Archive
Rethinking the Mouse Trap
We bought a mouse trap. You’re supposed to put cheese in those things, but people don’t know that cheese is actually really bad for mice. Kind of in the same way you’re not supposed to feed bread to ducks, because the yeast consumes sugars in their stomachs, releasing an alcohol cloud that expands and causes an explosion. Just imagine walking up to a duck that had eaten bread earlier that day. Let’s just say your new nickname would be ‘Nubby’ or ‘Guy whose balls got blown off by an exploding duck.’
Anyhoo, cheese doesn’t have as dramatic an effect on mice as that, but it is very high in fat and can cause cardiovascular issues down the road. That’s why I prepared the below spice blend:
We’ve got a little SPG mix, onion powder, oregano, parsley, and crushed red pepper for a bit of heat. Not only does this pop way more on the tastebuds, it comes without the bloated waistline and crap backup that are major hallmarks of cheese.
This is also easier on the mousetrap, because the metal bar doesn’t have to fight through a thick layer of cheese fat to crush the rodent’s brain, and there won’t be any exploding residuals from the constipation when the deceased mouse……..voids, if you catch my drift.
how liberals win elections
The liberals want health care, and for children to be released from cages, so they will stop at nothing to make those things happen. Elections are never won fairly by liberals, so here is a rough timeline of what every left leaning libtard socialist nazi libtard will be doing today. If you see any of this happening, light a cross on fire in your yard and the Proud Boys will show up to help you.
-They will begin their day with an omelette (not American food).
-They will go to the polling place and vote. Then they will wait outside for five minutes, reenter the building, holding their pointer finger over their upper lips (to simulate a mustache) and vote again. The women even do this, because all liberal women want to be men and all liberal men cannot grow mustaches. This cycle will repeat for a while (the liberal will use a finger to simulate a different kind of facial hair each time, i.e. sideburns, goatees, full beards, etc.).
-They will take a break to eat tacos and spaghetti (not American food).
-They will cross a border, pick up many immigrants, and force them to vote Democrat at every polling place within a 50 mile radius (this is not hard to do). The immigrants will also use the finger-as-facial hair technique. If the immigrants are hairy, they will vote, and then the liberals will shave them.
-After dark, they will retreat to a cemetery (cemeteries were not invented in America), in order to steal the identities of the departed (for more voting) and do drugs that they got from the immigrants.
-By this time the voting has ended, and they have a party where not everyone is white, and every topic of conversation is about how Fox News is an entertainment channel. They will all be eating hummus (again, not American).
Sad!
The Best Tuscan Chicken Recipe
Don’t you hate when you click on a recipe, only to find not a recipe, but some blowhard going on and on about their Italian grandmother’s journey to the United States, and how all she had was two Sicilian dollars and her recipe book to get through the boat ride? And how the boat sank and she swam to shore, now broke, and the only recipe that survived was one for Tuscan Chicken? Fast forward a few years, and now the grandmother (who wasn’t a grandmother at this point in the story) is slangin’ hash for 25 cents a week, while at night she climbs to the roof of her tenement, gazing east towards home, trying to recall all those lost recipes, but still taking comfort in the fact that she at least still has her Tuscan Chicken. Then one day after work, a Wednesday to be exact, because she cooks Tuscan Chicken every Wednesday, a really hot guy follows the scent up the the grandmother’s door and knocks. People were still really sexist back then, so the guy is like “Hey, you’re gonna be my wife and cook that for me.” She says ‘yes’ and they get married. The guy’s misogynist patterns only continue. The years pass, and she begins to resent Tuscan Chicken, because it has now become a symbol of her oppression. She vows to make a change. Next Wednesday, she makes the Tuscan Chicken, true to the recipe, as always. Except for one minor addition—-POISON(and also some of her pee)!!!! They sit down for dinner, and she secretly pulls out a piece of pee-and-poison-free chicken for herself so she can eat without her husband becoming suspicious. Fifteen minutes later, the guy is barfing and crapping everywhere. Next thing you know, he’s dead, and the grandmother ends up in jail. Ten years into her sentence, she finally gets a job in the prison kitchen for 25 cents per month. She still remembers Tuscan Chicken. The prison kitchen doesn’t have the ingredients for it. The head of the prison says it’s not in the budget. So she sleeps with him. It turns out he was lying when he told her that if she slept with him he would have the ingredients brought in. So she poisons him and escapes. I think this is how she became pregnant. Anyways, now she’s an ex-convict single mother who has killed two people. Tuscan Chicken helps her forget all that.
