Food Perverts

I'm at work right now, and it dawned on me that I should probably milk the cow of benefits. Unfortunately, the only milk this cow produces is Free Wifi (goes great with cereal!) and day-old bakery items (which are generally of the food variety). I was already using the internet, and it's hard to use the internet twice at the same time (Done it!), so I decided to go for a cupcake.

The cupcakes we serve at the Common Cup, however, have a tenuous grasp on cupcake status. A better way of describing them is Frosting Holder. The "Holder" bit exists for the sole purpose of keeping the consumer's hands clean -- and health code reasons. However, thanks to the latest developments by Gluttonologists, the days of "Holder" will be gone, and we'll be able to eat just Frosting without the burden of messy, sticky hands which bare the proof of indulgence (Though let's be honest - what a fun mess to lick up!).

NOTE FOR MY BOSS:
I actually think our bakery is fantastic, and admire their judicious, yet generous, portion choices.

Eat the cupcakes. You'll probably get diabetes anyway.

But anyways, that went on longer than I wanted it to. What I REALLY wanted to talk about was the idea of Pornographic Food. Hooray! Food having sex! What a great idea for a blog!

Or, less of that, and more of the idea of food being objectified. Let's quit joking around guys, we have serious issues, and it's time to address them (blog-style, meaning posting pictures, watching videos, and commenting about how fat everyone is). Food Pornography is taking so much of what is wanted from food, and what people like about food, and putting so much of it in there, that it comes out perverse on the other end. People do this! Bah - cupcakes!

It's disgusting. Do we not respect food anymore? When we objectify food, we make it so that it doesn't even seem human, and treat it with the same respect as a piece of meat.
Here are a few samples for, for your scoffing enjoyment:

CHICKEN FRIED BACON: Deep fried bacon, served with ranch! Mmm!
Watch a whole video about this CRAP!

DOUBLE DEEP FRIED DONUT: These exist more often than you'd think. Yeah, ok, I had one once. But it was just once in high school, and I didn't even like it.

DEEP FRIED COCA-COLA: I don't even know. It's really weird.
Click to try and understand.

Last deep fried one:

DEEP FRIED BACON WRAPPED BANANA: Dear God! What are people doing to that poor banana?!


THE FOOL'S GOLD LEAF: Some kind of hocus pocus created by some guy named Elvis Presley. Nastiest thing possible. To construct one, mix one jar of peanut butter, one jar of grape jelly, and a pound of bacon. Scoop the mixture inside a hollowed-out loaf of fresh-baked bread, smother the outside in butter and bake.













That's it. That Elvis guy -- what a creep.

TURDUCKEN - This one has become more popular, though it's an abomination. I've had one before, and the 20 pounds I put on after a single bite lives with me to this day.















Chicken meet Duck. Duck this is Turkey. Turkey, this is Chicken.
Chicken this is Turkey. Duck this is Chicken. Ok, everybody good? Let's all pile into each other and be creepy!

THE BEER BARREL BELLY BUSTER: I know you want to like this one because it has an alliterative name, but stop yourself. This is the omega of Objectified Food. Food Perverts flock to it at night. This is it guys.















No, this isn't just a normal-sized burger photographed with a small camera to make it look enormous! (that's how photography works, right?) This burger is 15 pounds of fury, ready to electrify your intestines, and throttle your arteries with its hefty glory.
Along with your 15 pounds of flesh, you'll receive 25 slices of cheese, a head of lettuce, three tomatoes, and one onion! See, vegetables! Maybe this burger is just a friendly giant.

(P.S. The restaurant responsible for this unspeakable tub of guts also boasts of a 123-pound monstrosity called the "Main Event." I couldn't find a picture of that one though, probably because Danny's Beer Barrel Pub is too damn ashamed of themselves to post a picture of their sluttish sandwich.)



After all that, I don't think our cupcakes are all that bad. Our cupcakes just wear a mini-skirt and dance around on stage.

