Monthly Archives: January 2011

My Friend Steve is a Real Cool Guy

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My friend, Steve, is super down to earth. He has a rhinosaurus heart. Metaphorically. Like his heart is the size of a rhino’s. Not literally. It’s an expression that means like, he’s real sweet and kind and his shirts always match his eyeballs, which are the color of the deepest ocean, if the deepest ocean were dyed cedar brown. Literally, his heart probably weighs about seven pounds – same size as Will Smith’s. Plus, he’s gotta dick that could eat up a gator. No joke. Seriously. Especially if the gator wasn’t full grown. Like a little 3 footer? His dick could easily gobble that up. There’s no doubt about that. Steve is the kinda guy who you want to bring home to your Mom (if she wasn’t such a old flappy cunt who can’t live in the now and realize that it’s fucking 2011 and that the gays are the new blacks and are takin’ OVA!!! We’re turning the Blackhouse, previously known as the Whitehouse, into the Fuchsiahouse when we elect our first Queen in 2016). Steve’s the type of guy that will bring you flowers, and not just because your pet turtle, Cecil, just died of breast cancer. It’s like, I haven’t heard from you in 6 months and all the sudden Cecil kicks it and you wanna come over with flowers and act all buddy buddy with me? Go fly a motherfucking kite, asshole. Sorry. My “so-called” life, right guyz? Anyway. Steve pushes me in all aspects of my life. He pushes me to be a more caring, thoughtful person. He pushes me to try new things. He pushes me in the shopping cart when we go to Wally World to pick up anal nitrate before pushing in my butthole Snickers. Whole lot of anal pushing with Steve, that’s for sure. See, I’m a power bottom but I really like getting with someone who can get in there and split me in two like Robin Hood’s arrow. Steve really is the best. I’m not fucking with you. He’s numero uno in my book. That’s Spanish. Steve also taught me Espanol because he thought it would be nice if we were bisexual and could speak two languages. Plus, it gets me harder than a Sudoku puzzle when he whispers sweet Latin nothings in my ear-vag.

So here’s the deal. Here is why I’m telling you all this. Steve and I dated on and off through middle school but our relationship was so fucked that we knew we had to call it off or one of us would end up gutting the other one like a swordfish and leaving the body for the coyotes to pick at. I mean, we are still greeeat friends. And like I said, he’s the greatest guy, WE just couldn’t make it work. I’m with Sharon now, and I’m happy as a clam. I still get to be the power bottom. But the thing is, we all like to go out to the Giraffe’s Clit (the hottest new leather club) together and Steve is really shy and has a hard time meeting people, so it ends up just being the three of us, and Sharon and I feel bad leaving him alone in the theatre while we go play hide the nutsack in the ladies’ room. I think you see where I’m going with this. We want to set Steve up with someone, so that when Sharon and I excuse ourselves from the table during dinner and go to the car to blow lines of ecstasy up each other’s asses with a straw, he will have someone to talk to. So, if this sounds like something you’d be into or if Steve sounds like the type of fly cat that you’d like to put inside you, then give us a holler and let’s all go out!

Can’t wait to meet you!

P. Dickenson

The Answers to the Drivers Test

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So, my cousin Jerry No Pubes works in the DMV. I says “Hey Jerry, Weez could make a bushel full of granny smiths (money) if we sold some of the secret answers you got holed up over there at the DMV.” Jerry No Pubes takes a second to think and he says “Ok Johnny Fanny Gina Head, but what’s in it for me?” So I convinced my sister Terry Brown Husband to give him a dry handie in the bed of his Tacoma behind the Hobbytown U.S.A and got the secret answers. So without further ado…

1. b) 30 ft

2. c) Half an hour before sunset and half an hour after sunrise

3 . a) Wait until the way ahead is clear and then pass

4. d) All of the above

5. b) Stop and yield right-of-way to the pedestrian

6. c) Cutting lines of blow on the dashboard while Fitzy puts the body in the trunk

7. a) Fallopian tubes

8. c) 3.4 inches, soft

9. c) No more than 3 fingers unless specifically requested otherwise

10. b) Wipe clean any fingerprints and hide the gun under some trash in the dumpster around the corner then go hide out at Aunt Francine’s for a week or two. Once everything cools down a little bit go get a haircut (one that makes you look like less of a cunt) and grow a beard. Not like a big mountain man beard though. That’s a dead giveaway. I’m talking something well trimmed . For instance, like Al Borland of Tool Time fame. You know, something respectable like that. You could even get a plaid button down, if you wanted.

