1 each: Bottle of Sobieski imported Polish Rye Vodka (On Sale)
1 each: Red Solo Cup (To Contain Vodka)
1 each: Two liter bottle of Cherry Dr. Pepper
1 large bag: Fritos Corn Chips (Plain, not Chili Cheese, they suck shit.)
1 bag: Great Value: Finely Shredded Fiesta Blend Cheese, 16 Oz
1 jar: Great Value: Sliced Jalapenos, 13.4 Oz (Pickled)
1.5 Cans: Rotel or Great Value Spicy Tex-Mex Diced Tomatoes with Green Chili
1.5 Cans: Wolf Brand Chili, No Beans, Spicy.
Absolutely None: Onions, fuck you onions.
1 Bag: Shredded Lettuce (optional, not pictured)
1 Jar: Hot Pickles (any brand) (optional, not pictured)
1 Jar: Hell on the Red Party Salsa, Hot. (optional, not pictured)

Since I know my audience, I’ve included a pictorial guide.

Ingredients

Step 1: So it’s midnight, you’re drunk, and you’re hungry. You could call for a pizza delivery, but that would cost money, money you don’t have, because you spend it all on booze, you fuck. Instead, it’s time to make the ultimate comfort food, a frito pie, but not just any frito pie, the best frito pie in the world, I call it, “Frito Pie De La Me Gusta.”

Step 2: Put about half of your Fritos into an oven safe dish, something like 9″ x 6″, who knows what that is in centimeters.

Step 2

Step 3: Spoon in the 1.5 cans of diced tomatoes and 1.5 cans of chili.

Step 3

Step 4: Drown that shit in Jalapenos.

Step 4

Step 5: Apply about half a package of cheese.

Step 5

Step 6: Bake at 350 for about 12 minutes, since you forgot to preheat the oven, now would be a good time to have a smoke and a vodka drink.

Step 6

Step 7: God, isn’t that the most delicious thing you ever saw?

Step 7: Yes it is.

Step 8: Put the rest of your chips on top.

Step 8

Step 9: Put the rest of your cheese on top. Cook 3 or so more minutes until the cheese melts.

Step 9

Step 10 (optional): Put some shredded lettuce down in a bowel.

Step 10a

Step 10b

Step 11 (optional): Place Frito Pie over lettuce, Apply some Hell on the Red Party Salsa, Hot.

Step 11a

Step 11b

Step 12 (optional): Garnish with a hot pickle, and eat that shit.

Step 11a

Step 11b

As an added bonus, I’ve posted both versions of this recipe. The sissy version (for little girls, specifically for my two little girls) and the manly version. I would call them the “no huevos” version and the “grande huevos” versions, but huevos actually means eggs, and I wouldn’t want to confuse anyone, because fuck eggs, don’t get your nasty, stinky, fucking albumin puss, eggs anywhere close to my godlike perfect hash browns. We’ll go over the sissy version first, and then jump to a batch of the manly hashed joy that is my gift to the world.

The first thing we need to do is assemble our ingredients.

1 each: Bottle of RÖKK imported Swedish Vodka (On Sale)
1 each: Red Solo Cup (To Contain Vodka)
1 each: Two liter bottle of Dr. Pepper
1 pack: Simply Potatoes® Shredded Hash Browns
1 bag: Great Value: Finely Shredded Fiesta Blend Cheese, 16 Oz
Enough: Black Pepper
Enough: Spicy McCormick® Season All
1 slab: Butter.
1 each: Cheap ass griddle
1 jar: Great Value: Sliced Jalapenos, 13.4 Oz (Pickled) [For Manly Version]
1 can: Great Value: Chopped Green Chili, Fire Roasted and Peeled (4 oz) [For Manly Version]
Enough Crushed Red Peppers (You can steal these from Pizzahut) [For Manly Version]

Since I know my audience, I’ve included a pictorial guide.

Ingredients

Step 1: You and your children are awakened at the ungodly hour of eight in the morning by a neighbor’s chainsaw. Throw rocks at him for being a morning person.

Step 2: Look in your fridge for ingredients, end up making at least one trip to the store.

Step 3: Assemble ingredients. Take a moment to consider your spatulas.