The crowd hangs heavy with garbage disposal reverence

Facebook exists simply to remind everyone that our lives are really boring. It makes you personally feel better when you think about how your life is boring because you spent an hour going through someone's pictures, thinking about how boring their life is.

So if our lives are all equally boring, couldn't we say that they're all equally interesting? Optimism is a really adorable trait to have.

Top Ten Colors

10. Blue
9. Maroon
8. Pink
7. Brown
6. Tangerine
5. Cyan
4. Green
3. Bright Yellow
2. Purple
Coming in at number one! The color of this year's season is
1. Red! Holding steady at the top.

This year's BIGGEST LOSER is, once again:
Magenta!
No one likes it, again!


Top Ten Favorite Double-digit Numbers

10. 67
9. 13
8. 88
7. 35
6. 36
5. 24
4. 10
3. 79
2. 16
1. 93

CHART FACTS: Once a fan favorite, 10 has been bumped down from number two to number four this year. 93 rose to stardom this year, climbing all the way from the number five position to steal the first place slot! Thanks to everyone who voted, and a hearty congratulations to 93's victory as the NEW FAVORITE DOUBLE-DIGIT NUMBER!

I refuse to cite my sources.

This was an overabundantly fun experiment. There may be more of these in the future, but let me know what you think of this one. And no, I'm not telling all the poems I buried in here, but honestly, it's not THAT hard to figure out.
Hugs and Kisses,
Theresa


OOPS! The world...

As once the winged energy of delight
carried you over childhood's dark abyss,
I first surmised the horses' heads were toward eternity -- but there is a terrible breath in all this.

Keats, a handsome feller, says
"If I lay here? If I JUST LAY HERE?
I cannot see what flowers are at my feet,
The birds push apples through
grass the moon turns blue,
these apples roll beneath
our buttocks like a heath - I should have been a pair of ragged claws scuttling across the floors of silent seas."



I celebrate myself as she turns around and gives that big booty a smack.
Next thing you know (next thing you know) next thing you know
shorty's gettin'
low
low
low
low
low
low
low
LOW

A serious moment for the water is when it boils life...is like a grapefruit. It's orange and squishy, and has a few pips in it, and some folks have half a one for breakfast.
Did you stash the bod? You know, that's what we call it in the byz
Antine Empire.

WAIT! WAIT! WAIT! That is not it at all
That is not what I meant, at all.
It's almost like being shot in the ass
with a .22 beside the white chickens

CORRECTION! I know your father!

Please, sir. I don't like this trick, sir.
Come, you spirits quick sir
I get all those ticks and clocks sir
That tend on mortal thoughts sir,
mixed up with the chicks and tocks, sir.
Unsex and fill me from the crown to the toe sir
I can't do it, Mr. Fox, sir

LOOK HARDER!

but if for once i gazed into the softness of your face without any thought of otherwise
maybe you would shudder
maybe i would leave
maybe you would reveal yourself
or else maybe i would forget to know that this will all be over way too quick

Here it is - In all of it's Official Glory

THIS is my official statement about hippies:

I LIKE hippies. They're good people. They loaf around, get high to music, and love on each other ALL DAY. What's not to like?
But the problem is--
People who hate hippies are so much funnier.

See the dilemma? That's why there was so much confusion!!

Everyone, be calmed. Now you have the truth in your hands.

This One's For the Humans -- Cheers!

Preamble

I often like to remind my parents that it's not my fault that I'm alive, therefore the mistakes I make aren't, at their core, my fault. I'm not sure when this will start being bogus, and they'll tell me to shut up. They're nice parents -- they may never tell me to shut up.

But think about this big circular doohickey that we call life. Psychologists and other liars tell us that we don't have any memories before we're three. Maybe this is the case so that we don't have to go through so much shock from entering the world from the womb and from somewhere else before that. It's bizarre that all I've ever known is being alive, but there was never a start to it. I slowly faded into the knowledge of my existence, and always accepted it as fact from the dawn of my memory. I've only ever known being trapped inside this shell that everyone was calling "Theresa" and accepted it. There was no switch over, no change, no sudden adoption of an identity. I've only ever grown into myself and been mystified by this fact.

