Monday, September 3, 2012

Greasy La GoopaGoop: A Deli-Goer's Companion

     Long time no see, compadres. Today we venture into a world unknown. A world too dark, too evil for anybody who has any common sense/gives a fuck about their health/isn't stoned 24-7. If you do and/or don't relate to one of those categories, continue reading. All others, go to your local corporate-grocery-store deli and stuff your face with...
ASIAN FOOD FROM BEYOND THE DELI!
     Or something like that... Sorry for the stupid, oversized letters that speak in zines rather than volumes, but it's hard to really strike fear into peoples' hearts by naming a random deli product. Try it out sometime, you'll see what I mean. 

Fresh hot chicken! Roasted fingerling potatoes! Robust pork ass with apple glaze!

     They tend to strike more hunger in my tumtum than fear in my heart.

     So you're probably wondering why I would choose to eat asian goop from the deli rather than go across the street for a sandwich or get a real American meal from the local Goodburger. Well, heathens,  today is Labor Day and real Merricans don't work on this glorious day of relaxation and white-supremacy. But alas, not all people are true patriots (sweatshop workers, child slaves - nice career choice, assholes) and thus some establishments remain open. Most grocery stores are adamant supporters of slavery (smart business practice!) so most of them are mostly open. Anywho, I gallivanted  about the store like a kid in an intensive care unit of an animal hospital, screaming with joy at the sight of all the cute fluffy things with terminal cancer, until I happened upon the cutest, fluffiest, most cancerous thing of them all: gelatinous asian food with a shelf life of >9000. I was in love and it had to be mine. 

     Choices: whitish goop or stringy goop and your choice of orange crap or red crap on top (cleverly disguised as "Rice or Lo Mein with Orange Chicken or General Tsao's"). As I've had my share of eating in Orienterrr Estabrishments, I knew it had to be stringy goop with orange crap and dammit am I glad I made that decision. I took my goop and payed the store its dues (a handful of blue beads) and went out to enjoy my goop in the wonderfully smoky outdoors. I found a nice shady spot at a nice busy four-way stop and set off on my life-changing adventure.

     The best way I can describe my meal is sad, goopy, mush food. I can't be certain about the food part, but eating it was pretty depressing... goopy... mushy... delicious. I know I haven't felt that way since my last high scoor spesher. It wasn't a much-missed feeling.
Tantalizing, no? I couldn't help but give it a glamour shot. 
Even disgusting, sad goop deserves to feel pretty.

     I can't fully describe the sinsation of eating it, but imagine, if you will... going down on a cuttlefish. A pregnant cuttlefish. A cuttlefish so fucking pregnant that instead of getting a mouthful of ink for pleasing your squiddly partner-in-crime, you instead get a mouthful of tiny cuttlefish babies. Cuttlefish babies that look nothing like you so you know yo bitch been cheatin'. She been cheatin' so you be eatin'... her brood. And as she looks at you in horror as you eat her offspring, she so flagrantly consummated with the fucking [cuttlefish] mailman (That backstabber. Last time you have him over for drinks), and as the babies cry out in sad cuttlefish-baby cries muffled by the suction formed between your mouth and her cuttlepussy, never able to realize that their first breaths will also be their last, you can only continue to chow down. Chow down and look her in the eyes so she knows it wasn't your intention, but it needs to happen. Now! With that in mind, also think of that idea that eating certain foods will change the flavor of your ejaculate. Mommy cuttlefish had been doing some freaky food foreplay with Mr. [cuttlefish] Mailman and she was chowing down on some disgusting irradiated oranges, the kind that only grow in Chernobyl, and now her offspring are just that much more intrinsically morally wrong delicious.

     Now a strange thing happened while I was nearing the end of my meal; a little fly decided to buzz over and land on one of the scary orange lumps. He instantly became stuck. His fate was sealed. I watched, my heart filled with sadness and cholesterol (along with: sorbic acid, benzoic acid, calcium propionate, sodium nitrate, and sooo any sulfites), as he sank slowly into his delicious irradiated-sugar grave. I strapped into my hazmat suit, scooped up his lifeless body, ripped out his brain, burned the body, and continued eating. I'm very wary of the possibility of zombie flies. 

     My initial feeling upon finishing my meal was one of happiness, I had survived and there was a glimmer of hope on the horizon. However, that glimmer was pretty fucking fleeting and immediately replaced by thoughts of seppuku. I felt sic and there was no way I was getting rid of it in any other way than the shortest, that being straight through my stomach wall. But then I thought about zombies and one thing led to another and I decided that the best thing was to let those sweet abominable cuttlefish babies die, eaten away by my stomach acid. I'm really wary of zombies. Who knows, maybe they'll survive. Anybody seen Monsturd?

"What I can say is that, if a man really likes Raezak, 
he must be a pretty decent sort of fellow."
A.A. Milne

Raezak Am.

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