ‘What? That’s not very big. But it’s not little either.’ I’m not married to the idea, though,” Anderson said from his Toyota Camry.
In hip-hop tradition, when a membrum virile is mentioned, it is generally for the purpose of revealing great size, as well as giving a mention to the owner’s dexterity and control over the piece of anatomy, a fact not lost on Steven.
“Not everyone is hung like a goddam horse, alright? It’s just how it works,” he said. “I’ve got this weener, like most guys, and it’s just your basic weener, nothing more, nothing less, and I want people to know that.”
The reference to the mid-level junk, which is nothing to write home about, was finally given the go-ahead by Anderson after a late-night writing session in which he wrestled with the idea of whether or not people would like to hear music about his in-no-way-out-of-the-ordinary dong.
When asked if the size of his log might attract ridicule from rival rappers, or the fact that he drives a Camry, rents a middle-unit townhouse, and holds a day job in data entry, Anderson responded: “You know what? I’m just a normal person with no defining qualities, and I don’t think it’s a point of shame. The fact of the matter is, today’s average American penis doesn’t get a lot of clock in hip-hop. But the very fact that it’s not special, that makes it special among the masses, because there are millions of men just like me, and they’ll buy into this. No one makes fun of a guy for being 5’10″. That’s average. Besides, I make up for it in other ways, if you know what I mean.”
When told “No, I don’t know what you mean, please elaborate,” Steven ended the interview.