i mean, really. do we have to put nametags on everything? would “the old man and the sea” be a less satisfying read if it was called “deep-sea fishing by yourself sucks!”- or if it was simply untitled? think of the buzz!
“have you read that untitled book by hemmingway, yet?”
“untitled? that’s insane! how do you ask for it?”
“dummy, you don’t ask for things anymore. you click on them. just click on the one without a title about the old man in the sea.”
oh dear. i’ve started the post with a digression before making any progress towards a topic. now i’ll have to reverse course to get back to zero on the cartesian coordinate system plotting the suckiness of this post.
quick, another image! people love images. they stimulate the brain more easily than reading words. they are the icing of the blog cake. the gravy!
here’s my buddy seth, about to batter and fry an inordinate amount of half-snickers. see where one is missing? that’s because someone, and let’s just go ahead and call him michael mcLure, was experiencing poor impulse control and ate half a bar in it’s pre-fried state. i don’t have to explain to most of you why this would seem like a perfectly sound idea- but it was a mistake!
a fried snickers is to a raw snickers what a… well, lets do multiple choice:
fried snicker : raw snicker is:
a) french fry : raw potato
b) buttery toast : soft bread
c) crispy gooey caramelized marshmellow : stuck to each other in the limp bag marshmellow
d) and you really should choose d, all of the above.
you see, you no longer taste cheap sugary milk chocolate encapsulating b-grade peanuts suspended in c-grade caramel and foamy industrial nugat. you get this crispy donut with hot sexual chocolate mingling with warm buttery caramel, and the roasted nuts explode with flavor while the fried nugat mashes the bliss button in your brain. they are pretty friggin’ orgasmic… unless you eat 3 of them, along with a deep fried oats n’ honey granola bar. then you suffer. you might just puke and misappropriate blame onto the alcohol.
seth wasn’t even that tipsy during the raid on our arteries and better judgment. he just saw himself as delivering a necessary service to the hungry menfolk. the man runs 70 plus miles a week, and in his 30’s still wins triathlons, but he relishes the personal disposal of food garbage like no other human i’ve met. it’s all combustible fuel to him.
and speaking of impulse control, dad’s upped his bacon monster invention and photography game with this invasion of cheese + meat turtles:
it may look like the exploded remains of a slain vampire from true blood (season 3 is so awe-sum!) but i’m sure it tastes like the carnivore’s version of fried snickers (a vegetarian alternative). and who wants to live forever, besides vampires and bettie white?