Hipster Pac

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I was going to write this week about my new mustache- Sir Georg El Mustachio but breaking news has just come through that I now need to write about. 

The owners of Pabst Blue Ribbon beer (PBR), in conjunction with someone else, have purchased Hostess, more importantly Twinkies!  This is the answer to all my hipster prayers, a virtual, green deep V-tee, t-rex, gravity filtered, Necco wafer, Hell’s Kitchen, Baby Jesus wet-dream come true.  In all the excitement, I almost forgot about my list of all-encompassing demands for just such an event. So, let’s just pull my ready-made list out of my pocket-watch pocket and fill this thing out.

Demand 1: PBR and Twinkies need to be next to each other in my local food co-op!

Demand 2: No advertisement should be televised for PBR or I will stop buying it!

Demand 3: The fond childhood memories I have of Twinkies, will not be destroyed with new and improved packaging or taste, or I will stop buying it!

Demand 4: That I be recognized as the first person to put PBR and Twinkies together, creating a complete vegan meal.

Demand 5: Demand 4 is never to be brought up in casual conservation with me. Demand 4 will only be talked about on social media.       

Demand 6: I want PBR and Twinkies to be included in the same earth friendly recycled packaging (together).

Demand 7: Demand 6 will be referred to as the “Pac”.

There you go, that’s my demand list.  I’m going to sit here for a spell as I drink my free trade chai latte with a double drop of organic, locally sourced, almond milk and ruminate on how my Urban Outfitters jeans need to be returned.

Herr Falco      

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Photo Bomb goes Boom!

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The other day my Boy Toy came over for a visit. Just before our shared nap time, my man’s mom decided to take a photo of him. I took this opportunity to Photo Bomb him. As I knew I would, I dropped the perfect bomb.  So, you can feed your crack-like desires for cute animals and funny quips, I have made a few memes for you. Enjoy and recognize, people.

Make your own meme!

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Pop Goes The Cherry

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So I experienced my first car accident this week.  Not really the first time I’ve been in one, just the first one where I was driving.  It was a slow-moving collision between my 4,000 lb car and the cable barrier that divides the highway median via Winter’s ice.  Which reminds me…Hey, Michigan.  I love you but we’re gonna have to get together for a come-to-jesus about this ridiculous winter.  I realize that snow & ice are your thing, but I’m over it.  It’s not me, it’s you.  What are you looking at, Falco?  Ice is ice.  I don’t care if you think ice racing, this weekend, will help my driving skills.  Sometimes the laws of physics trump your skills.  Boom!  I just scienced you!  Well, I don’t know which law?  What, like you want a number or something?  All of them.  Whatever.  Leave me alone; I’m telling a story.

I digress.  Where was I?  Oh, yeah.  My accident.  No worries, amigos.  Tita B wasn’t hurt & no other cars were involved.  I posted a pic of the damage on FB, cuz that’s where you go when life happens and you want the world to show you sympathy.  Or Twitter.  Or your own snarky blog.  First world problems.  So, I call my big sis to tell her that I was all right.  Her genuine concern for me was touching, but she said the most wrong thing she could possibly say to me.  “You should go to ER.  You might have whiplash.”  Now, those of you who know me, know that I can sometimes get a little crazed with potential life-threatening hazards.  I wouldn’t go so far as to call it hypochondria.  Let me enlighten you to a little know fact.  Germs (just like evil) are very real and they’re EVERYWHERE.  If you’re not careful, they will find you and start an infestation!  You may see a scratch, but that’s an abscess in suspension.  You may think that monkey is cute, but that’s how outbreaks of disease and poo-throwing begin.  Yes, that small, little, eyelid twitch could really be a mild stroke or some kind of palsy.  I certainly don’t need to hear that I should go to the ER, today, for something that may or not present itself in a few days.  That was the outward-facing Tita B.  But, inside… the seeds were planted.

Hey, gang, it’s Herr Falco, taking over this post.  Tita B does not have whiplash… nor a concussion.  But I was made to be on Death Watch, while she took a nap.  DEATH WATCH!

Get outta here, dude!  This is my story!  You knew what this was all about before the wedding.  Deal.  Anyway, I’m fine now.  Thanks for your kind tweets, friends.

