On January 26th 2022 my life changed in the best way imaginable. No, I didn’t meet my soulmate, I think she’s still with Machine Gun Kelly. But I did discover that you can buy unclaimed mail. And that brings us to today, February 1st.
The eagle has landed folks. My package is currently sitting next to me, totally unopened. What could it be? Diamond earrings, a dildo, maybe gift cards to the liquor store? Who knows. I have a friend who really wants it to be a dildo. So right now, as the package sits, it could be anything. It could actually be a dildo. Or it could not. I’m living a real life Shrodinger’s Dildo.
Here is the big unveiling, enjoy.
Here is the note that came in the package.
I could use a few more sponsors for this website, I’ve got bills to pay, I am awaiting your generous offer PornHub.
As this video uploads I’ve already bought another unclaimed mail package. I am addicted to unclaimed mail.
I’ve noticed the past few months that there are just an absolute fuck ton of morons out there. So, as everyone’s resident ‘smartest person in the room’, I’m here to teach you wonderful folks a few things. And what better thing to start off with than the hot subject of NFTs.
When I first heard of an NFTs, I, just like everyone else thought it just meant Nice Fuckin Titties. Like, “Oh man did you see Jenna? She’s got some NFTs for sure.” And then the table next to me at Fridays doesn’t have to know I’m a pervert and me and the boys get to talk about yabos.
Turns out that it’s not what it means, in most circles anyway.
So much like anyone who posts a Facebook status lately, I did a little research of my own.
NFT stands for Non-Fungible Token. A non-fungible token is a non-interchangeable unit of data stored on a blockchain, a form of digital ledger. Think about the dollar, you can replace it with another dollar, and it’s worth the exact same amount. Now with an NFT there is nothing on earth that you can replace it with. It’s quite literally one of a kind. It is a totally unique piece of digital art work. Like how two pieces of shit are never the same.
Now sure, you can take a screenshot of it, and it will look the same, but, no rich person has a poster of a Picasso in their house. That’s some poor people shit.
Personally, I think NFTs are stupid. I bet in 20 years NFTs are gonna be like Beanie babies. If your friends find out you still have them they’re gonna call you a fucking loser.
Let’s just for one second think about how preposterous it is that people who aren’t professional food writers take time out of their day to not get paid to write two thousand words about a restaurant on Facebook. While we’re at it, lets think about how preposterous it is that people put literally any kind of value on these long drawn out reviews.
What a world we live in.
Here is an example of a good food review:
“Food was great. All fresh ingredients prepared well. Will definitely be back.”
“Everything tasted like it was frozen. Did not enjoy.”
Now, here is an example of a not good food review:
“My husband Bryce and I looked forward all week to dining out, as he recently finished battling adult acne and he was finally feeling comfortable leaving the house again. The day was warm and the skies were clear, there was the laughter of children in the air-which we didn’t exactly love, as we were hoping for a night out without the kids.
I was in the mood for shrimp parmigiana, but they didn’t have any, even though there was a fried shrimp option on the menu and there was a children’s spaghetti option, so they probably could have made it work. Lazy maybe???
My husband ordered the steak au poivre between medium rare and medium and the steak came out just a touch more on the medium side. The pieces of peppercorn were not really strewn about the sauce evenly.
I ordered the salmon with a garlic caper butter and the sauce served on-top of it was unimaginative and just lacked a certain, je ne sais quoi.
We didn’t stay for dessert because Bryce’s mouth was on fire from the few pieces of peppercorn that were obviously not broken down enough. Not sure if we will back. Our waitress had some hand tattoos as well. Did NOT enjoy that, what if our children saw it?”
Now while you read that and think, “well that one is preposterous”, spend enough time perusing Facebook, and you will surely find a review or two on that level.
Now listen, I love Anthony Bourdain just as much as the next guy, but YOU ARE NOT HIM. Absolutely no one cares about your day or wants to read you waxing poetic about how the corn on the cob reminds you of your boyfriend in the summer of 96.
