(6.28.06)
I have been compiling my comprehensive "Enemies List" for well over a decade now. It has filled many a notebook. Nixon-- perhaps as a result of his legendary paranoia-- sought to keep his secret. I choose to share mine freely. Here are a few recent additions:
PIGEONS: This needs no explanation. Loud, nefarious, disease-ridded shit machines. "Satans Songbirds." They are a plague upon me.
VICE ADMIRAL RICHARD H. CARMONA M.D, M.P.H., F.A.C.S.-- SURGEON GENERAL, U.S.A.: The Admiral's recently released report on second-hand smoke (long on bullshit, short on science) goes so far as to suggest that being 50 feet down wind of a cigarette could cause instant death. This is bound to saddle me with a great deal of aggravation in the near future.
NORWEGIAN-AMERICAN WOMEN OVER THE AGE OF 65: For my money, the most disagreeable sub-set of humanity I have ever encountered. They are devoid of all human warmth. They are physically incapable of smiling. Playwright Syl Jones calls them, "The Ice People." I call them "Stone Faces" or "Stonies."
THE FUCKING DOUCHEBAG I SAT NEXT TO AT THE TWINS GAME THE OTHER NIGHT: We had scored great seats for this one. One draw-back to this; in my experience, the "better" (read: more "expensive") the seats, the worse the company (CLASS WAR NOW!) The guy to my right showed-up an inning and a half in, was rude to his fiancé, spilled beer on my shoes, seemed to have very little interest in the game, would get up during crucial pitches for refreshments, and most irritating of all, he kept bumping me on the shoulder every time he removed his black RAZR phone from his pocket. He was doing this so he could stay in constant contact with a friend who was also somewhere in the crowd.
"Dude, I'm in, like, 129, come on down!" "No seriously, come on down dude!"
I would have loved to crack this fucker in the mouth, but getting into a fight at a Twins game gets you ejected, and all I could think about was that color-man Bert Blyleven would comment as I was led away, " There go a couple of clowns getting thrown out for fighting."
The thought of being referred to as a "clown" by Bert Blyleven was enough to keep me in line.
JOE FRANCIS, PRODUCER "GIRLS GONE WILD" VIDEO SERIES: I have yet to actually see one of these videos, but the other evening I saw a commercial for one and it is with a great deal of shame that I admit it kind of turned me on. This says less about the video and more about my slide towards middle age. I blame Joe Francis for reminding me of this. Prick.
ANN COULTER: Bitch, I want my underpants and NAKED RAYGUN records back! I know where you live! (242 Seabreeze Ave, Palm Beach, FL 33480-6129)
MY ULCER: Here's a head-scratcher: Does the act of cultivating a long and varied list of enemies cause an ulcer? Or is it the ulcer that causes one to have-- or perceive to have-- so many enemies?
MY FRIENDS ENEMIES: "My friends enemies are MY enemies." Hey, it's the least I can do for you guys
Friday, June 30, 2006
ALUMINUM BASEBALL BATS=INSTRUMENTS OF THE DEVIL!
(6.20.06)
There are two interesting articles at foxsports.com that discuss how folks are rethinking the wisdom of using aluminum baseball bats (especially for youth leagues.)
http://msn.foxsports.com/other/story/5697038
http://msn.foxsports.com/other/story/5697040
Most of the debate seems to center around safety issues (i.e. the ball leaves the bat too quickly/Timmy doesn't see the ball coming/ball cracks Timmy in the skull/Timmy goes into a coma/Timmy don't wake-up-- or else wakes-up "all wrong".)
They also talk about what using aluminum bats does to the skill level of young players and how many are unable to make the adjustment when circumstances eventually require them to use REAL bats. ("Real," meaning wood.)
My only complaint is that none of the sources quoted could bring themselves to state that which we all know to be true; that aluminum baseball bats are fucking lame and should be gathered up-- by force of law, if necessary-- and melted down into something useful.
Beer cans come to mind.
