I used to be a really picky eater. In fact I’m still a really picky eater. The only difference is now I’m in an adult with no money living in a recession. What can one man possibly do?
I’ll heed the call. My hero is a big fat bald gay Jew from NYC named Andrew Zimmern who travels the world and eats stuff that is comparable to the end product of digestion, not the starting materials. But fuck it. If that guy can go to a 3rd world country (which is like one big recession, forever) and eat a pile of fermented mystery meat, then gosh darn it all, I can be just as heroic too.
(I’m working on our superhero concept team of Jews who eat nasty things: He will be known as either Fat Man or The Iron Gut. I’ll be his trusty sidekick and ward Rat Boy or Scavenger. Homosexual undertones will be explicit)
The Trials of Rat Boy/Scavanger
Trial 1: Old Taco
Ordering food at Taco Bell is already like going up to the counter and asking for a big bag of food poisoning and diarrhea to enjoy in the morning. But left unchecked, let’s say in your garbage can over night, this small time crook can mutate into something…sinister. It was also horribly deformed from when I crushed it in my hands before disposing.
I’ll heed the call. My hero is a big fat bald gay Jew from NYC named Andrew Zimmern who travels the world and eats stuff that is comparable to the end product of digestion, not the starting materials. But fuck it. If that guy can go to a 3rd world country (which is like one big recession, forever) and eat a pile of fermented mystery meat, then gosh darn it all, I can be just as heroic too.
(I’m working on our superhero concept team of Jews who eat nasty things: He will be known as either Fat Man or The Iron Gut. I’ll be his trusty sidekick and ward Rat Boy or Scavenger. Homosexual undertones will be explicit)
The Trials of Rat Boy/Scavanger
Trial 1: Old Taco
Ordering food at Taco Bell is already like going up to the counter and asking for a big bag of food poisoning and diarrhea to enjoy in the morning. But left unchecked, let’s say in your garbage can over night, this small time crook can mutate into something…sinister. It was also horribly deformed from when I crushed it in my hands before disposing.
Plan of Attack: Throw it in the microwave, nuke the shit out of every last possible E. coli bacteria, and pray to God the hydrochloric acid in my stomach is enough to kill off the stragglers.
Results: It was hot and bland. Some of the tortilla hardened to the point where it looked like the skin of people who have been smoking for 50 years. I suppose the cheese in this analogy would serve as puss because that shit curdled (or something). Surprisingly, it wasn’t terrible. The only “uh oh” moment I had was an hour later when it entered my small intestine. Nothing a little “don’t puke” chant can’t solve.
Trial 2: Vodka Gummy Rings
What once was a noble quest to discover new and exciting ways of getting drunk, something went horribly, horribly wrong. The procedure was simple enough; place gummy bears in a large plastic Tupperware set, pour in a butt ton of vodka, leave in a fridge for 2 days, and then enjoy your vodka-swollen treats. But time constraints forced it down to a day and a half, and in lieu of gummy bears, we used gummy life savors. The two have completely different chemistries. Oh the hubris of man’s folly!
Results: It was hot and bland. Some of the tortilla hardened to the point where it looked like the skin of people who have been smoking for 50 years. I suppose the cheese in this analogy would serve as puss because that shit curdled (or something). Surprisingly, it wasn’t terrible. The only “uh oh” moment I had was an hour later when it entered my small intestine. Nothing a little “don’t puke” chant can’t solve.
Trial 2: Vodka Gummy Rings
What once was a noble quest to discover new and exciting ways of getting drunk, something went horribly, horribly wrong. The procedure was simple enough; place gummy bears in a large plastic Tupperware set, pour in a butt ton of vodka, leave in a fridge for 2 days, and then enjoy your vodka-swollen treats. But time constraints forced it down to a day and a half, and in lieu of gummy bears, we used gummy life savors. The two have completely different chemistries. Oh the hubris of man’s folly!
Plan of Attack: Scarf that shit down.
Results: It wasn’t the taste…it was the texture. Good. Fucking. Lord. Slimyness was a constant throughout digestion. They started off chewy and rubbery but instantly started to dissolve in the mouth. It was like trudging the bottom of a lake, pulling up a drowning victim, and then eating its lemon/orange/lime/cherry/wildberry anus. Rarely have I ever gotten the urge to spit something out on texture alone. The way around this toughest of foes was to just swallow the whole thing at once. The leftover stuff, a Tupperware container full of flavored vodka, was actually quite delicious.
Trial 3: Andrew Zimmern’s Cock
…
Trial 3: Andrew Zimmern’s Cock
…
Plan of Attack: …
Results: …Heeeeeeeeeelllllllllllllllllllll no.
Fuck that, I’d rather starve to death.
Fuck that, I’d rather starve to death.
No comments:
Post a Comment