Imagine if someone showed up at your boring data entry job and wrote a review on your profession, a profession they know nothing about. “The way Carol entered in this quarters numbers was boring, lazy and fell totally flat. The way she hit the space bar five times instead of the tab key once was unimaginative and out of touch.”
Taco Bell has fucked my order up a million times, and still, I eat Taco Bell. And why? Because maybe next time will be better. And that’s what America was built on, hope that next time might be a little better, maybe.
So next time you’re gonna leave a 1500 word diatribe about your local mom and pop restaurant on Facebook, don’t. Literally do anything else. Paint a picture. Read a book. Ride a bike blindfolded. I don’t care, and nobody else does either.
No one loves Taco Bell more than I do. It’s been the only real constant in my life thus far, and at one point, I would have done anything for Taco Bell. I’ve even gone as far as to publicly bash its competitors.
Now, a few days ago I Door Dashed some taco bell, like I usually do when battling a severe hangover, as my body relies on frozen Baja Blasts as an essential vitamin. I got my usual order. Two Crunchwrap Supremes with the addition of Creamy Jalapeno sauce (that delicious spicy sauce on the quesadilla- get it on everything, it’s a revelation).
I sat patiently, as my head pounded at a steady pace. As if the one armed drummer from Def Leppard was banging on my cranium as revenge for all the jokes I’ve made at his expense. The food arrived a prompt 25 minutes later.
I blasted my straw through the perforated hole in my Frozen Baja Blasts cup and threw the straw in my mouth and sucked until my head hurt. That’s when I ripped the bag open and pulled it out faster than I did on prom night. I unwrapped my circlular-ish shaped lil piece of heaven. Placed in back down gently on the wrapping paper. I grabbed some fire sauce and squirted all over, just like I did on prom night, most of it getting where it needed too. I grabbed my crunchwrap and dipped the edge and took a big bite…
I took another bite. Once again, no crunch.
I put it back down and unwrapped it. They forgot to put the crunch part in. How on earth does that happen? And more importantly, why would this happen to me?
Devastated, I grabbed the other one and unwrapped it, ripping the burnt side wide open and once again, NO FUCKING SHELL.
Was this some kind of joke? Was Astchum Kitcher gonna jump out of my coat closet and tell me I’ve been Prunk’d?
Well he didn’t. And I wasn’t.
I guess God just hates me. Which makes, sense, I’ve seen the signs.
So I’ve been tweeting this to taco bell every day. This picture, a picture that would not be possible if it there WAS THE CRUNCH PART OF MY CRUNCHWRAP SUPREME.
So to say I’m mad might be the understatement of a lifetime. I’m inconsolable. I’m an actual nightmare to be around.
After 25 years on the air Arthur closes the door on his famous TV show after allegations circulate with him being inappropriate with the other cast members.
Rumors began swirling after last years end of the season wrap party that after one too many martinis Arthur got a little frisky in front of the paparazzi with fellow cast members Francine and Muffy. While parties close to Arthur say he was just drunk and messing around, people close with both Francine and Muffy claim it’s not the first time he got a little handsy.
Those close to Arthur speculate that things that began going downhill when he started to hang around the young Hollywood crowd in the mid 2000’s.
Here he is, seen leaving a West Hollywood nightclub with Lindsay Lohan roughly 2007. Later on that year Arthur took a brief hiatus from the TV to deal with some family issues. We later found out he spent 90 days at Passages in Malibu, dealing with his Adderall issues. During these dark times he referred to himself as the Adderall Aardvark and Addy Artie. Dark times for the Read family indeed.
With a new sober outlook on life it really felt like Arthur had turned the corner on his troubled past…
That’s when his sexual proclivities re-surfaced.
Arthur Read could not be reached for comment. We are ready to talk when you are Arthur.
As I sat there putting the finishing touches on an article I’ve been working on for Men’s Health I could hear a commercial on the television across the house. As I sipped my coffee I heard the words “Chicken shell”. Immediately I was sold.