Brian David Shuey
Current Status: 30-Day Disabled List
There are two interesting articles at foxsports.com that discuss how folks are rethinking the wisdom of using aluminum baseball bats (especially for youth leagues.)
http://msn.foxsports.com/other/story/5697038
http://msn.foxsports.com/other/story/5697040
Most of the debate seems to center around safety issues (i.e. the ball leaves the bat too quickly/Timmy doesn't see the ball coming/ball cracks Timmy in the skull/Timmy goes into a coma/Timmy don't wake-up-- or else wakes-up "all wrong".)
They also talk about what using aluminum bats does to the skill level of young players and how many are unable to make the adjustment when circumstances eventually require them to use REAL bats. ("Real," meaning wood.)
My only complaint is that none of the sources quoted could bring themselves to state that which we all know to be true; that aluminum baseball bats are fucking lame and should be gathered up-- by force of law, if necessary-- and melted down into something useful.
Beer cans come to mind.
Brian David Shuey
Current Status: 30-Day Disabled List
BROKEN FINGER
(6.15.06)
(This is mostly for the Sunday Baseball crowd)
So for the few of you who showed-up for Wednesday's infield/batting practice-- That ground ball I took off the tip of my middle finger? X-Rays reveal that the finger in question is broken. This would explain why it's swollen to three times it's normal size and black (not "black and blue" mind you-- black.)
The only consolation I take from this is that I feel much less nebbish for all the carping I did about how much it fucking stung.
I see an orthopedic doctor next week, but my guess is I won't be at 1st base for at least 3-4 weeks. So fellow infielders, be nice to who ever takes over... and for Christ's sake try to get your throws out of the dirt. (No names.)
To non-ballplayers, my Sundays are now free for:
-coffee
-shopping for pants
-matinee movies
-naked "McLaughlin Group" viewing
-walks around Lake Calhoun
-Chinese checkers
-regular "American" checkers
-competitive cigarette smoking
Man, this is going to suck...
P.S. As it is the middle finger on my RIGHT hand, no scheduled DIE ELECTRIC! shows will need be cancelled. Sorry, you're not getting off that easy. However, I must admit that practice tonight revealed that playing with a splint on is something of a motherfucker, and the subsequent throbbing is no picnic.
(This is mostly for the Sunday Baseball crowd)
So for the few of you who showed-up for Wednesday's infield/batting practice-- That ground ball I took off the tip of my middle finger? X-Rays reveal that the finger in question is broken. This would explain why it's swollen to three times it's normal size and black (not "black and blue" mind you-- black.)
The only consolation I take from this is that I feel much less nebbish for all the carping I did about how much it fucking stung.
I see an orthopedic doctor next week, but my guess is I won't be at 1st base for at least 3-4 weeks. So fellow infielders, be nice to who ever takes over... and for Christ's sake try to get your throws out of the dirt. (No names.)
To non-ballplayers, my Sundays are now free for:
-coffee
-shopping for pants
-matinee movies
-naked "McLaughlin Group" viewing
-walks around Lake Calhoun
-Chinese checkers
-regular "American" checkers
-competitive cigarette smoking
Man, this is going to suck...
P.S. As it is the middle finger on my RIGHT hand, no scheduled DIE ELECTRIC! shows will need be cancelled. Sorry, you're not getting off that easy. However, I must admit that practice tonight revealed that playing with a splint on is something of a motherfucker, and the subsequent throbbing is no picnic.
I LEARNED SOMETHING ODD ABOUT MYSELF TODAY
(6.11.06)
Watching a cellist slowly and carefully apply rosin to her bow before a performance is something I very much enjoy being witness to.
Is that weird?
(No, there are no websites for this sort of thing... not that I was able to find anyway.)
Watching a cellist slowly and carefully apply rosin to her bow before a performance is something I very much enjoy being witness to.
Is that weird?
(No, there are no websites for this sort of thing... not that I was able to find anyway.)
ON WEARING SHORTS
ON THE WEARING OF "SHORTS" (6.5.06)
So heres the deal:Throughout my adult life I have had some fairly strict rules regarding the wearing of "shorts."
They break-down roughly as such:
1992-1996: Only when a) skateboarding b) in summertime outdoor BBQ situations c) particularly hot band practices. NEVER after sundown.
