Category Archives: cooking

The amount of fucks I give

Zero - no fucks. Not a single one

Zero – no fucks. Not a single one

The Cheez-its are an arrow pointing to the stars in reverence for this song:

Cause when you are facing cardiac arrest by pizza, truly the “only way is up,”  from there.

Did I mention that this was a microwavable pizza for one? Cause, yes.

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One pan to rule them all. And in my apartment fry them.

I only own one kitchen appliance. It’s a skillet. It’s made of iron. It’s so large that it could cook me.

leg of lady is on the menu when I'm cookin', Jack.

leg of lady is on the menu when I’m cookin’, Jack.

The only reason I haven’t thrown it away is because I am sure it could double as a weapon.

But on a rare occasion when my supper isn’t cold pizza with several Yuenglings and a couple ounces of hot sauce, I’ve been known to try and cook rice in that sucker.

But I was steaming the rice with an old VHS organizer

But I was steaming the rice with an old VHS organizer

The end of the rice story is that the faux-wood ended up peeling off into the rice and the chemicals mixed with the grains to create a cloud in my kitchen that might have been a noxious and poisonous gas.

But at the end of the day I can still use that skillet to ward off intruders.

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Filed under Booze, cooking, food, horrifying, science! technology!

A shocking discovery in the finer details of fire safety

Rut roh. Do you remember when I set my nachos on fire and threw them out of a window? (I do!). Well, a shocking revelation has unfolded.

My friends are the sort of people that would mourn nachos

My friends are the sort of people that would mourn nachos

But then



The truth is revealed. There is a chance that maybe, several years ago, I put Triscuts and cheese (“nachos”) in the broiler and left them in there for about fifteen minutes. Opened the broiler only to discover the entire mass in flames. And promptly closed the broiler. I then deferred to an adult about the fire I just started.

fire safety 2 2 2
BA hijinx never forgets…

he also reinterprets artistic You Life works

he also reinterprets artistic You Life works

I am going to star in a Lifetime original movie called, “The Littlest Arsonist.”

And, for the safety of all, I should probably retire from my job as a nacho/Triscut/cheese cook.

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The finer details of fire safety

The other night I decided to make nachos as a celebratory meal for finishing a Tuesday well done.  And also because I feel less pathetic cooking dinner for one (plus cats) when it’s a featured item on the Chili’s menu.

Some people think “nachos” and this is what is brought to their imagination:

whoever made this is a miracle worker of culinary proportions

whoever made this is a miracle worker of culinary proportions

I make a less traditional nacho, comprised of only two ingredients:

This is more my speed

This is more my speed

After throwing those into the broiler there are some that might diligently wait by the oven and wait for the cheese to melt and then proceed with feasting. But I am not some, and instead walked to my local 7-11  to get additional grocery-like supplies.

I returned to a miniature conflagration in my kitchen.

Since I paid attention in grade school I knew that I needed to get a fire extinguisher right quick. I ran to my hallway to grab it and that is where I found:

Happy 2013!

Happy 2013!

As it turns out, a fire extinguisher two years expired doesn’t work on a molten mass of flaming triscuits. So I did what any person would do. I grabbed six towels, opened the window, and threw the firey food into the softly falling snow.

And then I left a PSA where the expired fire extinguisher used to be for my landlord to see

smokey is furious



Filed under Animals, apartment, cats, cooking, food

Hurricane Sandy and lotsa fuckin’ candy

Oh hey! There was hurricane throughout the East Coast from Sunday to Tuesday of last week. Did you hear about this? Gotta tell you, I ignored every single news report of it because my evil Canadian overlord (see: my job) almost assuredly wouldn’t close. I prepared for the hurricane as the best little You Life I could be. I went to the dollar store and got the essentials:

cat food – look at how fucking terrified that cat is, also 30% protein? Amazing. Cat litter – for cartoon animals

And diet coke.

Sunday night I was lounging when I got a call that indicated that the East Coast was going to fall into the ocean: my office was closed. Perhaps I should have purchased a candle? Nope – let the rains come.

The beginning of the hurricane stay-vaction

On Monday I woke up to a gray sky, but nothing that indicated to me that the gods’ were wrathful. After waking up, going back to sleep, waking up again, and then trying to make a cup of coffee from an espresso machine that I forgot I stole from a cunty ex-roommate I was up. Starving. Bored.