It’s usually about this point in the story that the person actually gives you the recipe, and it’s really annoying that they could have just put it right at the top. It’s rather vexing. Now, you came here for a Tuscan Chicken recipe, didn’t you? Cook some chicken and pour Italian seasoning on it.
here are pictures of two little mushrooms for no reason
Here’s a picture of two little mushrooms growing out of a log.
And here’s the same two mushrooms, from a slightly different angle. It’s also in black and white, because I take this shit seriously.
The Sunday Evening Art Corner
Sriracha and Mustard on Cafeteria Tray. April 11, 2018.
My harshest critics have called this piece a half-assed socio-political commentary on the current state of trade and culinary relations between the U.S.A. and Thailand, with a minor emphasis on the systemic sandbagging of mustard farm workers throughout the ‘yellow belt’ (the region of America blessed with ideal mustard plant growing conditions, which seems like it should be located in the southeast corner of Idaho).
In reality, all I did was try to pump some mustard out of the mustard pumping thing. There was some dried mustard caked up on there causing a partial clog. So the mustard came blasting out in an erratic spray pattern. Then I squirted some sriracha on top of the mustard. Then I finished the meal that I was using those condiments for, and sketched the above drawing using graphite on papyrus.
The Road To Flavor Country Is Paved With Chicken Nipples
Most fast food chains volumize their meat with chicken nipples, and why not—they’re inexpensive, abundant, and packed with complex layers of flavor. This spongy, cloud-like tissue creates a receptive environment within the meat for a sauce or marinade to fully penetrate its inner fibers. The road to flavor country is paved with chicken nipples.
Which brings us to a long-neglected aspect of this blog: tips for rich, savory, home-style cooking (the art of which I have learned from producing industrial volumes of soup as a peon in a corporate kitchen). I thought I’d make something featuring the chicken nipple as the star of the dish, as it has been hidden in dark, meaty folds for far too long.
And now, without further ado, the recipe reveal:
Minnesota Wild Rice Chicken Nipple Soup
Ingredients
–Wild Rice
-Chicken nipples (A note on the nipples: fresh is obviously best. As for acquisition, the chicken from whom you are gathering the nipples should be dead. Some countries (cough, Bolivia, cough) still adhere to nipple harvest traditions which are antiquated and, quite frankly, barbarian. We won’t go into that. In my home kitchen, I use humane methods. So, the most simple way is the lop the chicken’s head off (I like to use a machete and pretend I’m a roided-out Barry Bonds). Once its got no head, that pinche pollo is gonna wanna take off runnin’, and you’re gonna wanna stop that from happenin’. Grab it, and hold it close. Now grasp the headless chicken with one hand, and use the other to drive your knife downwards over the fowl’s anterior pectoralis. Do this quickly, before all the blood spurts out of the giant hole on top of the bird, for you want a little, but not too much engorgement.)
-Stock (After the harvest, you’re going to have an entire chicken (sans nipples) left over. Don’t throw it out. Stick it in a large pot with some carrots and onions, a few herbs, cover with water, and simmer for a few hours.)
It doesn’t really matter what else you put in the soup. You’ve already got chicken nipples, which will enhance anything they come in contact with. And the best thing about teats is their versatility—they’re uniquely delicious whether baked, boiled, grilled, or sautéed.
This soup is perfect for an early spring evening such as this.
And also, you’re welcome.
The Corned Beef Conspiracy: Ireland Doesn’t Exist And St. Patrick Is The Meaty Equivalent Of Mrs. Butterworth
Corned beef.
Just as Hallmark created Valentine’s Day so they could sell cards and De Beers invented the concept of marriage in order to give false value to diamonds, March seventeenth has forever become entwined with this strange salted meat, despite said meat having no basis in traditional Irish cuisine, because there is no such thing as Ireland, and therefore no such thing as traditional Irish cuisine, as we will soon see.
Why?
Because.
Oh, and also this: Colorado Premium, a company specializing in meat processing solutions, created Ireland and the myth of St. Patrick in order to sell corned beef. It’s not crazy at all. Think real hard. Do you know anyone who’s been to Ireland? Do you know anyone who’s met St. Patrick? Didn’t think so. Let’s have a look.
Colorado Premium happens to be one of the world’s largest producers of corned beef, and they also happen to have a picture of a guy wearing a hard hat on their ‘About Us’ page.
