Among the many places I've lived, my time in Winona, MN - Lock and Dam Number 4 - was more formative than most. I was 9 or 10 when I moved there, was a teenager by the time I left. This weird wasteland is how I remember puberty. https://t.co/W67A4XEpug
“Sir, you’d promised Jizz. The wife and I, we love Jizz. It’s the cat’s pajamas: Jizz. But this is hardly Jizz, is it? Seems like some Neo-Jizz, some hipster, too cool for moisture farm school Jizz and well, the wife and I aren’t about that sort of Jizz. We like old Jizz.”
Listening to The Smiths’ “Meat is Murder” on the way to the Asian Market may trigger a panic attack once you’re standing in front of the Live Seafood counter.
Conversely, listening to it on the way back makes you feel like you’re on a sexy, cross-country killing spree.
Hoppin’ John. Definitely made on purpose. No swearing or self-pity or near nervous collapse was involved because I most certainly wasn’t trying to make something else. It was Hoppin’ John all along.
Whether they’re consumed for luck or money, collard greens are the best way to absorb vitamin A and C while also enjoying molasses and bacon fat and increasing your risk for hypertension.
When a network isn’t showing the Christmas Classic you wanted, it’s not “a sign the secularists are winning”. It’s a sign that the network was outbid for the license by the largest entertainment conglomerate in the history of the world. It rhymes with Fizney.
Conservatism may not be “the new punk rock”, but working for President Trump is definitely the “I once drank a gallon of mouthwash and fucked a roadie for the J Geils Band,” of public service jobs.
Holiday cookie baking has commenced. These are corn cookies from Christina Tosi’s Milk Bar cookbook. They smell like a giant bowl of cereal and Saturday morning cartoons.
Roast beef: trussed and cured overnight, painted with Kewpie mayonnaise and seared, then bagged for the immersion circulator with it’s trimmed fat and a frozen puck of beef marrow/dried shittake mushroom stock.
I answer viewer emails for a National Network. The amount of human misery I run into in my silly job, if I were a priest this time of year, I’d probably kill myself.