11. d) Either September 11th or swing dance classes

12. a) Smoking reefer doobies in your parents basement and attempting to write the screenplay for a sequel to Boyz N The Hood

13. d) R.L. Stein

14. d) Wiper fluid

15. b) Case the place for a week, pretend like you’re there to make a withdrawal, then smash in the bank manager’s nose with the butt of your pistol. Shouldn’t have problems after they see that you’re not fucking around

16. c) Don’t make eye contact and deny, deny, deny

17. b) While some claim that it’s a myth, it is actually located in about an inch and then up

18. d)Green means go, yellow means slow, and red means it’s probably infected

19. e) MC Hammer or Rick James

20. a) Your grandmother is dead, buy flowers

We at Lou Bega Called suggest that you intentionally miss 2 or 3 answers so that no one starts acting funny. If this gets back to us, then we will be none too pleased. We might have to chop your vagina off and sell it to someone who will actually use it.  You are still going to have to take the driving portion. Please send your Granny Smiths to Louis F. Bega, 5467 Jerk Circle, Dumpstains, VA 66633. You’re Welcome.

Coming next week: The Answers to the SATs



A Drawing I Made In 9th Grade

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This drawing is pregnant with meaningful layers. Like a 7 layer burrito from Taco Bell, if the 7 layer burrito had like 25 layer and one of them was enlightenment. Any yokel worth their weight in beaver pelts will pick up on the satirical narrative concerning Hollywood’s portrayal of Nazi Germany. Daunting simulacra. As Baudrillard would say, it might as well be a ride in Disney World. However I think the more interesting message within this work is contained in the environmental undertones. Here we see an attempt at the restoration of the natural equilibrium in the face of one of the most explosively industrial periods in modern history. Our own subjectivity as a species is highlighted by the fact that the restoration of such equilibrium, while cleansing for one, is apocalyptic for another. You may also notice that the hill on the right appears to be tweaking his earthy nurpple.

Please feel free to provide your own critique/interpretation in the comment space bellow, or zap us an email us at http://www.pbs.org and send us some z-mail to Zoom at Box 350 Boston, MA 02134.

Here’s a previous drawing, if you are so inclined.

Tips For Keeping The Passion in Your Relationship: Top 5

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Has the romance in your relationship flown south for the winter? Fizzled out like yesterday’s Fresca? Ya lost that lovin’ feelin’? You may have read our previous column on relationship advice: Camping. Well that’s not all, sister. We didn’t forget about you. We got more advice tested by our own first hand experience. We been there. We’ve been in so many relationships, it’s stupid. Ronny. Jeremy. Kyle. Sebastian. Some even lasting more than 2 months. We are here to help and don’t you ever fucking forget that. Here are a few more tips to keep the “umph” in “hump.”

1. Get drunk and have sex with each other. Easy as that.

2. Do something spontaneous! Just do it! Put on some dark clothes and hit the streets at night. Make sure you wear you’re running sneakers in case things get a little touch-and-go. Sneak around and chloroform some homeless people and drag them back to your apartment, then take turns doing science experiments on them. Make a project out of it! A passionate couple is a couple that knows how to have fun together: by turning 6 passed out hobos into a human centipede!

3. Go see a scary movie, like Paranormal Activity 2 or Billy Elliot. Chicks get scared real easily, because they gots gynies or whatever, and when girls get scared, the ole peepee-nest gets sloppy like a Double Dare contestant. Have her squirmin’ in her seat like a pussy baby who can’t hold his Big Gulp. Then, when the moment is just right, put your dick in the popcorn.

4. The Ol’ “Get ’Em While Their Sleeping” Technique. Think we all know this one pre-tty well. Perfected by Drunk Mike’s Tavern regular, Sausage Fingers, this technique is guaranteed to get things poppin’off in the sheets. Here’s a few tips: wait until you hear heavy breathing. Whisper your soon to be lover’s name to see if the respond. If they don’t, they are sound asleep and ready for bromance. And don’t be rude! Make sure you have some handiwipes or kleenex around to clean up after you’re done. Have some decency. You don’t want to go leaving a mess. It’s called manners. Were you born in a fucking barn?