As most of you know I’ve been on a strict carb free, gluten free diet. So I haven’t been going to Taco Bell lately, since taco shells have both carbs and gluten. But, if you replace that lousey gluten filled carb loaded tortilla with a piece of chicken, well that fits in well within my macros.
So I hopped on my Cervelo P5X Triathalon bike, which I’ve been exclusively using to get around town, and made my way to Taco Bell. It only took a few minutes before I was back at my Italian marble kitchen island. I opened it and as you can tell in the picture, they really took their time making this one. It looked flawless, as you can tell from this picture. I had to do something I’ve never done before, I had to see the cross-section on this beaut.
Perfectly cooked gluten free, carb free, locally sourced, non-gmo, chicken. It fit my strict diet perfectly. I couldn’t help myself, I had to take a bite.
Juicy, tender chicken. Fresh cut local vegetables crunched in my mouth. The juice from the four tiny tomato squares ran down my cheeks and glistened like the first bite of a woodurmelon on a sunny summer day. It might not sound like enough tomato, but it was the perfect amount. Everything in this sandwich was the perfect amount. The lettuce, the cheese, the four tiny tomato squares, the green sauce that was only applied to the one half. That’s an old chef trick, you want the eater to taste the meat first, then have a few bites with some sauce. Luckily I’m educated enough in the culinary arts to get that. Most people would haven’t picked up on that. Thankfully I’m not most people.
This taco was a symphony of flavors and textures, from the first bite to the piece I ate off the floor a few minutes later, absolute perfection.
I don’t believe in perfect scores, I think perfection is something to be strived for but never achieved, like the female orgasm.
I give this a 10.69 out of 11.
Once I finished both tacos, I pedaled my Cervelo P5X Triathalon bike back to Taco Bell and picked up 8 more to put in my meal prep containers for my next four dinners.
I’m sure most of you remember earlier in the year when I saw a vehicle stuck in the middle of the road and in the pouring rain I jumped out of my car and helped push it to safety. With absolutely no regard for my own safety or just how good my outfit looked that day, I ushered that broken down hunk of shit car safely into the parking lot and absolutely ruined my outfit for the day.
Well the hero is back at it again folks.
When people say that they rescued a dog they often just mean the bought it from a shelter. At least I think that’s what they mean. I could be wrong. But when I say that I rescued a dog, it’s literally what I mean. I rescued a dog that escaped.
So I’m relaxing in my friends backyard on a beautiful day. And once again, my outfit is on point. Clean white v-neck, khaki colored shorts, and perfect white Vans. That’s when tragedy struck and the dog got loose. And he took off running like a bat out of hell.
Most men, when looking down the face of danger, they run or hide. Or in the case of my piece of shit friend Vic, they just sit there with a dumb look on their face drinking White Claws. But not me. Not this hero. I immediately took off, not caring about the dirt I was running through in my perfectly white Vans.
As someone who is 1/16ish Native Seminole Indian, I used my god given tracking abilities to follow the dogs scent. And there he was, right in my peripherals, sprinting chasing a rabbit. Fearing for both the dog and the rabbit now I really turned the thrusters on. I could hear onlookers talking about the great white blur that they saw. I ignored their applause as I continued onwards towards rescuing the dog.
That’s when he made eyes at me. Staring right into my soul, as if to say, “you ain’t catchin me”.
He took off to my left!
I took a few side steps and just as I extended my arms to snag him he juked more to the left. Just out of my reach. He even looked back at me as he took off running around the corner.
I took a few breaths, steadied my resolve and took off again. With no regards for peoples lawns, my own well being, or just how preposterous I looked, I tracked this dog, once again using my Native Seminole instinct and my eyes.
And that’s when I saw him again.
We looked each other in the eyes and before he could say anything I made a promise to myself, his owners, and God, that I’m not letting this dog get by me again. I was ready to lay down my life to get this dog home safely.
I bunched my hand up like there was a treat in it and started saying his name a few times.
He started jogging my way.
I kept going.
Saying his name over and over again.
“Who wants a treat?”
