I don’t think the food here is supposed to be good. I think it was all an accident.
I think the stuff is just meant to fill yer gut, soak up the booze.
Which can, sometimes, be quite tasty.
As in this case. These ghetto, indicernible little grease monkeys were mighty fine.
My Jalapeno Margarita was also quite welcoming. I did enjoy the chunks of fresh jalapenos at the bottom. So did my esophagus when I coughed them back up.
I attended an Oscar party last night, I was force fed an Oscar voting ballot for the pool going on and immediately refused. Choosing who I think will win irritates me to no end. I’m always wrong, especially in the pointless categories of Best Foreign Short Animated Documentary Featuring Flatulence.
The Oscars, like all awards shows, are gluttonous. To reward someone for doing their job is one thing, but to do it 200 times a year, is beyond ridiculous.
These people aren’t curing cancer or stopping world hunger. They’re acting! And to hear them being described by their colleagues using such flowery speach makes ones stomach turn.
The Oscars are just a glamorous opportunity to kiss enough to ass to ensure everyone some acting work in the near future.
While I wasn’t drinking, we did create a drinking game where anytime an actor utters: “Amazing”, “Genius” or a combo of both. “Working with a genius like Miley Cyrus was an amazing thrill ride”, you would take a swig.
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