Step 3

See that soft spatula on the far left, that’s the one you want. If you don’t have a soft scraper spatula, a firmer one will do, just not as well. Lastly, a solid spatula (like the one on the far right) sucks for griddle cooking. Like any good technician you should know your tools well, maybe even give them names. The trusty one of the left that I use for almost everything, I call him “Esteban.” That one in the middle, he’s a little tougher, I call him “Rodrigo.” That big solid thing on the right, let’s call him “Gunther.” So put Rodrigo and Gunther back in their place, and get ready with “Esteban.”

Step 4: Preheat griddle to 300 degrees Fahrenheit (148.888889 degrees Celsius for you metric people, and 422.038889 kelvin for you science lab suckers.) While the griddle is preheating chop off a slab of butter, and lay that bitch down on the griddle. I used to buy liquid butter and paint it on with a brush like I’d seen on TV, but that isn’t any better. Just take a slab of butter and let it melt on the griddle, spread it around with “Esteban.”

Step 4 - Figure A

Step 4 - Figure B

Step 4 - Figure C

Step 5: Throw on about half a bag of potatoes. The trick here is to spread them as thin as possible. You want each individual hash to brown, none of that amateur, cooked on the outside, raw on the inside, shit that you get pressed into a triangle at McDonald’s.

Step 5

Step 6: Don’t do anything yet. Don’t flip them, don’t add seasoning, just wait. This is the hardest part of the recipe. Just let those potatoes cook. When they start to look brown around the edges, don’t do shit, I said let them cook.

Step 6 - If you flip them now, you've ruined it.

Step 7: When you’re sure they’ve cooked enough, probably too long, don’t flip them yet. Add Spicy Season All and Black Pepper. (You don’t need to add salt because Season All is salt.)

Step 6 - Figure A

Step 6 - Figure B. The potatoes should actually turn red from the amount of Season All that you use.

Step 6 - Figure C

Step 7: Now you may flip them, remember to let the other side cook well.

Step 7

Step 8: When you’re sure this side is burnt, put Season All and Black Pepper allover this side. If you’re a particular sissy, you can leave one side unseasoned.

Step 9: Apply a generous helping of cheese to the upside. Let it melt.

Step 9 - Figure A

Step 9 - Figure B

Step 10: Flip it over and put cheese on the other side. The burnt bits of cheese on the now “up” side show you that you’re doing it right. The charcoal and carcinogens add flavor. Let this cheese cook real good.

Step 10 - Figure A

Step 11: Divide into two even portions, serve hot, but not so hot your kids burn themselves and you spend your Sunday in the ER.

Step 11

Step 12: Now that your kids are distracted, if you hurry, you might get three good drags on a cigarette before- oh shit, too late. Oh well, strike while the griddle is hot; now you’re making the Manly version.

Step 13: Butter that griddle up again.

Step 13

Step 14: Throw on potatoes and drown them in Season All

Step 14

Step 15: Add crushed red pepper, if all you have are the little packets that come with pizza, one packet per side is good.

Step 15

Step 16: Pour on the black pepper.

Step 16

Step 17: Open up the green chili and throw it directly on the griddle, not on the potatoes. Notice that it’s fucking gross looking, like snot, and it taste like snot, spicy snot, until it’s cooked.

Step 17

Step 18: Go ahead and drop on some Jalapenos to taste. (That means a whole lot.) Interesting science fact, both Green Chili and Jalapenos are from the same species of pepper (Capsicum annuum) but they are as different as the Chihuahua and the Great Dane, who are both Canis lupus familiaris.

Step 18

Step 19: Let that shit cook, both the green chili and the potatoes. When it’s all good and cooked, you can flip to the other side on both.

Step 19

Step 20: When both-sides are good and cooked, go ahead and mix in the green chili and pile on the cheese, let it melt real good, in fact, let it bubble a little.

Step 20 - Figure A

Step 20 - Figure B

Step 21: Now flip it and pile even more cheese onto the other side. Again, the burnt cheese bubbling up tells you that you’re doing it right.

Step 21 - Figure A

Step 21 - Figure B

Step 21 - Figure C

Step 22: *Optional* Wrap that shit up in a tortilla. (Side note: Don’t ever call a tortilla a “burrito shell.” That’s like calling a magazine a clip, and in New Mexico doing either is recognized as justification for homicide.)

