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love is the drug
13 reasons why I love Valentine’s Day
1.) Because it fucking sucks and was created by Satan.
2.) It makes me think of all the happiest moments in my life, and how they are tainted and smoldering in a violent ashen ball of dishonesty, backstabbing and infidelity.
3.) Belgian chocolate and red wine are for the birds. I want something freshly killed and dripping blood paired with a warm pint of Canadian Mist and a 6-pack of Mickey's big mouths.
4.) By now you've probably realized the irony in the title of this piece. I'm not the first to decry this horseshit-disguised-as-chocolate-mousse excuse for marketing, capitalism and the disgusting fact that some people actually do sincerely care about each other, but trust me lovebirds, it will pass. It always does. People are inherently selfish, callous and evil. Do yourself a favor and turn that silver-plated dinner fork into a weapon and get the agony over with. In the end, it's either you or them. Your choice.
5.) Those little candy hearts taste like Pepto-Bismol mixed with sidewalk chalk and are the human dietary equivalent of rat poisoning. Whoever made them can suck my dick.
6.) Because you can't actually get a Wild Turkey I.V. machine.
7.) Because this isn't Canada where "heartbreak" is a viable medical reason to get prescription painkillers.
8.) Because it doesn't make me want to listen to Death Cab for Cutie in the dark while crying and gingerly scraping a dull plastic knife across my wrists.
9.) Because it doesn't make me want to listen to Adele's "Someone Like You" in the dark while crying and gingerly scraping a dull plastic knife across my wrists.
10.) Because, as the song says, "Lean a little bit closer, see, roses really smell like poo poo." Actually, roses smell nice. Except when you've taken a shit in a bouquet and left it on your ex's doorstep. In that case, I'd have to agree with Outkast.
11.) The fruit basket industry is run by, and caters to, intolerable douchebags.
12.) "C'mon baby, just give me a second chance. I promise I won't (fill in the blank) ever again, or call your mom a (fill in a longer blank)."
13.) It always ends in a drunk dial.
Photo by Katy Murphy
Coolest “Breaking Bad” costume
A friend sent me this photo. It may or may not be the guy I bumped into Downtown on Saturday who gave me a teener of blue meth (i.e., cotton-candy flavored rock candy). Happy Halloween, Burque!
Ramen was fine in college. Times were tough and I really needed that other 85 cents of my dollar to go toward the important things, like booze and dope. (Or "textbooks," as Mom called them.) But with age comes sophistication. And now that my dinner budget is well past the dollar mark, I've devised several ways to serve up a tasty bowl of noodles.
On a recent trip to Talin Market, the fish guy was gracious enough to point me toward his favorite udon noodles (refrigerated, not dried—a mark of haute cuisine). After trying every flavor (crab, shrimp, pork, chicken, etc.) I decided that "Oriental Flavor" was by far the closest thing to the broth I've slurped with my udon at good Japanese restaurants. I have no answer to the age-old question of what "Oriental Flavor" actually means.
Along with the 85 cent packs of noodles and broth mix, I pick up some char-su pork (aka barbecue pork) from the deli counter, an onion, some bok choy, a roll of fish cake (about $3 in the frozen Japanese foods section), some chili garlic sauce and some soy. That's all that's needed, unless you want to add some Chinese broccolli or shiitake mushrooms.
The instructions couldn't be simpler:
1. Slice pork thin, fish cake thinner, onions paper thin. Break bok choy off its stem, wash.
2. Cook noodles according to package. Add ingredients toward end of boiling based on size and desired firmness of said ingredient. (Chinese broccolli goes in a few minutes before cook time is up.)
3. Stir in 1-2 tsps. of chili garlic sauce and 1-2 tsps. of soy.
4. Serve in your favorite bowl.
5. Realize that you're a grown-up, and a dollar-or-so spent on a tasty meal is worth foregoing Keystone Light and instant Ramen.
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