THE DEATH OF OSAMA. THE EGGMCFUCK. THE THORCUPS. GREAT TRIUMPHS FOR AMERICA!

I don’t normally write posts that don’t relate to some kind of movie or fast food product, but this has been a helluva week so I feel like I need to attempt to organize my thoughts into some kind of poignant ramble for the sake of posterity. Where were YOU on the day of the Royal Wedding No one cares; dumb Brits. Get a divorce and settle for a bazillion dollars then throw cash on the streets. But now…where were you when they SHOT BIN LADEN IN THE FUCKING EYE? Why I was out celebrating with the rest of the good ol’ citizens of America. I’m not one for blatant jingoistic sentiment, but my excitement built up over the course of Sunday night until it hit critical mass. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to pet Obama’s head so badly. Perhaps I should slow down. I wouldn’t want to forget to mention the Thorcups.

Then it was time to celebrate active hater of my blog, Tyler Lopachin’s 21st birthday. We went to a couple bars, and by the time we walked into a second one, some rowdy Boston peasants were telling us that they got Osama…it was just uphill from there. I ended up spending the night hanging out with a friend at emerson watching the developments on the television and rejoicing in the death of a terrorist. We blew up the Death Star. We destroyed the T-1000. We won the Nascar 500. It was a collective victory. Pretty soon people were busting out the Charlie Sheen chants. I decided the time was right in the morning. It was time for the Egg Mcfuck at Dunkin.

I don’t really remember how good it was because I was coming down from “euphoria” but I remember really appreciating the tiny specks of pepper. The bread tasted like sex. I guess. I don’t know. I’ve eaten a lot more bread than I’ve had sex, so I might have to draw a more normal comparison somewhere.

Did I mention that I finally got the giant fucking Thor cups? I think I went to around ten 7-11's trying to find them. Did I succeed? Yeah I did. We drank out of them after haggling with some dumbass 7-11 employees who thought we were trying to con them out of slurpees the night of THOR at midnight. Which was pretty entertaining actually. I’d give it a solid B.

I’d give this post a solid C. It’s far too normal.

I'M KINDA EXCITED TO SEE THOR

Hark! The title bestowed upon this blog post was so obvious an old man and a fool could have agreed upon it. This entry shall here by be wrote in the tongue of the Norseman and the mighty Anthony Hopkins. Upon the rumblings of April, the heavens of Asgard opened and struck the world with Thor-mania. Odin looked upon his work and proclaimed it was good. 7-11 was among the first of puny human establishments to fall to the might of the mjolnir. Thou dare visit 7-11 upon multiple happenstance to exchange currency for thine mighty Thor Slurpees? Nay. Surely you jest Loki! I jest not. Thou hath consumeth now a trifle short of four Thor Slurpees, with the number equivalent to three.

Be there a flavor of god nector flavored with the scent of the maiden Natalie Portman or Thor Sweat, my attempts to find it have been met with failure. I have filled my goblet and drank well of COCA COLA and CHERRY FLAVORED slurpees emblazoned with the thor crests of advertising.

The first thing mere mortals may notice about the goblets is they are adorned with the lenticular motion patterns of hammer-tossing. Atop the perch of the ...lid...rests a mighty statue of a god or foe or Asgard for children drinking the slurpee to devlope idol worship upon. They will cling to these miniature talismans of the mighty Marvel franchise for the rest of their pathetic lives, spiting their foolish parents who try to make them believe the heroic avenger's golden locks are but myth.

So far in my travels thou has exchanged around a grand total of around ten dollars of human currency for thor related slurpee trinket, now posessing resuable plastic cups and straws with the manly visage of Thor, Loki and the evil fire breathing destroyer. Tis a grand bargain and cause for celebration surely!

What could improve perhaps these glorious tokens of asgard? Why of course the jolly liquid known as VODKA. Nave, coward and god alike shall walk the streets swinging hammers with reckless abandon under it's spell with Thor slurpees posessing more spikes than the armor of thee destroyer!

Having enjoyed them to maximum godly potential now, I still require one more cup and miniature ho figurine to have them all. The marking spell of Odin is absolute. So I will soon pound my fist upon the countertop of 7-11 yelling for ANOTHA!

Fuck that hamburger with peppers and cheese and make it your bitch

More specifically STEAKHOUSE burger because Burger King has to be pretentious like that. This is also a record for the most profane/badass title I've ever used for an entry. Well I suppose I'm endorsing a badass product so it's fitting. If Burger King comes back at me for "slandering" their pristine and child-friendly reputation, I'll return their burger...on their...shoes.

