How would you like that cooked?

Hibachi! Americans just wet their panties over it. And why not?

It's simple… you are seated at a communal table and a chef comes in and cooks in front of you on a table-sized griddle. Often they do simple tricks, like creating a volcano from onion slices, filling it with oil and lighting it on fire. Sometimes they toss a super-hot shrimp into your mouth causing 2nd degree burns, etc.

So the chef goes around the table and double checks your order before he cooks. Ours went like this:

Me: Steak and shrimp, medium well, fried rice.

Renee: Steak and shrimp, medium well, fried rice. My daughter will have chicken and fried rice.

Guy #1: Soba Noodles, Steak, well done.

Girl #1: Chicken and Fried rice

Girl #2: Ok, can you make sure that you don’t use any soy sauce on my food? That means you have to make my fried rice separately and cook my chicken separately and you’ll have to clean the grill before you cook my food and could you cook the chicken without using any heat and do you use soy sauce at all? and also can you make sure the chicken didn’t come from an egg and please don’t use any salt and pepper. Also when you cook the chicken can you make sure the pieces are always aligned with magnetic north and also don’t use any soy sauce, did I mention that? And don’t forget I cant have any soy sauce. Is that Ok, did you get all that?

Me: (sound of my fork being pushed into her eyeball).

Renee looked at her… hell, even her friends looked at her and I know what they were thinking…it was the same thing everyone was thinking. Even the chef was thinking it:

“Miss, you are one giant asshat. If you don’t like soy sauce, why the fuck would you come to a Japanese restaurant? Why don’t you stay home and eat your dry rice crackers with faux cream cheese and facon and then you can do us all a favor and lay down in the parking lot, hopefully something heavy will roll over you.

Well maybe the chef wasn't thinking exactly that…but I sure was.

Chef’s are happy when diners love their food. They take time and effort to create dishes, to get them right and the last freakin thing they want is to be told by some idiot with a gastrointestinal problem, that they want the dish altered to fit their issue. If you have a problem don’t make it the chef’s problem. If you cant eat wheat, don’t go out for pasta, if you cant eat dairy, don’t go out for fondue.

I guess what Im saying is this…don’t go to a real restaurant and screw with the menu. Don’t screw with the chef. Don’t say something stupid like can I have the pasta primavera without oil or vegetables?

Can I have the Wild Boar Ravioli but with no sauce?

Can I have Pasta with Four Cheeses but can you leave out the cheese?

Can I have the suckling pig but can you make it taste not like pig?

It’s really simple, we get it. You want to eat “healthy” which by definition seems to mean “stuff that tastes like shit”. Stop taking what used to be a rewarding social engagement, a time to unwind, a time to taste new flavors, share dishes and have conversation and turn it into yet another struggle against something that doesn’t need to be fought with.

Its not a chore, don’t make it into one.

And if you are a vegan, stop going to lunch with everyone. No one is interested in trying to accommodate whatever raw-foodist, slimy soy cubes and sprout dishes you will eat. Some of us want to leave the restaurant having eaten something that didn’t taste like it was scraped off the ass of a chicken.

Bon Appetit!

What a bunch of twits...

Recently on Cracked.com

Taken from 6 Things Everyone Wants To Share And Nobody Wants To Read.

By Christina H.

Full Article is here: http://www.cracked.com/blog/6-things-everyone-wants-to-share-nobody-wants-to-read/

Your Tweets…

The big thing about Twitter, and blogs before it, was that it was supposed to "democratize" content generation. In "old media," there was a clique at the top of the pyramid -- celebrities, corporations, etc. -- that dominated all the content, and you had to get your news and entertainment from either them or not at all.

With Twitter, so the story went, anybody could become an Internet celebrity by coming up with humorous or insightful tweets, and gather millions of followers, bypassing the "media machine." So we took away the power of the restrictive media overlords forcing people to only pay attention to celebrities, and let the public choose who they wanted to listen to.

Of course, fully wielding the freedom of choice to listen to any individual or organization they wanted to, the public chose to pay attention to celebrities.

And the celebrities, of course, are mostly listening to each other. So sure, now Joe Schmoe has the infrastructure to get his message out to the whole world cheaply and quickly, and the whole world does not give two owl's droppings.

If you think that having 248 followers means that 248 people (or almost 248 people) must be reading everything you say, I have bad news for you. A Pew survey showed that almost half of all Twitter users basically don't read a single thing anyone else says (checking "every few weeks" or even less). Twenty-one percent literally never read anyone else's tweets.

Even out of the 36 percent that checks at least once a day, that doesn't mean they're reading your tweets when they check. One blogger ran some analysis on his Twitter followers and found that they followed, on average, 2,778 accounts apiece, and unless they have very slow jobs, are clearly not reading most of those tweets.

For some people, following a person on Twitter seems to be basically their version of clicking a "Like" button on Facebook or putting a bumper sticker of that person on their car ... except the bumper sticker requires more commitment.

Even though some part of us must have known that nobody wanted to read our "I just went to the bathroom" updates, the fact that there's no real feedback on who is or isn't reading (unless you go looking for it) means it's easy to keep the illusion alive.

So we keep going with our attempts at witty bon mots and pocket philosophy, thinking we're participating in the great Internet dialogue when we are, most likely, muttering to ourselves like a homeless person.

Knockers before entering...

My wife has forbidden me from using certain words.She says they sound like something a 13-year old says. So now of course, all I think about is saying those words...

Project Meeting - Monday 9:47am

Steven: “So our timeline gives us a bit of wiggle room on the deadline”.

Mark: “I think it’s only appropriate that we discuss the first deliv…".

Me: "I think it’s only appropriate that I interrupt this meeting and say… TITTIES"!

Mark: "Now hold on just on…".

Me: "TITTIES!, TITTIES!….TIT-AYS!….boobs".

Steven: “David, do you need a minute”?

Me: "No…I’m good, thanks".

Is there a zeppelin near by?

Ava: "Dad, I want to watch Beauty and the Beast".

Me: "Well I don't".

Ava: " Come on, Please"?

Me: "Come on please isn't a real reason".

Ava: "But I love it".

Me: "I love you but that doesn't mean I have to look at you all the time".

Ava: (shocked, she gasps)…" Oh! The Humanity"!

Me: "…wait, what"?

I think they have an app for that...

Step One: Launch iNoogie.

Step Two: Find unsuspecting victim

Step Three: Rub head vigorously

Would you like a little jelly on that?

Here is what I don’t understand…people who think that legalizing gay marriage somehow leads to all sorts of very unconventional marriages.

I think as long as 2 people are involved, willing to marry one another, they should be able to regardless of their gender. I don’t see how allowing gay people to marry suddenly leads to what I call “Toaster Love”.

Let me explain…

While I suppose that somewhere on the planet is a man who wants to marry his toaster, Im reasonably sure he is not going to head to town hall to fill out an application for a marriage license for himself and said appliance.

On the upside, if we make it legal for anyone to marry anyone or anything, it might work out anyway.

Think of it, it’s the honeymoon night, full moon, a warm breeze blows through the kitchen. Stuart grabs his sexy Hamilton Beach-Bagel-Width new wife. Smooth... crisp white and yielding. Soft like a dove’s cheek and yet firm like the taut butt of a chicken.

Stu brings her close and enters her... ZZZZAAAAPPPPPP!

Stu heads for the Great Appliance Section in the sky.

Problem solved.

The prophecy...

“In the future, there shall be no tissues”.
“Nor rags upon which to cleanse the noses of the worthy.”

- Nostrildamus.