Chapter One: Know Your Enemy

Separating Fact and Fiction

What exactly is an "otaku"? What makes them different from any other person? Is it black magic? Alien forces perhaps? Government experiment? While cynics insist that anime fandom is simply a "divergent cultural splinter", all evidence points to one thing—a condition caused by what scientists are calling "autosystemic semi-psychological airborne disease” (ASSPAD). An ASSPAD is a virus that replicates itself by changing brain and body chemistry through longterm psychological trauma. Much research is being done to discover the minutia of the ASSPAD process, but at present, little is known about how or why it functions or even how it came into existence. Scientists at the Center for Disease Control and John Hopkins University have discovered that these "otaku", as they are colloquially known, are affected by a condition called “anime fever”, which is caused by the first ASSPAD discovered: nihongocaucus viridae.

Nihongocaucus virdiae and “Anime Fever”

Source

Double-blind tests replicated in several campuses across the country have found that viewing images found in the style of japanese animation send signals to the brain that changes brain chemistry (similar to what happens to trauma victims) creating highly irregular seratonin and dopamine production, causing not only obssessive-compulsive brain activity and eating disorders, but the formation of nihongocaucus viridae in the bloodstream, saliva, and sweat. When an uninfected is exposed to the (rather rancid) smell of nihongocaucus virus, it lowers the brains natural defenses against “anime fever” making it much more likely that they will succumb to the disease themselves.

Symptoms

The process of changing into an "otaku" (as I will refer to them) is outlined as follows. Note that this change may take longer or shorter depending on the individual.

(The Dabbler)1 hour exposure to anime:

Mild changes in seratonin levels causes mild changes in mood, ranging from confusion to giddiness.

(The Interested) 4 hour exposure to anime:

Seratonin levels gradually begin to drop, creating obsessive compulsive behavior and starting a vicious cycle of addiction

(The Anime Fan)10 hour exposure to anime:

Seratonin either plummets or skyrockets depending on the individual, creating eating disorders, rage at the world and at others, and severe anxiety. Even at this point, the chemistry of the blood, sweat, and saliva of the infected begins to change, preparing itself to create the nihongocaucus virus.

(The Anime Club Member)200 hour exposure to anime:

Mild psychosis begins to take hold of the individual, increased dopamine levels contribute to a growing belief in an "imaginary world" where pigs fly, and elves walk with humans hand in hand, and demons are handsome creatures, and all japanese women are big breasted and blonde. It is at this stage that the virus begins to exit the body in hopes of continued reproduction, primarily through the sweat glands of the infected. Body odor gradually grows more and more pungent. 

(Conventinius horribilus: “Anime Convention Goer”) 500 hour exposure to anime:

At this point, the infected is immune to their own rancid odor and growing dementia. Severe schizophrenia and hallucinations begin to grip the infected, usually manifesting in the desire to use japanese phrases such as "kimochi" and "yatta" in casual conversation. The infected seek to find other similar infected, in order to maximize the chance that the virus will spread to other uninfected. They create groups called “anime clubs” which must be avoided at all costs.

(The Otaku)1000+ hour exposure to anime:

Final stage of "anime fever", the Otaku. Seratonin levels are permanentally lowered or elevated, and permanent damage has been done to sensory portions of the brain. Individuals usually believe they truly have actually become their favorite character, lashing out with anger at any who try to say otherwise. By now the individual has lost all sense of self-worth, forgoing grooming, contact with friends and relatives, and proper eating habits in order to increase their continual glut of japanese animation. All hope for cure is lost at this point.

Part Two Coming Soon

-SV

I know none of us have posted in more than 6 months. It happens. Lack of motivation, lack of momentum, warlock battles, etc. I’m not here to make excuses. But look at it this way–we all need a death before rebirth/resurrection. It’s part of the hero’s journey. This could be a physical death and resurrection (Jesus, zombies, zombie Jesus, etc.) or it could be a moment of catharsis, psychological or emotional release which leads to a new outlook, a realization. With the pass of the new year, we are reminded of the end of things, but also the beginning. We are reminded how much time we wasted eating chicken nachos or fighting oyster poachers or watching "Heroes" (trust me, this is the biggest waste of time I can think of). We are reminded of our limited time on earth and we vow to change. To become better. To be resurrected…to become a credit to the human race. Thus the New Year’s Resolution was born.

The New Year’s failure was created a few weeks later. Around today actually. Maybe that is why I’m writing today. I vowed to blog more this year. This is my first post.

So why do we fail? Why do we make promises that we know we won’t keep? Is it a coping mechanism to keep us from throwing ourselves off some tower?

One reason is that we don’t make specific goals, making it that much easier to fail. Hitler didn’t say "conquer the world" for his New Years Resolution, he said "Invade Poland" (Fact: This is the first solution suggested to every problem in European politics).

Here is some examples of how you can create more specific resolutions:

Bad Resolution: "Lose Weight"

This is a big one (haha, fat) that people make, but rarely achieve. Losing weight requires some very specific changes in order to be effective. You need to create a plan, and follow it.