Step 22 - Figure A

Step 22 - Figure B

Step 23: Eat this shit while it’s still hot.

Step 23 - Figure A

Step 23 - Figure B

Step 24: Be fat and happy, and mildly drunk.

So I’ve recently decided that I must be full grown; in evidence of this I cite that I’m not going to gain anymore in height, only in girth, so I must therefore conclude I’m an adult now, and I should start acting like one. Since I’m am a full grown haired over adult with kids, I thought I’d try some of that responsible adult stuff that I’ve heard about. I don’t know much about this whole responsible adult business, but I do know, that when I watch movies and I see adults hanging around with kids, unless they are teaching them how to shoot b-ball, they are always cooking.

Now let me be honest, I’ve taken Chemistry, Physics, Biology, Physiology, Anatomy, Pathophysiology, and even one semester of Home Economics. I can explain the complex chemical changes and denaturing of proteins that happens when heat is applied to food stuffs on a molecular level, but when it comes to cooking, all I know is: “Raw food Bad; make Sick!!! Cooked food come out oven Good, make Yum!!! Baaahhhaa, let cool first, make Burn!! Fire Bad!!! Beer Good!!” I do however know that some people take things that aren’t even food, like flour and yeast and sugar, and produce things that are food, like cake and pies. I want to be one of those people but before I get too far ahead of myself, I thought I’d discuss my ingredients.

1 ea. bottle of Albertson’s Citron Vodka
1 ea. Red Dixie Cup (To Contain Vodka)
1 pk. Hotdogs (Or “Pigs”) [Optional]
1 rl. Great Value: Crescent Rolls, 8 Oz (or “Blankets”) [Optional]
1 jr. Great Value: Sliced Jalapenos, 13.4 Oz (Pickled)
1 bg. Great Value: Great Value: Finely Shredded Fiesta Blend Cheese, 16 Oz

Step 1: Awaken in the morning, take a moment to consider your existence, think of all the great potential you have and all the wonderful gifts that life has bestowed upon you. Immediately hit the Vodka.

Step 2: Look in your fridge, hope you have the ingredients listed.

Step 3: Assemble ingredients. Forget to take picture.

Step 4: Preheat oven to 375 degrees Fahrenheit (190.555556 degrees Celsius for you metric people, and 463.705556 kelvin for you science lab suckers). While the oven is pre-heating, pop open those crescents and lay them out on a cookie sheet, forget to spray it with cooking spray. Roll the hotdogs inside of them. Think about how easy it sounds, it’s not that easy, fucking triangle shaped pieces of shit!! Just fucking wrap around that fucking elongated cylindrical hotdog you doughy bastard!!

Step 4

Step 5: Remember you were making fancy pigs in a blanket. Unroll them, add cheese and jalapenos, and roll them again. How much? It’s cheese and jalapenos, pile that shit on.

Step 5

Step 6: Those look like shit, unroll them and roll them again.

Close Enough

Step 7: Take the fork off the cookie sheet and pop them in the oven for about 16 minutes (that’s 12.5 le minuets for those of you who use French timing.)

Step 8: Shit, you made a fucking mess, clean that shit up before your wife notices.

Step 8-A

Step 8-B

Step 9: While that’s cooking, go have a smoke and drink some more vodka.

Step 10: After the 16 minutes is up, put on oven mitts. Try to recreate that famous post on Reddit where a guy takes a picture of both hands at once. Put pigs on top of oven to cool.

Step 9-A Nailed It

Step 9-B

Step 10: Remember that you forgot to spray cooking spray on your cookie sheet. Scape that shit off with a spatula.

Step 10

Step 11: Them leavin’s that you had to scape off are fucking delicious, eat them.

Step 11

Step 12: Put the extras up for later, but after a few more vodka drinks, change your mind, go back, and eat all the left overs.

Step 12

These two young brothers, Benjamin Arthur Jones and Alexander Williams Jones, have crossed the line between regular old villainy, and cartoonish super villainy. My daddy always taught me that if you’re going to do something, do it right, especially if it’s something you shouldn’t be doing. Further more, as I always say, you only live once, make it epic. Go big or go home.