1997-2000: Never, ever, under any circumstances.2001-2003: Only during daylight hours when the temperature exceeded 95 degrees. Or when riding a bicycle. Maybe at a hot band practice.
2004-2005: Any time --day or night-- when the temperature exceeded 95 degrees.
2006-: I've had it! Seriously, it's early June and we've had how many 90+ days? I officially declare the right to wear shorts any time I goddamn please. I have no air conditioning in my apartment. I don't drive (so no cruising around in air conditioned bliss there.) I'm not about to spend the summer going to shitty movies just to escape the heat. Should I need to, for instance, walk all over town doing errands when it's terrifically hot, I'm sorry, but you may be exposed to my legs-- from the knee to the ankle. There is nothing unseemly about this part of my body. Just deal with it.
I mention all of this because there have been a few occasions in the last week where I was in public wearing shorts (the HORROR!) and not a soul I know could refrain from making a smart-ass little comment. I don't need this shit from you people. Here's a secret: I'm not nearly as good-natured as is reputed, and mark this; The next motherfucker who thinks he's being "cute" and opens up on me about it is going to find THEMSELVES critiqued in a manner so withering and hurtful that they will wish they had kept their mouth shut. Dig?
I promise you this and this alone: You will never see me play a show in shorts. That remains my only proviso. Otherwise, all bets are off.
So heres the deal:Throughout my adult life I have had some fairly strict rules regarding the wearing of "shorts."
They break-down roughly as such:
1992-1996: Only when a) skateboarding b) in summertime outdoor BBQ situations c) particularly hot band practices. NEVER after sundown.
1997-2000: Never, ever, under any circumstances.2001-2003: Only during daylight hours when the temperature exceeded 95 degrees. Or when riding a bicycle. Maybe at a hot band practice.
2004-2005: Any time --day or night-- when the temperature exceeded 95 degrees.
2006-: I've had it! Seriously, it's early June and we've had how many 90+ days? I officially declare the right to wear shorts any time I goddamn please. I have no air conditioning in my apartment. I don't drive (so no cruising around in air conditioned bliss there.) I'm not about to spend the summer going to shitty movies just to escape the heat. Should I need to, for instance, walk all over town doing errands when it's terrifically hot, I'm sorry, but you may be exposed to my legs-- from the knee to the ankle. There is nothing unseemly about this part of my body. Just deal with it.
I mention all of this because there have been a few occasions in the last week where I was in public wearing shorts (the HORROR!) and not a soul I know could refrain from making a smart-ass little comment. I don't need this shit from you people. Here's a secret: I'm not nearly as good-natured as is reputed, and mark this; The next motherfucker who thinks he's being "cute" and opens up on me about it is going to find THEMSELVES critiqued in a manner so withering and hurtful that they will wish they had kept their mouth shut. Dig?
I promise you this and this alone: You will never see me play a show in shorts. That remains my only proviso. Otherwise, all bets are off.
SATURDAY WAS A-OKAY! (6.4.06)
So here's what I did:
Woke up.
Made coffee.
Smoked cigarettes.
Drank coffee.
Made breakfast.
Ate breakfast.
Listened to records.(While I listened to records I watched the NCAA softball finals-- no, there was no baseball on at the time-- and just when I thought I hated softball more than anything, realized there was something I hated even more... THE UNIVERSITY OF ALABAMA SOFTBALL TEAM. The reasons why are too manifold and complex to go into now, but UCLA beat them so those fucking ladies can go home and cry into their sun visors!)
Talked on the phone with my Mom and Dad in Pennsylvania.
Drank more coffee.
Went to Blazer's "Going Away" pig roast.
Threw the baseball around.
Drank beer.
Played badmitton.
Sustained a batmitton-related injury. (YES, it's possible. If you give it your all!)
Ate some unbelievably delicious pig.
Darnk beer. (No, that's not a typo.)
Played a game of poker.
Won $15.
Went to the Triple Rock.Saw The Holy Ghostriders.Saw Birthday Suits.Saw The Riverboat Gamblers.
Took a "mystery" pill.
Got sort of sleepy/happy.
Came home.
Started typing.
