Thoughts On The Dead

Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To

A Movable Fast

Reasons Why I’m Not Ramadanning:

  • Sandwiches.
  • Sammiches.
  • Sangwidges.
  • Half-a-sandwiches that come with soup.
  • Soup just by itself, especially with a crusty bread for dipping.
  • Popcorn.
  • Chicken.
  • Popcorn chicken.
  • Coke from the fountain drank (drinken? drunked?) with a McDonald’s straw.
  • Orange Crush in a glass bottle.
  • The creamed spinach at swanky steak places that’s, like, 90% butter.
  • The tomato gravy Paul Sorvino made in Goodfellas.
  • Arnold Palmers.
  • Shirley Temples.
  • Errol Flynns. (Unaged scotch with a dash of gonorrhea.)
  • A sizzling-hot shrimp fresh off the hibachi, expertly spatula-tossed into my mouth by a Guatemalan guy pretending to be a Japanese guy at Benihana.
  • Food truck tacos.
  • Shitty restaurant tacos.
  • High-falutin’ joint tacos.
  • Man, I love tacos.
  • Blueberry crumble cake.
  • The fake crab meat in salad bars, which I will steal and eat like an animal every time I see.
  • Magic Shell.
  • The steak-cut fries you get at delicatessens.
  • Swedish Fish.
  • Norwegian Fish. (Same thing as Swedish Fish, but with a higher suicide rate.)
  • Coffee with so much French Vanilla poison and sugar in it that other grown men retch from the smell. (Sadly true.)
  • Fried Oreos, but only at a fair or some other contextually appropriate place.
  • If you eat a Fried Oreo on a Tuesday in October while watching cat videos on your computer, then you should feel shame.
  • Pizza, as long as it doesn’t have any bullshit toppings on it.
  • You know who I’m talking to.
  • Stop putting giant onions on your pizza.
  • There’s already onions.
  • Paul Sorvino sliced them into the tomato gravy.
  • Pizza doesn’t need giant onions on it.
  • Japanese people put corn on their pizza, and that makes me feel less guilty about Hiroshima.
  • The clams oregenata from Forlini’s on Baxter Street all the way downtown in Manhattan.
  • The pork dumplings from Mandoo on 32nd Street, also Manhattan.
  • The margaritas and cocaine at El Compadre on Santa Monica Boulevard.
  • Tell you the truth: any God that doesn’t want to spend an afternoon at El Compadre drinking margaritas and doing lines is no God of mine.
  • Amen.

18 Comments

  1. “Japanese people put corn on their pizza, and that makes me feel less guilty about Hiroshima.” GOODBYE

  2. Error Flynn……Holy flying fuck that’s funny. I will finish reading when I stop crying

  3. Sir Luther Von Baconson

    July 16, 2015 at 4:25 pm

    Wolof Burger. Chez Joe, Dakar.

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