Coverts Crossing Bridge

Not just any bridge, but the historic Coverts Crossing Bridge in Hazard Country, Lawrence County, Pennsylvania. Bo Benjamin looks at his brother Luke Alexander and says: “You see that bridge? We should fucking steal it.”

Alex looks at him, and pulls out his wallet, says: “You see this wallet? It contains all the fucks I give right now.” The wallet was empty, and they stole a fucking bridge, a fucking bridge.

Let me give that a moment to sink in. You know how you have to have a truck to transport a modern Barbecue grill? They stole a fucking 20 foot by 50 foot bridge. That’s only one notch below stealing the Statue of Liberty and selling it to Putin for a lawn ornament. That’s like walking out the Musée du Louvre with the Mona Lisa in your trench coat, except it’s 20′ x 50′ so you have to use a semi.

Now of course they got caught. (Which violates one of the first rules of being a super-villain.) It turns out that the recycling center gets suspicious when you show up with A FUCKING BRIDGE. But can you imagine what it’s going to be like for these boys in prison? “What you in for?” “Me, oh, I stole a TV.” “A TV huh? Oh, that’s cute, I stole a bridge.”

All I’m saying, the bar has been raised. Until Carmen Sandiego lists The Gateway Arch on Ebay, these guys get to wear the Bad Mother Fucker wallet.

Unless you’ve been living under a very well insulated rock, or you’re reading recovered text from the best website ever created following the collapse of modern society in the distant future, you’ve probably heard something about Anthony Weiner and his sexting. In case you happen to fit one of those two scenarios, let me break it down for you, Anthony Weiner has been showing his junk to girls on twitter, which would be fine, except that A) he’s married, and b) he’s a congressman.

There are three very important points that have to be taken into consideration about this story. A) He’s showing girls his weenier, and his name is Weiner, that shit just writes itself. B) His wife’s name is Huma, although when they got married, she had enough sense to not take his last name and become Huma Weiner. (She kept her maiden name, which I choose to believe is Johnson.) C) The media keeps calling this “Weinergate.” Personally, I’m not opposed to calling political scandals whatever-gate, I just think that mass media missed an awesome opportunity to call the whole Bristol Palin baby scandal “babygate.” Personally, I feel like Weinergate is a horrible name for a scandal because it reminds me of a badly done porno parody based on Stargate SG-1, or perhaps the German word for a gloryhole.

That’s all neither here nor there. Here’s the skinny. Dudes, it doesn’t matter how rich and/or famous your are; women do not want to see your stuff. Sure, you’ve got stuff, I’ve got stuff, I’m sure you’re very proud of it, I know I am, but you have to understand a little something about the way that a female brain works. You know how you like to see titties? Yea, good times right? The strange thing is, it doesn’t work that way for women, they don’t want to see your shit, ever. If you are rich and famous and can get women to sleep with you, then drive across town and fuck them, and go home. Don’t sent photos of your manhood to anyone, because it’s going to end up on the internet, you’re going to look like a tool, a perverted tool who hangs around Denny’s late at night in a trench-coat and shows his pecker off to young ladies.

Don’t get me wrong. The internet is fucking magic. Electrons go in one end, it goes down a series of tubes, and fucking LOLs come out the other. It’s magic, but that level of magic does not change one never ending fact, women are not like men, they don’t want to see your wang. The only way people want to see your tube-steak would be if it was in fact so mutated that it was a true medical curiosity. No amount of magic can fix that, women are more attracted to the idea of what you got, than what you actually got, and when they see your shame, it is only going to hurt your chances of actually getting some tail out of the deal. Unless you happen to be texting your doctor about that rash and those bumps that keep flaring back up, never send photos of your love-gun to anyone.

So there you have it. Guys, and that includes you Brett Farve, keep your wedding tackle away from ladies twitters if you want to get it near their critters. Failing that, just keep it discrete; do what everyone else does when they have an irresistible urge to show of their twig and berries, fire up Chatroulette.

My youngest child had a recent case of the sick. For those of you who do not work in healthcare, it works like this: If you treat a cold, it last about seven days, if you don’t treat a cold, it last about a week. Knowing this, I took my daughter to the doctor, knowing it wouldn’t do any good, wanting a note saying my kid was good to go back to daycare.