Tomorrow I get to play baseball.
I guess my point is, things aren't so bad.
So here's what I did:
Woke up.
Made coffee.
Smoked cigarettes.
Drank coffee.
Made breakfast.
Ate breakfast.
Listened to records.(While I listened to records I watched the NCAA softball finals-- no, there was no baseball on at the time-- and just when I thought I hated softball more than anything, realized there was something I hated even more... THE UNIVERSITY OF ALABAMA SOFTBALL TEAM. The reasons why are too manifold and complex to go into now, but UCLA beat them so those fucking ladies can go home and cry into their sun visors!)
Talked on the phone with my Mom and Dad in Pennsylvania.
Drank more coffee.
Went to Blazer's "Going Away" pig roast.
Threw the baseball around.
Drank beer.
Played badmitton.
Sustained a batmitton-related injury. (YES, it's possible. If you give it your all!)
Ate some unbelievably delicious pig.
Darnk beer. (No, that's not a typo.)
Played a game of poker.
Won $15.
Went to the Triple Rock.Saw The Holy Ghostriders.Saw Birthday Suits.Saw The Riverboat Gamblers.
Took a "mystery" pill.
Got sort of sleepy/happy.
Came home.
Started typing.
Tomorrow I get to play baseball.
I guess my point is, things aren't so bad.
Friday, June 02, 2006
JUST IN TIME FOR WEDDING SEASON: "MR. SHUEY'S SHORT GUIDE TO WEDDING ETTIQUITE"
(NOTE: I was tempted to title this, "Weddiquite," but then I remembered that the Marquis de la Fontaine was hanged by Louis XIV in 1682 for making the very same lousy joke. LOOK IT UP!) BDS
ARRIVAL:
Always arrive late, preferably during a key point in the ceremony. Make a lot of noise. Make a fuss. This will reassure the Bride and Groom that the event is a "hot ticket." Lets face it; if it wasn't you would have waited outside until it was over.
HECKLING:
Is generally frowned upon. However, if I have to watch someone cart out the bride's emotionally unbalanced third cousin to read Corinthian's 13:4-8 again I cannot be held responsible for my actions.
"Love is not boastful, arrogant, rude, irritable or resentful?" Really? You could have fooled me. (You see, this is the kind of wisdom you get from a book that talks about invisible people in the sky.)
That said, the Bible's a big book and not without useful advice. For instance, take this little gem from Leviticus: "Never have sexual intercourse with a woman and her daughter or a woman and her granddaughter. They are related. Doing this is perverted."
This passage will help remind the congregants of the importance of family and may serve to keep things from getting too "freaky" at the reception. Then again...
THE RECEIVING LINE:
Unless you really want a better idea of how the bride looks in her dress, skip it. The real line is forming at the bar.
THE RECEPTION:
This is really the Main Event. In fact, I have always thought that the actual wedding should simply be video taped and shown on a loop at the reception. That way, anyone who really wanted to see it can.
YOUR ROLE:
Get drunk. Get drunk fast. In fact, get drunk faster than anybody else. (You wouldn't believe the pressure this takes off the other guests.) Especially the married men. Every one of them has a wife who is fully expecting that it will be HER husband who will be the most drunken, boorish lout in the place. Imagine her surprise and delight when that role is taken on BY YOU! Think of all the arguments you will be preventing! You may, in fact, end up saving some of these peoples marriages. So with each shot you take, quietly tell yourself, "What I do tonight, I do for Love."
MAKE A TOAST:
This is traditionally the purview of the Best Man. However, legendary stories of embarrassing, drunken wedding toasts have caused grooms to become notoriously safe in choosing their best men. The result is predictable, bland, overly sentimental toasts. This is where you come in. Inject a little edginess into the affair. Drop a bomb, so to speak. For instance, if you happen to know the groom to be gay-- HOW you know is your business-- a toast is a good time to "out" him. This may seem heavy-handed, but I assure you you'll be saving the blissful couple a lot of pain and confusion in the coming years.