So much like the "Egg Mcfuck" Dunkin Donuts has been touting with marquis-sized posters for the past month or so, I've been haunted by the giant advertisements for the JALAPENO AND CHEDDER STUFFED STEAKHOUSE BURGER for a while now and I've been putting off spending the six bucks (though it might as well be 4 bucks because their fries are fuckin unbearable) to cover it for all my loyal koolaide drinking followers. Well I guess if I had a cult they'd all be eating double downs and drinking Shamrock Shakes.


On the first bite, the peppers come on kind of strong. Like going for third base in the middle of a movie theater or something. I'll admit that was a strange analogy but the first thing I tasted was pepper. It wasn't necessarily a bad thing, but I'm pleased to admit that this one gets better the more you devour like a mountain lion. I didn't want the damn thing to end, which is about as big a compliment as I can award any fast food burger. Now I'm starting to think if I wanted to be a real cretin, I could combine two of these bastards and make a bowel-murdering double stacker of pepper.

The cheese element is pretty minimal, but they make up for it with greens and reds (by that I mean vegetables) and a slathering of some kind of house spread. Burger king has become fond of that. You'll notice the bun is serrated. I'm not sure how I feel about this. Are they implying this is more than a typical burger bun? Is there some kind of hidden reference here?

So, suprisingly, I really liked this one. More than the Whiplash Whopper, but then again, I didn't get to feel like Mickey Rourke when I ate it so there is something of a trade off. Not my favorite fast food item of all time (a list I've been thinking of making for a while now...like my own artery blocking oscars) but this one is really solid. The peppers seem to diminish after the first minute or so and you slip into just being sort of high off the flavor.

Wait...am I seriously reviewing this? Am I actually giving CULINARY review? My god someone stop me. When I say I do "food reviews" I mean it in a rhetorical sense.

Stay tuned for the FUCKING THOR SLURPEE POST.

Blogging out of boredom, but how can you be bored with Ketchup packets that open TWO WAYS?

I think the title of the entry is pretty self explanatory. I caught some heat from dumbass readers after the last entry who apparently didn't read the rules before showing up to my party. Yes I'm kind to the few fans that I have. I kind of feel like Mel Gibson in the Beaver right now. If you haven't seen the trailer you should probably look it up before doing anything else in your life...including going to the bathroom and evacuating the Thor slurpees you just drank.

I'm starting to come to the harsh realization that this blog has devolved into little more than an epic retelling of my encounters with shitty fast food product extraordinaire. I use the word "shitty" in the loosest sense.

So while I haven't ever blogged about the 7th wonder of the world known as "Chick Fil A", you should know for the sake of posterity and to give you context for this entry, that I consider it a holy place. Chick Fil A is about as close as I come to tangible proof of a higher power. Milkshakes. Nuggets. A motif of terrified cows holding up poorly worded signs. Waffle fries (which are referenced in Unforgivable no less). Yes they have pretty much everything. But now they've rolled out with something that you couldn't have possibly guessed they'd roll out with next. Like if you HAD to find something wrong with Chick Fil A as you were stuffing your face with those nuggets did you ever think to yourself "I wish these ketchup packets weren't so goddamn small?" I mean I guess it's sort of a loaded question because who in their right mind goes to Chick Fil A and uses KETCHUP with the advent of Honey Mustard and goddamn Ranch? Their buffalo sauce is almost too pungent for me. I feel like I'm talking to myself now, but that's ok because no one reads these anyway.

Well maybe you'd be inclined to use more ketchup if they didn't have those single bite ketchup packets that you have to go through the trouble to squeeze out onto your food in concentration camp sized portions. You know the ones I mean...just about every greedy corporate fast food joint uses them.

Feast your eyes, assholes.


You dip it! You squeeze it! Go all out! Go apeshit! Throw a party! Huff some glue!

Words can't even describe this kind of thing at first. "Galactic" is one of the first adjectives called to mind. Celestial perhaps. Cosmic Annihilation. Tiny reservoirs of Catsup that open on two ends. You live in America. You have choices. Important choices. You can't open it two ways McGruber, which way is it going to be?

In the interest of...science, I opened one packet of each. Normally I wouldn't even be using Ketchup...shits for peasants but it needed to be explored. There's a lot more here in fluid ounces than there is in the tiny ass single squeeze packets. I'm not sure since I didn't actually do the math but there must be at least three times the quantity.


I'm thinking that I actually prefer them as dipping sauce rather than squeezing sauce. I mean, you're used to squeezing the ketchup. In fact I feel like the squeezing end was only included for the purists. If you're not stuck in a rut with an old world mindset, you might as well dunk the every living shit out of those nuggets in the ketchup vat. Baptisms await your chicken strip combo meals...

It's really a shame that Chick Fil A makes you politely request their sauce packets instead of just letting you take as many as you want, but I guess that makes sense since people like me would abuse the system and take enough honey mustard and ranch (and now ketchup) packets to fortify a fallout shelter. I guess it's smart marketing. Leaves you coming back for more. Isn't it funny how much better everything tastes that you could buy in a store when it is physically served to you by a submissive human being?