Long story short, and $400 later, (with good insurance,) I’m at Walgreens waiting in line to drop off a prescription. Low and behold, I see this little blue bottle on the shelf. It reads “Walgreens Nerve Pain Relief.” I immediately, thought, “Wow, nerve pain, I didn’t know that Neurontin was now over the counter.”

NervePainReliefCarton

Walgreens Nerve Pain Relief

Now someone else might have just let this go, but not me. I am an upstanding representative of the consumer, I stand up for the little guy. So I did what any reasonable person would have done in a similar situation. In protest, I immediately dropped trow and took a shit on their floor, right there, in isle #10.

Of course, I had to come back about three hours later and pick up my daughter’s prescription, which made things awkward, but the moral of the story, fuck you Walgreens, with your snake oil cures. We expect that kind of shit from people like Whole Foods, but coming from the largest chain pharmacy in America, that’s just shameful.

Please eat a giant brick of shit with lumps of corn and die, sincerely, DrakeGTA.

Anyway, I’ve noticed a disturbing and growing trend in music videos; pausing in the middle of the song to tell a story. Its one thing to have an intro, or even an outro to a music video, and that needs to be small and tasteful, like five seconds or less (Only songs deserve true intros, and then, only epic songs, like “The Final Countdown” by Europe), but if your music video has to pause in the middle of a freaking song, you not only fail at telling a story, you fail at life.

Listen to me, if you want to write a short story, write a goddamned short story, people love short stories, that’s why there is no market for them. If you want to make a short film, do it, and put it on Youtube, where it will be buried beneath Fred videos and Lego Starwars films. If you want to direct a music video, direct the video, no interruptions, no pauses, no breaks, its not acceptable, no exceptions. If you stop your video in the middle of a song, it better be to fucking cure cancer, and then when you’re done, you edit that part out. Not only is interrupting a video a sure sign that you’re horrible at writing, directing, producing, or whatever the hell you pretend to do for a living, its a violation of all the values that we, as human beings, hold dear.

I’m talking about social responsibility here, its one thing to dump toxic-waste in the oceans or poison the local water supply, but when you screw-up our music videos, you’ve crossed the line. Let me make this clear, when your music video stops in the middle, you deserve to be shot, you and anyone who signed off on the project, and the programmers who allow it to be shown. Forget Frankenstein’s monster, partial birth abortions, and sheep cloning, this is the true definition of abomination.

I understand this is a mute point for most of you, but for you violators, let me put it this way. If you’re thinking about putting an interruption in your music video, consider your options, and if you can’t find a way to make it work without the pause, kill yourself instead, it is the responsible thing to do.

Bloody amateurs! Vengeance is best served cold. If I were giving advice to that Indonesian boy, I would have told him to do this…

1. Run away from home.
2. Move to Jakarta.
3. Get a job as an understudy at an aquarium.
4. Train a dolphin to attack on command (and not just when it wants to.)
5. Bust the dolphin out.
6. Ride the dolphin back home.
7. Just to show no hard feelings, invite your girlfriend and her soon to be hubby for a swim.
8. Give the command.
9. The dolphin attacks and rips your penis off, no wait, that didn’t work either, shit.

all the single ladies

So here’s the story, a kid goes to school with a cheese sandwich, the happy toddler starts to unwrap his delicious, two servings of dairy in each slice, meal, when the lunch police spot the contraband item, and take it away stating that it wasn’t “healthy enough.” What? Cheese not healthy enough? Maybe I’ve been listening to too much of that big dairy propaganda, but I thought cheese was rich in calcium, improved bone health, and something about antioxidants or freeing your radicals; and you know what, that’s not the point.

All I’m saying, when I went to school, I was lucky to have a cheese sandwich, normally I got a glass of red flavored kool-aid and a note from my mom saying that if I wasn’t such a little shit, she might love me enough to make me lunch. You know what, I made do with what I had, I would steal ketchup packets, put ketchup on my note, and eat it, while softly sobbing to myself alone in the corner.

You know what, if it was good enough for me, it’s good enough for my kids. I dare the school to step in and tell me that my kid’s lunch isn’t healthy enough, that the green spots on the bread mean it’s too old. You know what, you said you wanted green leafy vegetables, I gave you green spots, that’s like freakin’ penicillin or something.