So I assessed the following two things: the secret reserves in the apartment

This is for the end times. The secret storage of candy, syrup, and strawberry fluff

And how it looked outside:

Let’s be frank. There is only so much reading, movie watching, hobby-doing, and masturbating that a person can do in one day. At around two I had enough. I left the apartment to walk to get food. Nothing was open. So then, I did what any adult would do.

I went to see how terrifying the playground was during the hurricane

Shortly after going on the swings a police officer drove by and gave me a very stern tongue lashing pertaining to the idiocy of wandering around during a storm.

Returned home.

Sent this text message to my best friend after the lights started flickering:

“I better not have to wank off by candle light” (it would be like jerking off during Little House of the Prairie times. I want to crank it with all of the modern amenities).

Hunger took over. So I did what I needed to do…

I defrosted the chocolate bunnies from Easter, seven months earlier, and covered them in Cupcake magic shell for dinner

Sadness. Utter sadness.

Finally a friend without power came over with the barest of cooking supplies (defrosted chicken thighs, a mini pan, rice, and rum). Seeing as how I don’t own any of the following: cooking oil, a pot, utensils, or a pan it was going to be a trial to cook both the chicken and rice. But, since I am a bit of a fucking wizard I made an entire meal using the smallest frying pan known to man and an iron skillet that was so large that it could have cooked me. I steamed the rice in the skillet with a pizza box. INDUSTRIOUSNESS.

While cooking this a Queen song played in the background. What is covering the bitty frying pan? A metal pizza “stone” …rust side up.


Tried to sleep in. With great success

Played SNES for hours

In the battle for Kirby dominance I told Happy Brother Senior to eat an entire bag of dicks and finished the victor.

And then it all de-evolved after the second entire day without leaving the apartment. It de-evolved into me creating this “mojito” mix that I think was a code for rat poison. It called to fill a plastic bucket with warm water, this neon green powder, and rum. Later on that day I could be found amongst the piles of VHS tapes in my apartment, eating the slushy poison out of a bucket, dancing to the last song from the credits in Legend.

No seriously, Tangerine Dream is fucking out of this world amazing.

And that is how I survived.

Because I was fine. And my love was strong enough.

Hearts, and flowers, and posi vibes to those not as ridiculously fortunate as me.


Filed under apartment, Booze, cooking, food, friends, movies, music, Philadelphia, work

Breakfast cancer

I wasn’t allowed to have snack food growing up. No soda, no caffeine, no candy. My mother was, and is, a phenomenal cook which meant that I was blessed with awesome meals everyday – including packed lunches.


There is a part of me that would like to repay these healthy eating habits during my youth with a balanced and mature response to the ability to now purchase my own groceries and prepare my own meals.

On the other hand. Breakfast candy sounds delightful

Good morning, cancer. I’ve noted that the main ingredients in most of my breakfast consisted of colors and numbers.

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Things on your food

I have very clearly just given up on life entirely.


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Pizza with Cheez

Some time ago, in a land not far far away, a girl made a promise to herself to stop eating as though her fast metabolism was going to last forever.

Just a brief example of what I like to eat for breakfast. Mega Blow Pop stories to follow at a later date.

I have a great deal of trepidation that one day my Cheetos®  for breakfast fare will cause me a massive coronary before the age of 30. After much speculation I decided to eat better and exercise regularly. The next day I ate a bagel with cream cheese and Cheez-It®s (see previous entry). So, I figured that maybe I would become obsessed with working out and getting a gym membership.

But so far there is only one thing I am obsessed with.


And, yes, you are seeing that correctly. It’s a pizza covered in Cheez-It®s and then doused with hot sauce.

Fuck you, health

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Crafts to not teach your children (double trouble, part II)

This is a perfect craft for people who want to bring the charm and hilarity to, say, a breaking and entering. No one will shoot the felon in a watermelon mask! Admittedly this is also a guest post, as the watermelon mask was supplied (filled with tequila) by Cassie P, and crafted by the extremely talented John L. I am the one modeling it.

I’ve come to steal all of your cupcakes! And pet your dog!

How to do it? Easy sauce:

Step 1: Fill watermelon with tequila – as done by Cassie

Step 2: Drink the tequila

Step 3: Eat the watermelon

Step 4: Get John L to cut it up into a mask

Step 5: Put that shit on your face. Watch out for the knife and also your friend not caring that they are putting a piece of fruit with a knife in it onto you face.