Amble

So we're all these babies stumbling around the earth, begging our legs to hold us up, for no reason we're sure of, just knowing that this is what we do. We start talking, never knowing that we're doing it, until after we've acquired a remarkably sophisticated knowledge of our language. We start interacting with the world around us, without realizing we are, and with all these huge giants staring down at us, poking our cheeks, yelling at us to stop crying, and telling us that the giant glob on the spoon is, in fact, an airplane that is trying to land in our mouths. (Later in life, we realize that this was all a huge lie, and that airplanes are something far different and far more confusing. Shock from this realization leads millions of adults to be terrified of flying for the rest of their lives.) We wear whatever clothes are pasted onto our bodies, and don't worry about them. All we think about is food, pain, mommy, and why these scary and friendly giants are insisting that we make our stomach aches go away in a large porcelain circle -- it just makes them so happy.

This all goes well for awhile. Then we start looking at ourselves in the mirror. The world has gotten a lot smaller, and the giants aren't as big as they used to be. They aren't as wise as they used to be, and we learned that just because they told us to do something, we don't need to do it. The clothes we are wearing start being awkward, and we wonder what we're supposed to wear now that we have choices. We realize that what we wear says something about who we are, which is most confusing since we really have no idea what we are. The other stumbling babies the same size as us start telling us that we're doing things wrong and that they're better than us, and usually the only way to feel better is start telling other stumbling babies that they really, really suck.

We see all these other stumbling babies, and giants of all sizes start kissing each other and talking incessantly about love, and some other kind of three letter word that we're really confused about because everyone seems so sheepish about it. Some people insist that it is equivalent to love, and other people argue it is the antithesis of love. But apparently, this awkward secret which no one is particularly open about is responsible for our existence, and therefore, years and years ago, our parents did something they don't want to talk about, and because of that, here we are, confused about life and wondering what's going to happen next.

We trudge and trudge and trudge through life, making one mistake after another, thinking that maybe our mistakes will slip under the radar, until our parents, friends, school, bank and government start telling us that they know we messed up big time, and it's time for us to pay the penalty. It's good for us to pay this penalty, apparently. If we want to be alive and sharing our experiences of the world with people, we need to be responsible. We can't be stumbling babies anymore. We have to be giants, we have to make money, we have to start having this three-letter word responsibly so that maybe, someday, we can have stumbling babies of our own. This will make our life satisfactory, and maybe someday, if we do as we're told, we can start telling people what to do, and be happy. (But the secret of the secret, the biggest secret of all, that no one is saying, is that no one ever stops being a stumbling baby. Giants don't ACTUALLY exist!)

We start telling people what to do, and how to behave, though we really have no idea what we're talking about. No one can be mad at us about this though, because we all do it -- it simply has to be done. It has to be done because nothing else seems to work, and we're not sure why it doesn't work...it just...doesn't. Like so many other things about the lives of us, we just do it because it's done, and it's too complicated to do otherwise.

Eventually, our bodies that have been our cage and constant companion all these years stop working as well. Walking up stairs becomes harder, we can no longer create more babies, and all the people we've been friends with stop existing. Their bodies die, and whatever it was that makes them "them" is gone. A lot of people have ideas about what happens to "them", but no one generally agrees on anything. It leaves us feeling scared and worried about what will happen, since we depend on our cage for our existence, and sometimes we don't care about it all that much.

And then we die. Those who have gone before us don't tell us exactly what happens, probably because it's a huge surprise in the sky, and they don't want to ruin it for us.

We start never knowing we're alive, and usually not realizing it until it's too late, and then die. And we're supposed to be entirely okay with this.

Postamble

I get scared sometimes.
But since no one is really looking, or paying that much attention very often, I may as well choose to be excited about it. I'll let you know what else I find out.