All I’m saying if you don’t fight for your rights, you’ll loose them. Today, it’s a cheese sandwich, tomorrow they’ll have your kids eating locally grown organic tofu squares and pledging allegiance to a photo of Che Guevara. I’m so inspired that I wrote this poem…

“THEY CAME FIRST for the cheese sandwich,
and I didn’t speak up because I’m lactose intolerant.

THEN THEY CAME for the fries,
and I didn’t speak up because my doctor told me my triglyceride levels were higher than Amy Winehouse when she “fall down go boom.”

THEN THEY CAME for the white bread,
and I didn’t speak up because I really need to increase my fiber intake, I have a family history of colon cancer.

THEN THEY CAME for the red meat,
and by that time no one was left to speak up, because the whole nation had turned into granola eating yuppies.

THEN THEY FORCED us all into Obama’s socialist deathcamps where we all were all forced to have abortions and while reciting the Koran, and we all realized that Palin was right, and that somehow made it worse.”

For those of you unfamiliar, an Inflatable Sumo Suit Competition works like this. A bunch of college kids get drunk (I’m just guessing about that part, but I know I would) and then strap on giant flesh colored inflatable suits, and proceed to push each other out of the ring in true sumo wrestler fashion. Think about it, what objection could anyone possibly have to this? Is it not just an awesomely stupid way to waste a day and make some money for a foodbank? This plan is so simple, nothing can possibly go wrong.

Unless of course, you’re a pussy. See, these canucks from Queens University (who’s apparently hosting the Inflatable Sumo Suit Competition) received a series of complaints stating that an Inflatable Sumo Suit Competition is both insulting to Japanese culture, and “oppressive.” Well, being the strong willed lumberjacks that they are, our Canadian friends folded like a smart car in a pile up, offered an apology, and canceled the competition.

WHAT THE FUCK?! Insulting to Japanese culture? Really? Which aspect of Japanese culture are we offending here? The tentacle porn or the vampires that suck shit from your asshole while you sleep? (I wish I was making that up.) Really, which group of highly cultured Japanese denizens are we offending?

Normal Day In Japan

This is a hungry ghost, or an angry shit eating monkey, one of the two.

This is the reason that the Axis lost the war.

I didn't mean to rape you, I have magnetic junk.

You know what, fuck that. Aren’t Canadians supposed to be made of steal and ice or some shit? I’m pretty sure that the dude in Led Zeppelin’s Immigrant Song was a Canadian, and he climbed a mountain and raped a Valkyrie, a real Valkyrie too, none of those sissy Tom Cruise Valkyries. I don’t know much about Canadian history, but I can only assume that Canada was populated by lumberjacks who were living in England and France, and they looked around and said, “Fuck this sissy shit, I want to go live someplace completely inhospitable to Human life. ” You bastards are a shame to your Canadian heritage, you’re supposed to eat maple leaves and shit out hockey pucks, but here you are worried about cultural sensitivities.

Japan does not get to have cultural sensitivities. You know why? Because they lost the bloody second world war, that’s why. If they don’t like it, we can launch a couple ICBMs and remind them why they lost.

You think you’re offended? I’m Irish, how fucking offended do you think I am? I mean seriously, look at this shit…

They dance the gay away

Talk about a misrepresentation of a culture. We’re talking about a brand of bloody bravehearts, and they could take their lives, but never take their freedom; not a bunch of faggy ass queens line dancing in tap shoes. I don’t even know what a river dance is, but I know it didn’t come from Ireland because A) everyone is sober, B) no one is kicking anyone else’s ass, and C) the IRA doesn’t bomb the shit out of that British tosser in the front.

You know what else offends me… This shit…

Celtic Whore

What the fuck is this? Did you guys even look up Celtic culture? You realize that the Celts were a band of badass fucking axe wielding warriors that gave birth to the vikings, the Visigoths, the Vandals, and probably The Dead Kennedys too. I don’t know about much Celtic women, but I know they didn’t put on long flowing dresses, play the violin, and sing Ave Maria. Hell no, Cletic women looked more like this…

I'd fuck Gabrielle any day, no questions asked.

and they used to sing songs written by the great Irish poet and playwright Whitey Ford.

A gentleman and a scholar