Tita B vs. Ice – ice wins

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And now, for your religious colonic…

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Bend over and spread ’em!  It’s that time of year, Lentenites.  The post-Mardi Gras, gluttony-recovery zone, where some are forced to sacrifice a bit of earthly happiness in exchange for not being eternally damned.  Most of you, however, have already sent in mortgage payments on a brimstone condo.  So, I think your forty-day cleanse of soda, chocolate, porn, drugs, or what-have-you, will do little to off-set your doomsday destiny.  Also, you’ll still have meth-mouth at the end of Lent.  So, there’s that to look forward to.  Gross.  Not being raised Catholic, I only observed Lent from a snarky distance.  But in recent years, I have come to embrace this time of year.  Not the ashen forehead and going to Mass part.  But just using this time to adjust some personal behaviors. Call it an experiment to see if I could go without something for 40 days.  Oh, not life-essential things like rice or meat; that shit cray-cray. (Although Friday fish fries are hard to resist.)  This year, I’m going to give up openly judging annoying people.  I will only judge them at my house… or in the car, during my long commute… or in the comfort of my own mind.

In the meantime, here’s some food for thought:  The Pope is giving up his JOB!

TitaB, out.

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Age is just a number

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So I was talking to my sister over the holidays.  And our conversation went a little like this.

Her:  We finally got our Christmas tree up.

Me:  Oh, good.  Ours went up Thanksgiving weekend.

Her:  What theme is yours?

Me:  Mmm, Christmas themed…

Her:  Oh, we have a Harry Potter tree.

Me:  With a cloak and glasses?

Her:  No, it’s Gryffindor colors.

Me:  Why?

Her:  Because we’re a Gryffindor house.

Me:  But why Hogwarts at all?

Her:  We love Harry Potter.

Me:  Um, yeah.  That sounds about right.

Her:  I think your House is Slytherin.

Me:  What?!  I don’t wanna be Slytherin.  Isn’t that the bad one?  Why would you think I’m Slytherin?

Her:  They’re not all bad.  They’re just very cunning and smart and will figure out ways to be sly.

Me:  And you think that’s me?

Her:  That could be you.  You’re very tricky.  You were always the instigator, growing up.  You could also be Ravenclaw, because you’re very smart.

Me:  Well, thanks for that.  But I want to be Gryffindor.

Her:  You can’t be Gryffindor.

Me:  Why not?

Her:  Because Gryffindors are brave.

Me:  I can be brave!

Her:  You have too many irrational fears.

Me:  I don’t think my fears are that irrational.  Those things are very real!

Her:  Really?  Let’s run through that list.

Me:  No, we don’t need to run through the list.

Her:  Birds, clowns, monkeys, dolls…

Me:  Dolls are creepy, clowns are evil and I had a bad experience with a bird!  And monkeys throw poo AND can rip your face off!

Her:  …muppets…

Me:  No, I like muppets.  It’s puppets, like what ventriloquists use or marionettes.

Her:  Whatever.  What else?

Me:  Hippos.

Her:  Hippos!  Why the hippos?

Me:  Because they pull people out of boats, as they float down the river and drown them!  Also, they kill their young the same way.  That’s real; I watched a documentary.  I can’t get on board with an animal like that.

Her:  You’re ridiculous.

Kids, I think the take home message, here, is that the Hogwarts House categorization can be very inaccurate.  Don’t let it define you!  Also, stupid conversations and meaningless arguments, with your siblings, play on for the rest of your life.  Here’s to your future!

TitaB

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Contributing Writers

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To everything there is a season… er, something less 60’s folksong-y.  The point is, it’s a revolving door of snarkiness.  Sometimes, other people have stuff to bitch about too.  And for some reason, they want to do it here.  So, here they are:

Fraulein Furiouso

Sassy Sassmouth

Mr. G. Duder Snark

Madame Bodichek

Highbeam

Evil Wife

D-Rock

Just Bill

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Happy Birthday

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Every year like clockwork I take another step closer to wearing diapers and eating baby food again.  My body knows this and never misses its yearly reminder about how old I actually am. 

This morning was no exception.  During what I like to call the “This Shit better be good hour”, I rolled over onto what I thought was a stray pillow or a garden gnome and instantly woke up.  While trying to figure out what just happened, a cold, dead, floppy hand fell on my face.  This was the moment that panic set in, as I realized in my groggy-ness that a zombie was attacking me!  Holding my breath (scream), I opened my eyes to see that the zombie hand was attached to me.  Mentally bitch slapping myself like a pimp does his hoes, I cleared my head for this next thought.

“I have no feeling in my hand or arm, I have lost all circulation to my arm, because of my fat torso, for so long that they are going to have to amputate my arm!”

While having this thought, I tried with all my will to move the fingers in my cold, claw hand, still resting on my chest.  Not being able to move a single finger, I instantly freaked out again, only reaffirming my thoughts about having an arm amputation and my previous zombie attack.  This is when I decided to take matters into my own hand, well, my other working hand, anyways.   Grabbing my “Claw Hand”, I slowly flexed life back into my zombie arm.  Within a few minutes, I was back to giving the world and zombies the finger. 