While the groom is fair game, whatever your inclinations, NEVER SAY ANYTHING UNTOWARD ABOUT THE BRIDE. I don't hold much to be above scorn, but a bride on her wedding day is. No matter what you may think of her, no matter what you may know, THE BRIDE GETS A FREE PASS.
PERSONS AT THE RECEPTION TO AVOID (OR EMBRACE):
EMBRACE: Any divorced, forty-something aunt chain smoking Marlboro Light 100s from one of those soft leather snap cases and periodically exclaiming, "Whoo Hoo!" I've noticed a tendency for people to steer clear of these woman. That's a mistake. They are my personal favorites. Be a gentleman and see that such ladies are never without a drink. They deserve a good time.
AVOID: Any down-on-his-heels uncle who cant get two words into a conversation without pitching a "sure-fire" business scheme.
AVOID: The Bride's parents. This is a safety measure. They paid for the event, and as a result are the only one's who's opinion of your behavior really matters.
AVOID: All children. Scrubbed-up and on their best behavior they might end up give you some perverse notions... like having one's of your own.
EMBRACE: Grandmas.
GETTING HOME:
What ever you do, do not drive home in your condition. Getting yourself killed on someone else's wedding night is considered "upstaging" and is quite rude. If you must, sleep in your car. Cops are surprisingly patient with people sleeping in their cars-- so long as they are well dressed. (Oddly, this is something the Kennedy's never really learned.)
Good luck, and enjoy the wedding season.
ARRIVAL:
Always arrive late, preferably during a key point in the ceremony. Make a lot of noise. Make a fuss. This will reassure the Bride and Groom that the event is a "hot ticket." Lets face it; if it wasn't you would have waited outside until it was over.
HECKLING:
Is generally frowned upon. However, if I have to watch someone cart out the bride's emotionally unbalanced third cousin to read Corinthian's 13:4-8 again I cannot be held responsible for my actions.
"Love is not boastful, arrogant, rude, irritable or resentful?" Really? You could have fooled me. (You see, this is the kind of wisdom you get from a book that talks about invisible people in the sky.)
That said, the Bible's a big book and not without useful advice. For instance, take this little gem from Leviticus: "Never have sexual intercourse with a woman and her daughter or a woman and her granddaughter. They are related. Doing this is perverted."
This passage will help remind the congregants of the importance of family and may serve to keep things from getting too "freaky" at the reception. Then again...
THE RECEIVING LINE:
Unless you really want a better idea of how the bride looks in her dress, skip it. The real line is forming at the bar.
THE RECEPTION:
This is really the Main Event. In fact, I have always thought that the actual wedding should simply be video taped and shown on a loop at the reception. That way, anyone who really wanted to see it can.
YOUR ROLE:
Get drunk. Get drunk fast. In fact, get drunk faster than anybody else. (You wouldn't believe the pressure this takes off the other guests.) Especially the married men. Every one of them has a wife who is fully expecting that it will be HER husband who will be the most drunken, boorish lout in the place. Imagine her surprise and delight when that role is taken on BY YOU! Think of all the arguments you will be preventing! You may, in fact, end up saving some of these peoples marriages. So with each shot you take, quietly tell yourself, "What I do tonight, I do for Love."
MAKE A TOAST:
This is traditionally the purview of the Best Man. However, legendary stories of embarrassing, drunken wedding toasts have caused grooms to become notoriously safe in choosing their best men. The result is predictable, bland, overly sentimental toasts. This is where you come in. Inject a little edginess into the affair. Drop a bomb, so to speak. For instance, if you happen to know the groom to be gay-- HOW you know is your business-- a toast is a good time to "out" him. This may seem heavy-handed, but I assure you you'll be saving the blissful couple a lot of pain and confusion in the coming years.
While the groom is fair game, whatever your inclinations, NEVER SAY ANYTHING UNTOWARD ABOUT THE BRIDE. I don't hold much to be above scorn, but a bride on her wedding day is. No matter what you may think of her, no matter what you may know, THE BRIDE GETS A FREE PASS.
PERSONS AT THE RECEPTION TO AVOID (OR EMBRACE):
EMBRACE: Any divorced, forty-something aunt chain smoking Marlboro Light 100s from one of those soft leather snap cases and periodically exclaiming, "Whoo Hoo!" I've noticed a tendency for people to steer clear of these woman. That's a mistake. They are my personal favorites. Be a gentleman and see that such ladies are never without a drink. They deserve a good time.
