There’s a fuckin epidemic sweeping across our nation and it needs to be stopped. Someone get the motherfuckin CDC on the phone in dis byitch. Is their number still 1-800-HELP-BITCH-HELP!? No, I’m not talking about ebola, whooping cough, or Birdman flu. That last one is similar to the bird flu, except this particular disease makes your dumb ass rap horribly and make god-awful cockatoo-like sounds as a replacement for hooks in your songs. Those aside, the epidemic I’m spittin about is fancy ass fucking food. I’m talking about flavored foams, popping “caviar style” liquid bubbles, and making shit look or taste like some shit it shouldn’t look or taste like. Im talking about that molecular gastronomy bullshit. If you’re a cultured, refined, and well traveled motherfucker like me, then you know what the fuck I mean. But you’re probably not, you dirty derelict. But hypothetically, if you was, you go to a dinner, get a bunch of one-bite dishes of some picasso-on-a-plate looking bullshit, eat it, don’t know what the hell you just ate, pay $200, and then go hit Del Taco or In-N-Out after. This fuckery has gone too far.
NUTSACK TACOS!
Dis Doritos Locos Shit.
Yea I know what you’re thinking. This shit is good. Well you’re a dumb fuck and you’re wrong. Know how I know that? Cuz you don’t have shit else to do but read my dumb fucking blog so you’ve lost any goddamn credibility you might’ve had 5 seconds ago. Sit the fuck back and listen because your dumb ass is about to get schooled in the art of good fast cheap mexican foodology.
I grew up in a small town in the midwest. When Taco Bell opened in my town, it was like the second coming of Jesus. The only Mexican food we were familiar with was shitty ass chimichangas and cheese enchiladas at this methane factory called Chi Chi’s, which I’m pretty goddamn sure translates into “you better hope you get home before our beans work our way through through your colon cuz if not, you about to spray paint a new interior to your car with the beautiful red and brown shades of explosive diarrhea.”
FARMERS MARKET, HO!
Since living in LA for the last 10 years, I’ve realized two things:
1. There’s a fuckload of Priuses out here.
2. You can't walk 5 feet in LA without hitting a goddamn farmers market.
So the other day I'm cruisin through a weekend market when I see a vendor for stone fruits. There’s samples lined up for miles and kids are sticking their filthy grubby hands into the bins, spreading their hand, hoof, mouth disease or whatever all over the place. And I look up and I’m like WTS (dass short for what da shit, ho) are all these fruits, bitch?! There were varieties like a motherfucker there, and most of them with crossbred-ass fruity names like mango-habanero-pluots, bubble-yum-gum plums and watermelon-purple-nurple peaches and shit. Bitch if I’m eating something called a watermelon anything, there better be a slip-n-slide within 10 feet of that motherfucker.