Still building up to Thor Slurpees. More to come.

DISAPPOINTMENT COMES IN GREEN

I was actually in the process of writing a pretty intense blog entry rich with thematic content and what not which I’d been struggling to find for days when I passed someone on the street that required my IMMEDIATE ATTENTION. Sometimes you just have to drop everything and start writing that instant or you lose the spark. You know…the spark of the urge…to write about like fast food stuff. It works for me pretty well. Perhaps in the immediate future I will be able to continue my TOUR DE BLOG but for now there is more pressing business than personal litanies. There are mountains. There are Mountain Dews. Then there are Mountain Dew Coolatas.

Apparently I’m an ignoramus because I’m note quite sure what the difference between a Coolata and a Slurpee is when the question is thrown in my expert direction. I just had the Thor Slurpee the other day (which is good enough to get ANOTHA) but I feel like since that’s not green, it’s not quite as pressing to write about. So Coolatas are essentially Slurpees with more tiny little pieces of ice inside. I’ve gone so far as to google this topic. The celebration of Autism Awareness Month continues over here at Sober Valley Lodge. Look at how disappointingly un-green this shit is.

And it tasted poorly too. I almost vomited on slumbering homelessmen passing by. Quite possibly the only coolata I’ve never finished. Disappointment can’t even begin to describe it. It’s like the day I found out that Russel Crowe passed away. I don’t have much else to say about it except that it wasn’t very sweet and doesn’t get my high marks all around the scrabble board. Maybe I should invest in coffee.

I hope this holds all the hoards of readers over until I write the big long epic one or whatever.

My trip to Tijuana

I really wanted to write an inspiring blog, chock full of thematic weight and revolutionary ideas. That’s a work in progress though, and I’ll allow you to believe I have something up my sleeve that will leave you coming back on a daily basis waiting for the instructions to the first phase of Project Mayhem. In the meantime I wanted to eek out a quickie if for no greater reason than to have done something at least mildly productive for the week. I don’t think one blawg poast a week is too much to ask do you? Anyway as I’m biding my time thinking of lengthier, tear-inducing entries I wanted to write about an incredible voyage I took this week.

In the past year I’ve been struggling with the concept of being a racial minority for the second time in my life. Here in East Boston, I’d say if you don’t speak Spanish you’re fucked. Thankfully, not only do I speak nominal Spanish, but I also hoof it from my house to the T stop any time I’m actually caught outdoors. Got to avoid that sunlight right? But every time I pass by Maverick Square I must pause….the smell…it’s fondling my face with gigantic Mexican hands. It’s the awe inspiring smell of Pollo Campero. I’ve long been putting off a trip to the place, but then the cosmos aligned and the moment was right for inevitable showdown with fate. (I always get funny looks taking pictures of shit in fast food establishments)

I walked into Tijuana. It was like Platform 9 and 3/4ths straight into Mexico. Not a single word of English other than those loudly blurted out by me were uttered in the place. Not even an attempt at it. Upon googling Pollo Campero, it’s like an immersion project being tested in the United States; it’s not even a wide released fast food chain! Upon looking at the menu I discovered it was almost identical to the mcdonalds in the same block, except with Chicken Burritos. The choice of what to get was painfully obvious, though I did have to place my order about 37 times before the translation was successful and the burrito was launched into the deep fryer. I’m treading on thin ice with this blog I think. The truth must be told though.

(the proof)

Here’s the real kicker. Inside there was a little old Chinese man (like the shopkeeper in Gremlins) selling pirated DVDs inside slipcases. Like NEW releases. He was going around cat calling to people and getting them to come over and look at his pile, right behind the counter of the restaurant. I had to comically rub my eyes a few times to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating. No other establishment in the world would allow that to fly. Nowhere. Well, having missed out on the new horror flick Insidious in theaters the other day, I flipped through his stack. Five bucks for a brand new film that’s still in theaters really isn’t a bad deal. He even had Sucker Punch, quite possibly the most offensive turd that’s been flung at the pictures business since Catfish. I politely passed on his wares, but I don’t think I can unsee what I saw. Cheap deeveedees….new ones…I might have to journey back South of the Border and take my business to the movie peddler. No wonder the Blockbuster next door went out of business.

bedebedebede that's all folks

90's rocks LIVES...(in the rainforest)

So 90’s Rocks died a painful death it seems. But now it's back. It's a zombie blog. Scratch that. Fuck zombies. I'm tired of how trendy they are now. I liked them better as the subject of cult films. A lot has happened since the last installment in the chronicling of promotional food items and the unwarranted worship of lowbrow crap intended for children. It’s not really worth opening that can of tuna right now though, when there’s new inspiration afoot for more passionate rambling about the unimportant. The show must go on; though I feel like I’ve said that before on this blog. Sloth can be the vice of men, and I fear I’ll never write another word in my life of my own volition unless I just painfully bring hand to trackpad and sweat it out. So that’s this then. I’m dedicating this post to a certain blogger, whose achievements in the blogosphere make this one look pitiful; but motivated me to keep at it.