AVOID: Any down-on-his-heels uncle who cant get two words into a conversation without pitching a "sure-fire" business scheme.
AVOID: The Bride's parents. This is a safety measure. They paid for the event, and as a result are the only one's who's opinion of your behavior really matters.
AVOID: All children. Scrubbed-up and on their best behavior they might end up give you some perverse notions... like having one's of your own.
EMBRACE: Grandmas.
GETTING HOME:
What ever you do, do not drive home in your condition. Getting yourself killed on someone else's wedding night is considered "upstaging" and is quite rude. If you must, sleep in your car. Cops are surprisingly patient with people sleeping in their cars-- so long as they are well dressed. (Oddly, this is something the Kennedy's never really learned.)
Good luck, and enjoy the wedding season.
YOUR DEFINITIONS FOR THE DAY
"INCONGRUITY" defined: Finding a discarded wad of wintergreen Skoal in the bathroom urinal at a fine arts museum.
"MISPLACED CURIOSITY" defined: The manner by which one discovers it was indeed wintergreen.
"MISPLACED CURIOSITY" defined: The manner by which one discovers it was indeed wintergreen.
THE ANT WHISPERER
Today I sat on a bench in the courtyard smoking a cigarette and upon examining the pavement under my feet saw a curious sight. An ant barely the size of a pin-head dragging what looked to be a small fragment of potato chip at least TEN TIMES its size and weight.
I followed its progress with no small amount of fascination as it moved the behemoth one inch, then two, then nearly three before seemingly giving up and moving some distance away from it.
"DON'T QUIT NOW, YOU PUSS!" I exclaimed-- much to the bemusement of some passersby!
Sure enough, the ant revisited the morsel, circling it a few times as if to size it up, and then returned to the slavish task of transporting it.
It felt good to know I had shamed the ant into fulfilling its obligation to the collective back at the ant hill.
I felt a little bit like Stalin.
And it was strangely satisfying.
I followed its progress with no small amount of fascination as it moved the behemoth one inch, then two, then nearly three before seemingly giving up and moving some distance away from it.
"DON'T QUIT NOW, YOU PUSS!" I exclaimed-- much to the bemusement of some passersby!
Sure enough, the ant revisited the morsel, circling it a few times as if to size it up, and then returned to the slavish task of transporting it.
It felt good to know I had shamed the ant into fulfilling its obligation to the collective back at the ant hill.
I felt a little bit like Stalin.
And it was strangely satisfying.
NO MORE NICKEL MOUSTACHE RIDES!
So as some of you know, I shaved off my moustache yesterday. It was time for it to go.
However, my friend Arman pointed out that one consequence of losing the moustache is that I will no longer be able to provide "Moustache Rides"
Eschewing inflation-- and in keeping with the exchange rate established by humorous 1970's t-shirts--I was still providing them for a mere 5 cents. Virtually unheard of in this day and age!
Even at such a paltry sum, it occurs to me that I have quite thoughtlessly eliminated a significant portion of my yearly income.
To supplement that loss, I propose the following:
"I WILL SCREW YOU FOR ONE THIN DIME!"
(The t-shirts are on order. I'll let you know how it goes.)
However, my friend Arman pointed out that one consequence of losing the moustache is that I will no longer be able to provide "Moustache Rides"
Eschewing inflation-- and in keeping with the exchange rate established by humorous 1970's t-shirts--I was still providing them for a mere 5 cents. Virtually unheard of in this day and age!
Even at such a paltry sum, it occurs to me that I have quite thoughtlessly eliminated a significant portion of my yearly income.
To supplement that loss, I propose the following:
"I WILL SCREW YOU FOR ONE THIN DIME!"
(The t-shirts are on order. I'll let you know how it goes.)
MR. SHUEY'S HAPPY-TIME BEEF STEW
Another delicious bachelor delicacy!