There was no treat in my hands, but with the inflection in my voice, I convinced him that there was indeed a treat in my hands.
He started jogging faster.
He approached and time slowed down.
I opened my hands and he looked in them hoping to grab a bite of a treat.
Time slowed down more.
I readied my hands to scoop him up.
And just like that, I got him.
I help him in the air like a trophy.
I yelled like I’ve never yelled before, “I’ve got him, I’ve got him, I got Murphy!”
I wish I had a better way to describe how I felt, but this is all I’ve got… I walked that dog back like I had the biggest dick on the planet.
That’s when my friend who owns the dog pulled up in her car.
“Oh hey asshole.” She said.
“Hey fuck you.” I replied, as I contemplated letting the dog run free.
“I’m talking to the dog.”
“Oh, yea that makes more sense.” I fired back after re-evaluating the situation.
I plopped him down on her front seat, and walked back to the house, waiting for an applause that would never come.
But that’s fine, it wasn’t about the applause, or the praise. That isn’t why us heroes do things like that. It’s not about the recognition or the fame (but if a newspaper does want to pick up this story I am available for a few quotes). It’s about helping people. It’s about putting your life or your brand new white Vans on the line, and doing what is right. What is called for.
I can tell you what else it was about. It’s about being better than that piece of shit Vic, who just sat there relaxing for the 20 minutes while I was chasing down the dog. And then when he heard my voice announcing I had caught the dog and he walked out in front of the house and started asking how the search was going, like he was actually going to help.
Here’s a pic of me and the dog I rescued a few short months before this wild incident.
And here’s a pic of my no longer perfectly white Vans right after the incident.
I’ve spent the last few days since the incident searching social media for posts about missing dogs and unfortunately there hasn’t been any. But hopefully soon someone’s dog gets loose, so I can once again get out there a do some rescuing because folks, that’s an adrenaline rush that you can’t replicate.
Charcuterie boards are all the buzz right now. I am seeing them everywhere. And with the exception of a few they all tend to look the same. Same few meats, same few cheeses, and pretty much all the same bread and crackers. Sure I love the meat and cheese, and they’re important, but the bread or crackers are just as important. So, I have decided I’m going to find the best bread/cracker for a charcuterie board.
Knowing this was going to be quite the undertaking I decided to do it one cracker at a time and to really put each one through the gauntlet. I know it’s going to be a long and tough journey, but as a tastemaker and food reviewing icon, this is the cross I bear.
So I hopped on Amazon, searched ‘bread and crackers’ and sorted by price.
So the first crackers up are something called Alter Bread crackers. These ones just spoke to me, as if there was some sort of intervention. They were $10 for a very small box of them. My expectations were very high. Here they are:
I’ve never heard of the company Cavanagh, sounds Irish maybe, whatever, I’ve got a little Irish in me. So I unpacked them from the box and laid them out with the rest of my first charcuterie board. Please don’t pass judgement guys, it’s my first one.
Holy moly that’s a good looking charcuterie board! I went with a spicy sopresetta, a regular salami, Vermont cheddar, and pepper jack. A little bit of everything. I know, mostly spicy stuff, but I love the heat. The cracker was perforated with a lower case “t” right in the middle of it so you can adjust it to the size of your meat/cheese. I can’t imagine any other cracker or bread being that accommodating, but I don’t want to prematurely give this one the crown. Although I think it’s gonna be hard for anyone to nail it better than this one.
First, I had to try one without any meat or cheese. It’s gotta stand up to the test of being the only thing left on the board and still being eaten. I took a bite and the first thing I noticed were no crumbs! Is this the first crumb-less cracker?
Let’s see how it holds up with the meats and cheeses.
Here we have our Alter Bread cracker, some Vermont cheddar, salami, and a balsamic glaze. The cracker was soft and crispy, which in the cracker world is totally unheard of. It’s almost like it’s from out of this world. Almost like it’s not actually a cracker, but made of something entirely different. It played well with the meat, cheese, and the vinegar.