5. Like my Mom taught me: If it ain’t workin’, throw some chili on it. Go to the nearest Piggie-Wiggie and grab you some tomato paste, 2lbs uncooked burger meat, some raw WHITE onions, some chili powder, some green bell peppers, and a 6pack of High Life Tallboys. Step 2: Make some bitchin’ ass chili. Step 3: Smother your partners genitalia in it. CAUTION: WAIT FOR CHILI TO COOL BEFORE APPLYING TO GENITALS! And there you have it, a midnight snack to rival any drunken trip across the border (Taco Bell).

These are just a few tips to help you get back that fire in your relationship. We know you stressed. We know you tired. We know she’s put on a little weight and won’t stop talking about Tevin from Printing. We know that his dick smells like yesterday’s cat food. We get it. Just remember, a healthy relationship is based on hot, stinky, sweaty, unprotected, sometimes forced sex. Now, these tips ain’t for everyone and they only work if you follow them to the letter. And some of you won’t. But for those that do, we here at Lou Bega Called can gurantee that your relationship can stand the test of time. Or at least til she gets old, and fat, and all wrinkly. Then it’s time to find you some young tail.

Sometimes It’s Okay to Let Go and Cry

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Hey. How are you? We heard about what happened and we just wanted you to know that we’ve been praying for you. To Jesus. Of Nazareth. You’re in our thoughts and if there is anything we can do to help please let us know. And if you ever need anyone to talk to or to like, share your feelings with, just know that we’re right here. You have our number. Just remember, in the long run everything is going to be okay. It may seem bad but this is just a bump in the road. And don’t forget sometimes it’s okay to let go and have a good long cry, you know? Let it all out. It really is good for you. You can’t bottle all that stuff up inside like a Heinz factory worker. Or one day you’ll explode. Like the Heinz factory in 2004 after one of their employees bottled up their emotions and hatred for John “The Ketchup Man” Kerry and planted C-4 in the basement. Can you imagine the confusion of the EMTs while digging bodies out of the rubble? How are they supposed to know whether that’s blood or ketchup? You can’t know. It’s just impossible in that kind of situation.  Unless you brought your own medium curly fry, but then you run the risk of accidently dipping one in ketchup. Grody! But that’s what bottling stuff up does to people.

And I know you feel really alone right know, like no one knows how you feel or could ever possibly want to listen to your bullshit problems and how pathetic your life is. If you think you might need professional help, just someone to talk to, I can give you the number of my analyst, Dr. Lipschwitz. He really is a lifesaver. Saved mine, for sure.  I don’t know how I would have gotten through that whole nightmare with To Catch A Predator without him. I mean seriously, I thought Chad said 31, not 13. I must have just read it wrong. I’ve tog Aixelsyd. See! And the Judge didn’t believe me. And so what if he was 13? I’ve met some 13 year olds dudes that were really mature for their age. Some of them are already taking Algebra 1. At 13! And I wasn’t even going over there to have sex with him anyways. I was just going over there to tell his parents to back off a little. Give the kid some space. He’s a teenage boy, with teenage dreams, and teenage needs. Like Katy Perry.  I was simply going to tell them that their little boy is growing into a man and needs some time by himself. I was going to suggest a vacation. I had some extra cashish lying around from my big Ritz cracker deal, and wanted to send them out of town for a few weeks so I could fuck their little boy. Yeah, that was me. The guy who told Ritz that their crackers could also be used as little edible plates. Put some shit on there, I said. Cheese. Peanut butter. Ham. Salsa. Make these plain ole crackers something to talk about. “Seriously Ritz” I told to them “Let’s give ‘em something to talk about. How about love? Because that’s how they are going to feel about you’re little fucking crackers.” They thought that was worth 4 million dollars. I digress. What I’m sayin’ is, nobody’s fucking perfect. What ever happened to “Love is blind”? Now I’ve got all these court dates, lawyer fees, sexual predator forms to get signed, blue balls, and I’m out a pack of strawberry flavored condoms.

I don’t know why people like that fucking To Catch a Predator show so much anyways. But this isn’t about me. This is about you and your loss. So, do it. Let go. Cry. Cry me a fucking river. Big girls DO cry. Don’t listen to to that slut Madonna. “Don’t cry for me Argentina?” You gotta be jerking me right off. Obviously, Madonna hasn’t been through the shit that we have. Cry for me Argentina. Cry for me til you can’t cry anymore, then cry a little longer. Cry until your tears sweep you to the sea. It’s ok. Nobody’s gonna call you a pussy-baby. Especially not me, Ken from Accounts Receivable. Here for you, buddy. Open up those floodgates and let that river of tears flow out like when I’m all out of Tampax Pearls.  You’ll feel a hundred times better. Trust me. Me and Chad stayed at a Holiday Inn Express last night.

