Can’t get enough of this.
Can’t get enough of this.
Open Letter by Jay-Z.
In this non-weekly, one time series I will answer pressing questions from the vast American public. Here is my first question.
Q: Why are people in middle America so fat?
A: Because when everyone set out from the East Coast, the fatties got tired half way through. The others wanted to go further. But, hands on their knees and breaths not quite yet caught, the heffers waved them off.
“You guys… (breath… breath…) Go on without us. We will stay here. We’re super tired.
Other American explorer - “But what will you call this place?”
Fat person - “I dunno, (more tired) I oweeeee uhhhh”.
Other American explorer - “Did you say Iowa?”
Fat person - “Yea. Sure. Just go. When will you stop?”
Future Californian - “We’re gonna walk until we literally can’t walk anymore.”
Henceforth fat people shall remain in middle America and leave California for the wandering hippies.
Tune in next week where this won’t be a thing.
Diss Song by Tyga.
This kid kills it.
So much cool in here.
I farted on every single one of my employees. All 37 of them.
So, I just need to tell the world because I am so happy that I have finally accomplished something that has been 3 months in the making.
I farted on every single one of my 37 employees.
The initial fart began on January 21st, 2008 while I was expediting at my somewhat famous restaurant in the meatpacking district.
Lets just say, I am a chef, I dont know if I would call myself world famous, but I am definitely known in and around NYC.
I have had several specials on foodnetwork.
You probably know me if you like food and eating in manhattan.
That said, lets get back to the first fart, the maiden fart, the perfect fart.
It was hot as hell in the kitchen that night, sometimes I like to turn off the air conditioning to give my staff a bit of a stir, it makes their blood flow, their tempers flash, but for some reason, their discomfort turns out better quality food.
So with all the air off, there is no air flow in our downstairs kitchen, and its small and cramped and really really fucking hot, even in january.
We have our plates in the warmer under our pass, so i was helping my hot apps guy plate a new fungi misti when it happened.
He had the pan in his right hand, and we both reached to bend over to get the hot plate, i got there first, so he inhaled the entire hot air load that i let roar out of my pants.
It was bold, loud, and completely unapologetic.
I was louder though, laughing so fucking hard at his coughing and gagging that i almost lost the granddaddy, the origin of the fart, the poop.
This actually did happen on fart employee #19, but we will get back to that.
So with this began my mission.
I had to fart on everyone that works for me, and write it all in a log book so that I can keep track.
Some people I couldn’t just directly fart on, like my accountant, shes a sweet girl, and I think she might feel that I have accosted her or something, department of labor could be called, etc.., so much care has to be taken with these types of cases.
1. The only rules I had were this: I had to fart on everyone, I mean including my bread guy, my pasta guy, all our dishwashers, my sous chef, etc…
2. They had to either hear, smell or be somehow aware that I have farted on them. This is where it gets tricky.
3. I have to do it in order of name, alphabetically, and I cant skip people and come back.
4. At least 80% had to make a comment or some type of revolting behavior afterward, and if they didnt, I had to do them again and again, the same person, until they finally surrendered to the demon that is my fart.
This was easy with the line cooks and basic kitchen staff, as they are used to this kind of shit, the front of the house however, are like a bunch of fucking statues scared to move.
My farts on them where secretly my most favorite, because I think it took them out of whatever musical they thought they were living in, and made them alive, made them smell, made them want to throw up for a valid reason.
I think all farts should have a color assigned to them, because you know when that one fart comes out and lingers in the air and wont leave, I mean its obvious that is a green fart. Everyone should know this by now, its even documented in cartoons.
A red fart is a spicy one, probably incurred by some type of spicy ethnic food with a great amount of chilis and onions.
A yellow fart, well these are worse on the farter, than they are on the fartee.
These are sick farts, the ones that are on the verge of being sharts. Just imagine the fart that comes after downing like gallon of vodka, eating like 5 gyros on st. marks, then bagging a hooker named natasha, who acts like she is from russia, but you know just know she fucking grew up in Hackensack.
This is never good, especially in the kitchen, so if I think I have a yellow in tow, I clamp my hole shut and run to the nearest bathroom to unleash the fury.
Unless, of course I am at home, then what the hell, I let it rip and see what happens. New underwear are only like 5 feet away, so lets see what happens, life is a journey.
I think I will post the story of every single persons very own and original fart on here every night for 37 nights. Some are really good ones, some are just farts, but I will let you be the judge.
And maybe by the end some of you will know who i am, and if you ever do figure it out, come to my restaurant and tell the bartender this: “Mr. Bojangles and his two sidewinders sent me”, he will give you a free drink, and a laugh.
I’m as white and Jewy as it gets. I’m always worried about getting sick, if I don’t get enough sleep I’m wicked cranky, and I’m generally scared of large groups of minorities.
Yet, I still listen to rap. Hardcore rap. Because it makes me feel way doper than I am. I turn that shit up in my white ass Audi, roll down the windows and bump like Trump… until a black dude pulls next to me, then I put on Kenny Chesney at a reasonable volume and roll up the windows.
Cause I want to be a baller, I want to spend $30k in a strip club, I wanna drink syzrrup (and can probably get a prescription faster than Lil Wayne). Rap music, temporarily, makes me feel like the man. And I dig that.
But something different occurred to me recently while stuntin’ (I don’t know what that means). Some of these rappers are singing about drinking and driving. That… I don’t get. Don’t they understand that kids LITERALLY do everything they say? Weed? Fine. Drinking? Fine in moderation. But for someone like Cudi or Wiz to blatantly endorse something as flagrantly dangerous as drinking and driving seems absolutely crazy to me.
As desperately as I wanna be the dopest of dope, I can’t wrap my head around this level of negligence. It seems so easy… don’t rap about THAT, just THAT. I don’t see any of them rapping about shooting up schools or raping women, why the drunk driving thing? Strip clubs, Molly, weed, bank accounts, all that shit… bring it on, I LOVE it.
On the real, (I’ve never said that out loud) Rappers, I love you and appreciate what you do for my tenuous self esteem, but I can’t get behind you endorsing drinking and driving. I can’t see what’s cool about it.
Keep rapping about all the shit that me, as captain whitey, will never experience. I CAN, however, drink and drive, that’d be way too easy. Be more aspirational. For example, I find it admirable that Wiz can smoke an eighth a day and view it as FAR less dangerous than getting behind the wheel while inebriated.
Just my 2 cents. Or rather, my MILLION BANDS A MAKE HER DANCE.
State Of Mind by French Montana.