Next up I paired the Alter Bread cracker with my spicy sopresetta, some pepper jack cheese, and a little dollop of whole grain mustard. DELICIOUS! I gotta tell ya, these crackers are the real deal. Thou shalt have no other crackers.
I kept going, mixing and matching my meats and cheese with this delicious Alter Bread cracker with no combination left behind. And let me tell you, it’s so good it’ll make you drop down to your knees and give thanks.
With each combination, I felt my spirits lifting to levels I didn’t know were possible. Of all the food I’ve reviewed, this one is at the very top of them, garnering a 10.69 out of a possible 11. That’s some seriously high praise.
I have a friend who I’ve wanted to blog about for a long, long time. He’s the king of doing dumb things. If saying or doing the wrong thing at the wrong time was poetry, he would be William Shakespeare.
The DipShit is a die hard Eagles fan, and being a die hard Eagles fan means that you have to constantly second guess everything that the ownership of the team does. Case and point with this recent Carson Wentz trade.
So recently in a Facebook post he announced that he was going to apply for the position of GM of his beloved Eagles. Sure, most people would reply to that with a quick, “why the fuck do you think you’re qualified?”
And to that I’d respond with The DipShits long and storied work career. Actually, as far as I know he’s only had one job. Unless posting Third Eye Blind lyrics on his Instagram story and taking uneven pictures of sunsets are a job.
He works at a store that sells health things. Things that people take to make their lives better. So, you could say he de facto makes peoples lives better. Not his own though, as he doesn’t possess the fortitude to be able to swallow a vitamin or any other pill. Although I guess he could still take one if someone folded his pill up in a slice of cheese like we used to do for my dog Rockys heart medicine.
Anyway, I’m starting to see his point. He is probably qualified enough to manage a Philadelphia sports team.
Let’s go through some more of his positive qualities.
He is incredibly loyal. He loves and supports his quarterback no matter what.
Folks, that statement later turned out to not be true. But like I said, my man stands by his quarterback.
OK, well that didn’t feel so positive.
That didn’t feel all that positive either.
Alright, maybe he’s not such a positive guy, but he is extremely giving. Not only has he loaned two different of his now ex-girlfriends large sums of money, which is about as generous as it gets. One time he not only offered, but insisted on a group of girls that had no plans on sleeping with him, use his bar tab all night like an open bar. And don’t worry his generosity didn’t end there, after being reminded that a 10 percent tip was absolutely unacceptable he laid out a whopping perfect 20 percent tip. Down to the penny! Someone paid rent that week because of his generosity.
Folks, his generosity doesn’t stop there. He’s quite the handyman as well. If he spots something broken, he just fixes it. He was at my one friends house and noticed her light bulb was dead, so what did he do? He ripped the whole fixture off the ceiling to get to the problem. And he exposed some other issues. Like that the ceiling needed to be spackled now.
I wish I could include an after picture, but my man is so meticulous and so much of a perfectionist, it’s not done yet, four months later. Every month, for about an hour he shows up to work on it a little. Folks, Michelangelo’s Sixteenth Chapel took four years, so this should probably take at least as long. At least.
My guy is unique too. That’s a great quality in a leader. Like how Tom Brady avoids tomatoes and the cheeks of his son when he goes in for a kiss, my man avoids toilet seats. How many other people do you know that don’t use toilet seats either? Yea, same. So yea, he just sits right down on the bowl, like a savage with a real wide ass. Not that he’s fat, but his ass has gotta at least be a little extra wide to not be falling into his own shit water.
Speaking of Tom Brady, The DipShit is an athlete too. At the ripe age of 33 he decided he was gonna take up skateboarding. Listen, you’re never too old to shred. That fucking loser Tony Hawk can do it, so can The DipShit.
Here is how our friends found him after he got the speed wobbles going down a hill.
He’s just a little tired from going so fast. He was actually totally fine.
Totally fine, besides the broken ribs and the busted shoulder. But besides that, totally fine.
So let’s tally it all up:
I’m just saying, if I’m the Eagles, look no further than this guy right here, everyone’s favorite dipshit.