Why in the name of fictional St. Patrick’s sheleighleigh would anyone dealing with meat need a hard hat? Meat, and generally any solutions pertaining to it, involve softness. A hard hat seems like something someone who is anticipating a visit to a construction site would wear. Since construction sites aren’t necessary to meat, that means this whole thing is an Illuminati conspiracy. You see, Colorado Premium is run by Kevin LaFluer. LaFluer is a French name. France touches Germany. The Illuminati was founded in 1776 in………….Germany.
Moving right along: a quick scan of Colorado Premium’s ‘Partners‘ page shows standard industry meat alliances—Tyson Foods, Cargill Meat Solutions, Smithfield Beef Group, etc.—except for one: Tapatio Hot Sauce?
What are Tapatio Hot Sauce and a prolific corned beef producer doing in bed together?
Why, they are both shadowy victual fronts veiling the sinister plot intended to further screw the clueless herd of sheep that is the American people, of course.
In what way? Well the guy in the hard hat is obviously building something, and Tapatio Hot Sauce just isn’t that good. So we have an industrious producer of corned beef partnering with a company that makes inferior salsa picante. That means something. Corned beef. Hot sauce. Hot sauce. Corned beef. Corned sauce. Hot beef. Corned hot beef sauce.
Colorado Premium is taking that salsa picante partnership cash and using it to build a moat filled with disgusting Tapatio Hot Sauce around the United States in order to keep us
she’s cheating on mr. butterworh with a fake saint
from leaving. Why do ‘They’ (Colorado Premium, Tapatio, and the Illuminati) want to keep us in? It’s pretty obvious. If the lie about Ireland is exposed, the corned beef gravy train comes grinding to a halt. Since the Earth is flat, you should be able to look out from the east coast and see the Emerald Isle. One glance and you’ll notice it’s simply not there. ‘St. Patrick’ is just the meaty equivalent of Mrs. Butterworth. Guinness is Michelob Golden tinted with discarded beef drippings.
So there you go. Hallmark, De Beers, Colorado Premium, Taptio, and the Illuminati all want you to keep buying things because they created a way for you to buy them.
Wake up America.
Life Objective: Land A Spot On The Writing Staff Of Dr. Oz
Oh, to be a fly on the wall of the Dr. Oz writing room. No—to be a person on a chair in that writing room.
To make the cut on the Dr. Oz show, you’ve got to know a thing. The thing being, of course, redundancy. When you send the esteemed Dr. Mehmet Oz out into that standing-room-only-lioness-den-and-also-television-studio packed to the brim with bored, middle-aged women, he better be stuffed up to his beady little eyes with tips on how to lose weight.
If not, upon you will the harem of Oz feast.
So, if anyone from the Dr. Oz camp happens to be reading this, I went ahead and drafted a spec script:
Dr. Oz, returning from commercial: “Welcome back ladies, yes, I am a real doctor.” He pauses here to allow swooning. “Now, let’s get right to it: who wants to lose weight?”
Audience: “MEEEEEEEE!!!!! MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!”
Oz: “Okay then. I’ve got a secret to share, something no other doctor will ever tell you. Quick survey: how many of you eat a cheeseburger and French fries every day? Show of hands.”
Everyone raises their hand.
Oz: “Did any of you know that a diet like that is actually bad for you?”
Everyone looks around in disbelief.
Oz: “It’s true, it’s true. What if I told you that, instead of eating a cheeseburger and fries every day, you will lose weight if you eat broccoli and rice instead?”
The audience collectively bows down to The Oz: “We’re not worthy! We’re not worthy!”
Dr. Oz: “And here’s a bonus tip—it’s also healthier to drink water instead of soda!”
Everyone is now spasming and speaking in tongues.
Dr. Oz: “And one more thing before we go: if you exercise instead of sitting on your couch, your metabolism will speed up!”
Something like scales fall from upon every eye in the audience. A massive rebirth has taken place. They all go forth into the world, ready to turn their lives around. However, in the time between the end of the show and the next morning, all of these brutal truths are washed away by one last binge, followed by the intoxicating coma that comes after eating a box of Cosmic Brownies….
Tomorrow, Dr. Oz replaces cheeseburger with hot dog. Broccoli becomes spinach. Water is now decaffeinated green tea. No one notices.
The unstoppable Oz cash cow continues to feast upon itself.
Ouroboros.
The Philosophunculist 