The Break-up Letter

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Dear Sharon,

Hey babe. This whole situation is a little awkward, so I decided to write you this letter. I felt it would be easier for me to really get out all my feelings without anyone saying something that they would really regret. I don’t want us to hold any grudges.

The truth is, I met someone. Her name is BoQueefa. We met at Borders in Santa Monica. She was in the cafe reading The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand with chai tea coming out of her nose because she couldn’t stop laughing. I noticed her from the magazine rack where I was catching up on last month’s issue of Tits and Machete Magazine.  I heard that bird song of a snort, and I knew it. We were in love. And I’m pretty sure it’s the real deal. We’ve got this deep bond. Like we knew each other in a past life or something. Possibly as a pair of gay Spanish conquistadors, sneaking away from the judgmental eyes of our Capitán in the twilight hour to have explosive anal sex below deck. I mean, I’ve never felt like this about anyone. I’m so sorry that it had to happen this way. You know that I never wanted to hurt you.  That was never my intention. But I don’t think either of us can be too surprised that something like this happened. I mean, honestly, if you’d have opened you’re fucking eyes and looked around, you would have seen this coming. We don’t have anything in common. Things just haven’t been connecting – particularly our genitalia. You’re always on your period and acting like a cunt. And you know how you thought my inability to maintain an erection was because I was secretly gay? No, It’s because you’ve gained like 3o lbs since we started dating and you look like a dumpy bag of trash.

But I don’t want you to think this is because of you. I’ve got no hard feelings. In the long run, I will always look back on our relationship with the warmest of feelings and fondest of memories. Man, we sure did have some good times. Remember that time that we went to your Unlce Ron’s house in the barrio and got so lit on candy corn and sake that we covered my dick in maple syrup and tried to find the nearest ant bed? Maybe, in another time and in another place, we could give it another shot. Maybe even in a couple weeks after things fizzle out with BoQueefa, me and you could meet up for lattes and do it in the bathroom of the Coffee Bean. Get some of that thick cream in your coffee, if you know what I mean, and I think that you do.  I’ve realized that breaking up with you, earlier in this letter, was the biggest mistake I’ve ever made in my life. And since I wrote all that a few minutes ago, I’ve really grown a lot and had some time to think about who I am and what I really want in this short period of time we get on this planet. And it just hit me,  it’s me and you, Sharon. That’s all that matters and I see that now.

That whole thing with BoQueefa could have never worked. She didn’t know the real me, not like you do, and it was like I was always trying to live up to some impossible standard with her. We were from two different worlds. Me, a hardened ex-weed slanger from the ghettos of East Atlanta with a gimpy leg and male-pattern baldness, and her, a suburban beauty queen born with a silver spoon in her mouth and pair of tits like two Beauty Rest body pillows. Plus, she said I was ill-equipped to satisfy her primal sexual needs. She really is an animal in the sack. I’m begging you Sharon, you’ve got to take me back. I’ve been a mess ever since earlier in this letter, when I called you a cunt. I didn’t mean that. I was just reacting out of fear. Fear of losing the one thing in this shit life that makes me happier than my gay cousin, Topher, at a Britney Spears concert.  Please, baby. I’ll do anything. I swear to god Sharon, if I can’t be with you then I’ve got no reason to live. I’m not fucking around this time, Sharon. If you don’t take me back, and I mean right now, I will end it. I will eat 15 beans of sexctasy, go Merengue dancing, meet a lovely Puerto Rican sensation named Antonio, take him back to my villa on the coast, make the hardest, spiciest of sex with him, and pass out. And all without ever taking a sip of water. Is that what you want? Do you want me to de-hydrate and die? Like a shriveled worm on a sidewalk?! Do you?! Heartless bitch.

Love,

Pudding Dickenson

Kill/Boff/Marry pt. 3

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Marry

Blossom

Now when you are contemplating marriage material, you have to take a lot of factors into consideration. You are looking for a life partner, someone you can share your everything with, someone that you’re not afraid to hear to you poop after you’ve been to CiCi’s and got the sprays. I mean, you really need to know each other inside and out. Like, deep inside. I’m talking Butt Spelunking. With a tape measurer. One needs to be aware of the circumference, depth, cubic mass, humidity, and temperature of their spouses cavern.