INGREDIENTS:
(1) can Dinty Moore Brand Beef Stew
(2) tablespoons BBQ sauce
(1/2) teaspoon pepper
garlic powder and basil to taste
COOKING INSTRUCTIONS:
1) Open can of Dinty Moore beef stew. Be careful not to cut yourself. Blood is not one of the ingredients in this recipe.
2) Remove about 1/2 total number of carrots. They always put too many fucking carrots in. The "health conscious" among you may also take this opportunity to remove some of the lard that has congealed at the top of the can. (I don't recommend this, but I know how it is with you kids today.) Pour remaining contents in to a saucepan. DO NOT MICROWAVE, you lazy prick. It won't come out as well and always explodes-- leading to a very messy microwave that smells like cheap beef stew.
3) Simmer on low heat for five minutes, adding additional ingredients as it begins to bubble.
Serve with warm buttered bread and a large glass of Hershey's Chocolate Milk. MMMM!
ALTERNATE: remove all carrots, cook to reduction and serve over egg noodles. Double MMMM!
Enjoy!
INGREDIENTS:
(1) can Dinty Moore Brand Beef Stew
(2) tablespoons BBQ sauce
(1/2) teaspoon pepper
garlic powder and basil to taste
COOKING INSTRUCTIONS:
1) Open can of Dinty Moore beef stew. Be careful not to cut yourself. Blood is not one of the ingredients in this recipe.
2) Remove about 1/2 total number of carrots. They always put too many fucking carrots in. The "health conscious" among you may also take this opportunity to remove some of the lard that has congealed at the top of the can. (I don't recommend this, but I know how it is with you kids today.) Pour remaining contents in to a saucepan. DO NOT MICROWAVE, you lazy prick. It won't come out as well and always explodes-- leading to a very messy microwave that smells like cheap beef stew.
3) Simmer on low heat for five minutes, adding additional ingredients as it begins to bubble.
Serve with warm buttered bread and a large glass of Hershey's Chocolate Milk. MMMM!
ALTERNATE: remove all carrots, cook to reduction and serve over egg noodles. Double MMMM!
Enjoy!
"LITTLE PINK SHIT MACHINE"
A Very Short Work of Fiction by Brian David Shuey
"And how old is it?"
"Seven weeks."
"It's seven weeks OLD, or you've had it for seven weeks?"
"I've had it for seven weeks."
"So how old is it?"
"I don't know, what's it matter?"
"Well, I'm just wondering how big it will get."
"Pretty big...I guess."
"And you're just going to keep it in that box?"
"That's the box it came with."
"What does it DO?"
"It pretty much just makes that noise and fouls itself."
"And why did you buy this thing again?"
"I don't know, it looked cute in the store."
"What do you feed it?"
"The guy gave me this white stuff."
"That's all it eats?"
"He said that's all it eats until it gets a bit older.""But I guess most of them don't make it that long."
"What do you call it?"
"I'm thinking of calling it, 'The Little Pink Shit Machine.'"
"Cute, but really, what are you going to NAME it?"
"I don't want to give it a proper name just yet in case it dies."
"That makes sense."
"What did they call it at the store.""HUMAN."
"That's weird."
"Yeah, they're kind of new."
"And how old is it?"
"Seven weeks."
"It's seven weeks OLD, or you've had it for seven weeks?"
"I've had it for seven weeks."
"So how old is it?"
"I don't know, what's it matter?"
"Well, I'm just wondering how big it will get."
"Pretty big...I guess."
"And you're just going to keep it in that box?"
"That's the box it came with."
"What does it DO?"
"It pretty much just makes that noise and fouls itself."
"And why did you buy this thing again?"
"I don't know, it looked cute in the store."
"What do you feed it?"
"The guy gave me this white stuff."
"That's all it eats?"
"He said that's all it eats until it gets a bit older.""But I guess most of them don't make it that long."
"What do you call it?"
"I'm thinking of calling it, 'The Little Pink Shit Machine.'"
"Cute, but really, what are you going to NAME it?"
"I don't want to give it a proper name just yet in case it dies."
"That makes sense."
"What did they call it at the store.""HUMAN."
"That's weird."
"Yeah, they're kind of new."
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