Happy crafting!

I am wearing this every single time I go out.


Filed under cooking, crafts, food, friends

Delicious determination…and threats

There were two men that introduced me to a pleasure that was so extreme that it resulted in full body ecstasy, tears of joy, and post-bliss bedwetting. And they were armed with an aphrodisiac more powerful than rophenal or Mexican fly.

Those two men were:

I definitely want something of yours inside me.

And their weapon:

Close enough

To clarify: it was White Russian ice cream by Messrs Ben & Jerry, in case you thought it was Jeff Bridges flavored ice cream.

I am not lying, when it comes to the mystical magical nature of this ice cream: it’s like all of life’s happiness broken down into dairy and sugar. There would be no hesitation if given the option between orgasms and White Russian ice cream; the ice cream is better than any orgasm I have ever had. Consuming White Russian ice cream has given me a more sacred experience than I received in eighteen years of private parochial education.

And like everything that makes me happy, one day White Russian ceased to exist.

The resting ground for everything good in this world

Who is that I see in this bullshit graveyard?

Oh right, the only thing in this fucking world that brought me joy.

A well adjusted person would move on and potentially find a different ice cream to enjoy.

Love means never accepting the limitations of death.

But since I never claimed to be well adjusted, or mentally sound, I started emailing the website pretty frequently (twice a month).

When faced with defeat some people might be satisfied with just writing to the email suggestion page that B&J have on their page. And then, when nothing comes from it those same people might not, say, start an aggressive letter writing campaign.

But, I have more time and less to live for than normal people. So, I started writing the company letters.

Here is the first one

Dear whoever has taken over for Ben and Jerry,

It has been a few weeks since I’ve written to the company, but I am back with more vim and verve than ever. For awhile I had been writing on a weekly basis with little to no luck pertaining to a topic dear to me. I was disheartened and gave up the crusade, but now I believe that my lack of success might have been due to the former Ben & Jerry’s inability to tackle every issue that might be brought to the company’s attention.

But now, while Messrs Ben & Jerry are enjoying their retirement, I feel that a corporation might be more willing to handle my, meager though important, requests (demands).

White Russian.

That is all. Bring back White Russian ice cream. I can detail why this is so important and how it will bring about even greater financial success for this company.

1. A great part of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream is that they were among the first to start loading ice cream, already an unhealthy treat, full of candy. I have not experienced a B & J ice cream that didn’t ensure me a sugar high and future trip to the dentist. But Ben & Jerry’s is all about pushing the envelope, like a ice cream version of Madonna! It is so important to reinvent one’s self and what better way to do that then to offer the complete opposite of what made the ice cream so wonderful to begin with; no candy. Just smooth sailing ice cream that wasn’t chocolate or vanilla. Brilliant move! It was what drew me to this flavor to begin with and I am sure that others are with me; Ben and Jerry should offer something that isn’t the equivalent to an entire floor at Willy Wonka’s factory but isn’t as boring as chocolate or vanilla.

2. Use this flavor as some sort of social change. I completely support all of the honorable social efforts that this company so deeply values. I value them too! Only I would value them MORE if I could eat White Russian at the same time. There has GOT to be some sort of cause, social or otherwise, that can be linked with this ice cream. Think deeply, be creative. Give twenty five cents from every White Russian sold to a favorite charity or have it benefit US and Russian relations. Use the money to send disenfranchised American students toRussiato see their way of life and vice versa. You guys iron out the details, but I think we have something here.

3. Get the Coen brothers in on this! Use your vast resources and get them to somehow name drop this flavor. What better publicity for Ben & Jerry’s than two academy award winning brothers discussing an ice cream flavor based off the favorite drink of one of their most famous characters, the Dude? Or get Jeff Bridges to do it, the Dude with the ice cream. I don’t know how far the B & J cash goes but I think by getting a celebrity endorsement White Russian ice cream doesn’t have to stop with just ice cream; I see tote bags and t-shirts in the company’s future.

I think I have made some very valid points on how important White Russian ice cream is to the future of Ben & Jerry’s and I hope you strongly consider bringing back this flavor.

If I don’t hear from you in a week you can be sure that I will write another email.

All of my love,

*As of now, I have not heard back from the company pertaining to my demands. *


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Filed under cooking, cranky, food, letters