So who are we choosing to marry? No Brainer, Blossom Russo from TV’s Blossom. She’s sweet. She’s smart. She listens. She’s creative. She loves life. She’s got a real old soul. And she’s seen stuff, man. Her mom left. Her dad is a musician which means he does heroin. Her best friend is a whore.

I love that she’s got got her own unique style too. Those big floppy hats really accent her big Jew nose. Now, I know a lot of Jews prefer to stick to their religion when it comes to marriage. I’m not positive if Blossom follows this rule, but I would be willing to do whatever it takes to be with her because she is my soul mate. And ain’t no Hebrew God going to stand in my way. Go ahead, circumcise me. I’ll do anything. Sure, I won 3rd place five years in a row at the County Fair’s Mr. Foreskin contest. And it would have been six in a row if Wade Quackenbush hadn’t showed up with that anteater snout he calls a penis. Still, you better believe I’d give all my awards back in a heartbeat to take Blossom’s hand in marriage. Shit, we could use my foreskin as the wedding ring if our Rabbi was okay with that.

You know, I’m even kind of excited about becoming a Jew for Blossom. It’s like my grandfather always said “Behind every good man, there’s a great Jew” and I think he is right on the money. Jesus, Woody Allen, Gertrude Stein, Groucho and Karl Marx, the cast of Seinfeld, Jean-Paul Sartre, Willow from Buffy the Vampire Slayer, the secret committee that tells the President what to do, and my analyst Dr. Werner Lipshwitz. I would be honored to enter that circle of Jewdom.

And for any of you out there who are thinking “Blossom is sooo in love with Vinnie, you don’t stand a chance old man, with your undescended testicle and your IBS.” Well, ya know what I say to that bullshit? Fuck Vinnie. Vinnie couldn’t hold my jockstrap. Not out there on the ice and not when it comes to Blossom Russo. And I know some of you gay ass lesbians in the crowd are saying “Blossom is totally eating Six’s wafting meatlocker,” I got news for you, Blossom and I have already discussed that. It was just a phase she was going through. It’s over. She made a great point. She said “The best part about being a woman is the perogative to have a little fun.”

<br /> (via phillymag.com)

And I think she is absolutely right. I mean, everybody’s a little gaybear sometimes. Right? Ok, can I be honest with you? Like reeeaaally honest? You can’t tell Bloss. Or Vinnie. Or any of the guys cuz they’ll call me a dicksitter, but…Ok….I’m really just marrying Blo-Blo to get to Joey. He’s soooo fooooine. That retard can make this little boy say “Whoa!” anytime he wants. Ha! Listen to me. Man, I feel like a woman right now. Seriously.  But, he makes me wanna doo-doo his babies. Lets just say that I would like to have his boots under my bed.

I’m fa realz though. I would marry the tits off of Blossom. If only to pick her brains about those hats! Y’all remember when Six had a drinking problem? Or when she dated the married man? Or when she thought she was preggers? Yeah, I know. What a slut!

Kill/Boff/Marry: Pt. 2

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Boff

Leonardo “the Vinci” DiCaprio 

Face it guys, it takes more than hitting the gym and torching those Delts three times a week until they are more swoll than my labia at a John Mayer concert, to make a few stains on my futon. A pair of cowboy boots, some Brett Favre Wranglers, and an ass tighter than a baby blue whale’s blowhole won’t get you too far with me. Been there done that. That don’t impress-a me much. I mean, don’t get me wrong I think your alright but that won’t keep me warm in the middle of the night. Ultimate sex appeal takes brains too. Smart is sexy. Everybody knows that. Just axe Charlie Darwin. He was getting maaad poonan from all over.  That’s how he came up with Evolution. He was getting so much slit that his dick evolved, and began vibrating on its own accord. I tell people all the time, “If you ain’t packin’ upstairs, then I ain’t worried bout cha luggage downstairs,” and I truly do mean it, y’all.  That’s why I want to boff the beard off of Leonardo, who Zagats rated 3rd smartest man ever. And those muscles don’t hurt either! Take a gander at the photo to the right of Leonardo early in his modeling career. This was right before his stint on Growing Pains with Dr. Alan Thicke.  Such defined pectorals. And look at the Shmeckel! Oi vey!

