Nobody Puts Baby in a Horner’s Monster Mouth Corner: Eat a Donut Bacon Cheeseburger
March 29, 2010

Look, I’ve got nothing against all-natural produce, but we can’t always just eat an organic pear.  Sometimes we need something more.  Sometimes we need savory as well as sweet.  Sometimes we need throw caution to the wind and say, “Fuck it all: I’ll eat Cheerios and Lipitor the rest of this week if I must, but tonight I want to live!”  Sometimes, dear readers, we need to eat a donut bacon cheeseburger, which is precisely what I did this weekend.  Behold the epitome of gluttony and the pinnacle of modern culinary innovation, made by my own two hands:

donut bacon cheeseburger gloriousness

Now, having actually had the high-calorie, fatty food food equivalent of a gang bang, I can tell you the following things about the donut bacon cheeseburger with great certainty:

  1. Despite allegations otherwise, the donut bacon cheeseburger is not a sign of the apocalypse.  It is glorious.
  2. In fact, the donut bacon cheeseburger is so mind-blowingly scrumptious that I’d reckon this is the Harbinger of Deliciousness, a veritable Jesus Burger that has come from the heavens above to rid the world of size-zero pants and preach the gospel of elastic waistbands.
  3. My vision of Heaven is most likely the 9th circle of Hell for vegetarians.  In certain fundamentalist vegan Christian circles, I am now the front runner for the Antichrist.  I guess even the irresistible temptations of a donut bacon cheeseburger can’t win ’em all.

The rest of my experience is a bit more of a blur, so at this point we have to pause so you can decide if you want to take the donut bacon cheeseburger pill or the boring pill.  How far down this culinary rabbit hole of batshit insanity and morbid obesity do you want to go?  Oh, who am I kidding?  Red pill it is!

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Hot Dogs: The Most Important Component of Independence Day
July 4, 2009

I’m as serious as a hot-dog-binge-induced heart attack, y’all.  Hot dogs, those decadent poor-man’s sausages comprised of animal parts that I refuse to consider because I’d rather not have to ever have to acknowledge that I find processed pig anus to be painfully delicious, are totally where it’s at:

HotDogMustard

Mmmm, I’m already hungry for six of those bad boys.  Maybe it’s the way the ketchup and mustard and pickle relish and onions mingle with the piping hot juiciness of the frank and the doughy goodness of the bun.  Maybe I’m just going into withdrawal as I’ve realized that the wedding I’m going to tonight probably will be too classy to serve hot dogs.  Or perhaps I’ve just lost my damn mind (as usual).  Whatever the cause, right now I want hot dogs like Nomi Malone wants to dance.  And not in the innuendo way.

Don’t even try to fool yourself into believing the hamburger is a more American culinary institution.  There is nothing American about a beef patty that’s named after German city.  Clearly, assuming the hamburger is more inherently American is quite simply anti-hot-dog propaganda.  It’s falsities about frankfurters!  Don’t believe the lies!

Think about it:  All you have to do is put hot dog in one hand and a sparkler in the other and you’ll look like you were born to celebrate July 4th.  People will be like, “Damn, girl, you’s all set to celebrate our independence from British rule the alien invasion!”  Bill Pullman, America’s greatest fake President, knows exactly what I’m talking about:

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