This past summer one of my good friends and I traveled to Orlando on what was essentially a suicide mission to meet Mark Hamill (which didn’t even pan out). Apparently now days Mark’s career has devolved into charging over 100 bucks for a photo op. Who does he think he is…Bill Murray? Anyway, while we were taking buses and cabs around the city of dreams hunting down K Marts and Chick Fil A in the ass-kicking heat, I insisted that we go to DOWNTOWN DISNEY. If you’re living a meaningless life, and you’re unfamiliar with Orlando Florida’s layout and in particular the layout of the Disney Parks (which I think I could easily write 10-15 blog posts about) then you’ll know about the subdivision marketplace area lovingly called DOWNTOWN DISNEY. I think this place really peaked in its cool factor for me at the early turn of the century when the phrase “virtual reality” actually fucking meant something. They had this building full of simulators called Disney Quest which was a popular birthday destination. They also had a huge Virgin Records store, which was the first place in the world where I discovered the scent of marijuana. One of the coolest features was this Planet Hollywood gift shop thing which had insanely expensive film props. We’re talking actual Batman Forever costumes and Ewok fur. The things men go to war to protect. When I was younger I was all about the LEGO store there too. All of these good things have been torn down, replaced or metaphorically shit on over the years and I pity the current younger generation that is told that this is what “fun is all about.” You know nothing about fun. It’s not too late though. It’s never too late, as long as Rainforest Café still stands. Motherfuck!


So what drew your attention to Rainforest café? Oh maybe that it’s a giant goddamn volcano? Or maybe the enormous mushroom standing guard of the place. Or maybe the big animatronic alligator howling out of his aged voice chip at the door? Sidenote: We need more animatronic creatures in today’s society. I miss being able to walk into museums and seeing Dinosaurs and then trying to feed them debris against the will of the “No Touching” signs. So if themed food is pretty much the best thing in the world and if y=mx+b, then clearly a themed RESTAURANT is almost too good for the general public to be allowed to even set eyes on. Walking into Rainforest Café is a sensory overload. I can’t even begin to describe it properly. How can I possibly impart that smell of recycled fountain water? I’m just going to close my eyes and put myself there, typing out a stream of consciousness attempting to describe this place to you.

Apes. Big ol lovable apes banging on their boobs. That is a huge fucking parrot. I didn’t know they came in that size. There is a frog on that tree. Oh yes there are trees. Did you like the sky in Harry Potter? That’s good because the sky in here is like the night sky with light up dots on it. Every twenty minutes or so it’s gonna rain so you better be prepared. There are snakes hanging from the ceiling. Copious amounts of Spanish Moss…I’m afraid it’s going to fall onto my plate. How can a grilled cheese be that expensive? Can I try your cocktail mom? They aren’t going to ARREST us for god sakes it looks like tomato juice! Did you guys see how cool the bathrooms are? Boy this place really makes Bugaboo Creek look like the 7th layer of hell doesn’t it? I’m not leaving without at least 20 bucks worth of animal related shit from the gift shop. Airbrushed t-shirts preferable.

And before you know it the whirlwind of pure elation is over and you’re paying the bill leaving mildly hungry but also possibly suffering from indigestion. Rainforest is a fan of the tiny portion, but fuck it who goes there for the food? Someday I’d like to go back to Rainforest when I’m old enough to drink beer like a real man on a safari and get WASTED and crack up at the elephants. I’m pretty sure that the air vents in Rainforest expel pure MDMA or something. The only other restaurant that can get me stoked like this is this Mars 2112 place in New York which has an Alien Motif, complete with costumed assholes. Rainforest is/was a chain as far as I know though, and there were others to attend outside or Orlando. I think that it’s in a vacation spot only adds to the experience though.

I’ve been to Rainforest 2 times in the past decade. That’s about 96 times too few. I think one hundred would be a little excessive. I’m really hoping they stay in business long enough to remain my fall back plan of employment if this whole college thing doesn’t work out. This also might be one of those “You had to be there” type things where if you went there for the first time now like my friend did this summer; as you might be unable to fully appreciate the awe inspiring awesome of Rainforest. So save the trees folks…otherwise there won’t be a reason for Rainforest Café to parody nature anymore; though as far as I’m concerned the world could become a post apocalyptic, carbon monoxide filled wasteland as long as we still celebrated Halloween and there was a Rainforest Café somewhere. And shamrock shakes. Those are really important too. I’ve had 9 of them since the month started. It’s like my very own March Madness minus the sports.