Plus, he is such a Renaissance man. He paints. He sculpts. He invents. He engineers. He maths. He sciences. He musics. He is an awarding winning author. His work Da Vinci Code talks all about how Jesus is fake and how Tom Hanks should really have four Oscars instead of two and won Oprah’s 2004 book of the year award. Not to mention his acting. Ever heard of a little film I like to call “What’s Eating Gilbert Grape?” I’ll tell you what was eating him: his mom was super chunky and his brother was retarded. Or was he? What poise! What commitment! You almost had us fooled Leonardo! Probably the best rendition of a normal guy playing a retarded guy since all those movies with Owen Wilson. Hey Owen Wilson, your nose is crooked. Your voice is annoying. You play the same role in all your movies. Go kill yourself. Ok, that was maybe a little harsh. Marley and Me was pretty cute, I guess. But like, when the dog dies, it is so sad. I mean death is so depressing, you know? Cuz like when someone dies they are gone 4ever :’-( <-That’s how I felt you guys. It’s a crying face.  

Plus, he’s got an Italiano accenté (which gets me moister than an oyster). And that long beard and those flowing locks will give me something to hold on to when I’m riding rodeo style. Buckin’ bronco. Giddy up, Leo! And I bet he’s hung like a summer squash. Overall, I gar-an-tee he would be a great pokin’.

Kill/Boff/Marry: Pt. 1

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People are always sending us all these emails to us at krazykoochie6969@aol.com and paging our beepers, asking us all these annoying questions. Who do you love? Who do you hate? Who do you want to savagely murder? Who do you want to get your slip-slip-squirt on with? Who do you want to settle down with, have 2.5 kids, gain 60 lbs, and then stop having sex with? Who gets you all horned up and ready to kill? So we decided to play a little game: KILL/BOFF/MARRY. We picked who we want to muder, hump, and betroth. This little game has been split up into 3 separate blog posts which we will be releasing consecutively. This helps to build suspense just like they did in LOST and Hurricane Katrina. Remember when we were like on season 2 and we were like who the fuck is Jacob? And why is Ben Linus so gayballs for him? It took us until season 5 to realize that he was just the ageless protector of the island for more than 2,000 years, trapped in a battle of good and evil with his nameless brother and was the one that brought everyone to the island to help recruit his successor. It all makes so much since now. Anyways, here is round one of Kill/Boff/Marry….

Kill

Guy Fieri

Why do we want to kill Guy Fieri? Well, we certainly don’t wanna boff or marry him. That’s for sure. He will never be any man of mine. Any man of mine better be proud of me. And even when I’m ugly, he still better love me. I can be late for a date. That’s fine. But, HE better be on time. So, let’s kill this fartbag. Is it the hair? Yes. Is it the shirt with flames? Yes. It is the facial hair? Yes. Is it because he wears his sunglasses backwards? Yes. Is it because he poses like Fred Durst in all his pictures? Yes. Is it because he was in an Aflac commercial with that fucking stupid duck that quacks “Aflac” and HE came across as the annoying one? Yes. Is it because he screams unnecessarily all the fucking time? Yes. I mean, as far as I can tell, there are only two occasions where it is appropriate to raise your voice to that level. One, you’re yelling at Mom, because you stayed out drinking all night and came home smelling like a stripper passed out in a dumptruck and she called you on it, or two, you’re getting raped by a fireman while your house burns down around you.  So, is this why we hate this Summer’s Eve Disposable Douchebag? Yes, it’s all of these things and more.
So how would we choose to kill this son of a bitch? That’s a great question. First, we’d shave his head along with his fat, bloated, drunken, too red to not be drunk face and force him to eat every last strand of his frosted, gelled, bleach blonde staircase abortion of a hairdoo. Then we’d take a nailgun and nail his sunglasses to his eyes, (the correct way mind you) because apparently this dicksnot doesn’t get the fucking point. Next, we would make him watch as we actually set fire to all of his flaming (and we mean that in the gayest definition of that word) shirts, including the one that is currently on his person. Let him cook for a good 2 minutes and then put out the fire with homemade breadcrumbs. Then we would gently massage some NEOSPORIN® onto the 3rd degree burns on his lovely lady lumps. Wait a second, that’s not NEOSPORIN®. That’s Italian Dressing. It’s my favorite. Garnished with a little cilantro to cool it down a little and really give it that fresh taste. A little ground pepper. And then glob on some buffalo sauce and we’re driving the bus to flavor town! I mean, really be generous with the buffalo sauce. Now we are going to top it off with a little roasted garlic, serve it over our salmon-mango rice and KASPLOW! Full throttle on the flavor express. Toot toot! My taste bud’s taste buds are going to be squirting goo-bombs all night long.