This is how I woke up on my birthday, Thanks, Body! Happy Birthday to me…

Herr Falco

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All Bow Down

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We are proud to announce a new addition to our contributing staff.  Everyone please welcome Stella Queen Dog.  She is all about building her brand and having others maintain her lifestyle. 

Stella’s response to this.

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Melt Your God Damn Cheese the “Reply”

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If you read my last post, you know that I sent my demands off to my favorite Fast Food restaurants.  I thought that no one would reply.  After all, I did tend to come off as a mad hatter in my rant.  I guess, in this world of PC-ism and the fear that anything could become an issue; it should be no surprise that I did get a response, however formulaic it may be.  My issue still stands, Burger King, are you or are you not going to MELT YOUR GOD DAMN CHEESE? 

Burger King, I will still let you make my sandwich, but the price for my grand design has gone up! 

Word is still out from a certain Mc Donalds.

Below is my response from the KING.              

Dear Mr. Herr Falco ,

Thank you for taking the time to contact BURGER KING® restaurants with

your product suggestion.

BURGER KING® restaurants receive many ideas and suggestions from persons

outside our organization. However, we spend a great deal of time, money

and effort towards the development and implementation of new services,

products, techniques and equipment, which we have used or may use in the

future. In view of this, it is not surprising that many of the suggestions

made to us from outside our company are already known or available to us

through the efforts of our staff.

While we appreciate your interest in presenting an idea or suggestion to

us, it is BURGER KING® restaurants policy not to accept or review any

unsolicited idea or suggestion. We do this in order to avoid any possible

confusion or misunderstanding regarding the ownership of an idea or

submission.

We value your business and look forward to serving you again soon.

Kind Regards,

BURGER KING® restaurants Guest Relations

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Melt your God Damn CHEESE!

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I feel I can consider myself lucky, during my life, the Fast Food industry has only let me down a handful of times. 

For some of you, my problems are “First World” & have stopped reading by now.  For the rest of you, I know you understand me and my 99 problems so, read on while I change an industry.

My very first let down was the “Wendy’s Incident.”  This happened when I was very young and I’m still not ready to blog about it. The short of this story is; I have not eaten in a Wendy’s since I was 8yrs old and probably never will again.

The next crushing blow hit me when Mc Donald’s removed the #2 combo meal (2 cheese burgers, fries & a drink) from their menu.  I had been ordering this combo meal since I was old enough to make my voice heard.  I know that they have brought back this combo and it’s the #4 meal now but WHATEVER!

Then, Burger King changed their fries to make them more appealing and healthy.  I think that is all I need to say about this.

Shortly after that, Hollywood got all uppity about Fast Food and ruined it for the rest of the world.  This caused Mc Donald’s to get rid of the Super Size meal option and add salads to their menu.  For as long as I live, I will never let this offense to me from Morgan Spurlock go!  By the way, fast food, good job at buckling to the peer pressure of a bunch of morally corrupt celebs and anti-industry lobbyist (bullies).  Neither you nor they have the right to tell me how big my butt can be!

Finally, in a cost and time cutting move, no one in the fast food industry is taking the 15 seconds to melt the God Damn cheese on my burger anymore!  I am sick and tired of getting my #4 with no mustard, no onions, extra-extra pickles and having the burger be cold from the cold buns, the cold pickles, the cold ketchup and the Cold Cheese! All I’m asking for here is 15sec.  You used to give me those seconds with a pimply smile and enough fries to have some left over to feed the sea gulls with. Fast Food, I don’t eat you because you’re fast or cheap, I eat you because I love you.  I can go to Denny’s or Steak and Shake and get a $5 burger meal with melted cheese now, but I don’t.  However, if things don’t change for the better with your burgers, fast food, I may grow to love those other burger providers and only occasionally eat fast food for the nostalgia of it.  I know I’m not alone here so, if you want to fix this situation between us, you can do 1 of 2 things.

1:  Take those 15sec. and melt my God Damn cheese.

Or

2: You can sell the breakfast sandwich I am about to describe to you. You don’t need to name it after me, just give me one-a-day for the rest of my life as a “Thank You” for giving you a blockbuster menu option.

Take your current breakfast sandwich offering and… replace the English muffin, bagel croissant, pancake or biscuit with two hash brown patties of similar shape and size.  Then, depending on the meat in the sandwich add Ketchup and pickles. 

You are Welcome!

Herr Falco

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