Better Resolution: "Lower my caloric intake to 200 calories under maintenance, daily" "Begin a 5 sets of 5 increasing difficulty weightlifting program, utilizing squats, deadlifts, overhead press, bench press and rows" or "Call the lap band office and set up an appointment"

These are what David Allen called "actionable" goals. They are clear, specific, and you are able to do something about them.

Bad Resolution: "Get a job"

Bad. First of all, how about specifying what type of job? Hairdresser, accountant, ninja warlord, gynecologist to the stars…be specific.

Better Resolution: "Send out applications to Cost Cutters, CPA firms, Hirohito-san, and Bevery Hills Ob/Gyn Clinic"

Now I have specific goals that I can easily accomplish. You can replace these goals with other, achievable micro goals as you achieve them.

Don’t get too crazy with your goals, now. Make them achievable.

Bad Resolution: "Write more"

What was I thinking? Write more could mean anything. Technically, I have achieved my goal. Good for the short term, bad in the big, grand scheme of things.

Better Resolution: "Write 3 posts a week"

And so I shall. Still not where I want to be with my blogging, but it’s a start.

Here’s to new beginnings!

-SV

Here we go:

1. These days, everything causes the cancer. Staring at Tom Selleck for too long can cause the cancer.  But fear not caffeinators, our lab-coated brethren have found that caffeinated-beverage drinkers are at a lesser risk of catching the cancer known as Glioma (it’s the kind that doodoos on your brain) than non-caffeine drinkers (aka boring people.) In the study conducted by some guy named Giovannucci and his friends, consumption of five or more cups of coffee or tea daily was associated with a decrease risk of Glioma. So, it’s kind of like a cure, right?

2. Having the choice of drinking coffee or energy drinks for your caffeine intake is like having a liquid mullet hairstyle. You can party like a rock star with a Rockstar or take it black for the grown-man/woman act.

3. When your heart starts jumping like a jitterbugging swinger after sipping on your morning sizzurp, that’s only because you’re realizing how much of a fool you are for paying $5 for a cup of joe at StarFu&ks. You’re not having heart murmurs… OR maybe you are, I don’t know. I’m not a doctor. But research does show that individuals drinking four or more cups of coffee a day have 18% less risk of hospitalization due to heart rhythm disturbances. [disclaimer: while it is unlikely that moderate caffeine intake increases arrhythmia risks, people around you don't really appreciate the reek of your 5 cups of coffee breath. I'm just sayin']

4. Guys, listen up! High caffeine consumption through coffee and/or tea does not affect sperm count. High soda/cola consumption, on the other hand, does. Read it here if you feel like throwing your Dr. Pepper at the monitor.

5. Soon we can all whiff it and whiff it good my friends! No more annoying barristas with their cool sleeve tattoos and emo hair to contend with in order to pass through the gates of caffeine heaven. Thanks to Harvard professor David Edwards, we can now add to our fake cigarette collection a non-spilling, pocket-warmed, no-whipped-cream-mustache-giving, and customizable (OMG, the pink one is totally awesome) caffeine inhaler. Aaah, the smell of kicking coffee beans in the morning!

* Shout out to Energyfiend.com for showing me the light.

Mr. Investor, there’s something wrong with BAYbe dayvees. What? Don’t worry about it, the olympics are over.

Oops! Someone forgot to boost.

(Reprise) Mr. Investor, there’s something wrong with BAYbe dayvees. Ok then,

Bay Excitement Ranking: 10
Bay Eye Movement Ranking: 4
Bay Wardrobe Ranking: 9
Bay Loneliness Ranking: 7
Bay Voice Ranking: 9
Total Bay Ranking: 8

You ranked him as a bay! YAY!

Shani Davis is a bay, with a natural energy boost. Put bay in, get athletic bay out.

I woke up hungry. Maybe it was the drinking binge I had the night before, or maybe it was the purging that followed. Regardless of why, I knew one thing. Lomo Saltado. I had to have it. That sautéed beef served with my two favorite starches: rice and French fries, covered with this savory meat juice which marinated the red onion and tomato that flavored the dish. It’s a dish that was made for me by some dirty wizard psychic years ago, who had divined my favorite foods from a bloodied chicken and spat out words then foreign to me: lomo saltado. It was the first dish that threw me into the delightfully diverse world of Peruvian cuisine. I picked up my phone and called Mario’s, who deliver. Turns out their delivery driver got carjacked by some crazy “Chinaman” as he so plainly put it. He had struck from behind with some blunt instrument, then got in the car and drove off. That’s too bad, I said. About what? The Chinaman, I reminded him. Oh, don’t worry we got a good look at him. Eyes rolled. Lemme guess, narrow eyes, black hair, toothy grin, kinda short, grabbing a math book? Yeah, how’d you know? He must have heard a dial tone. Let’s go to the non-racist place today. So I grabbed my backpack and headed off to Los Balcones, located a stone’s throw from the Hollywood area.

I figure, hey I’ll take the subway, it’ll be quicker. So I walk into Union Station and notice, hey, it smells a little less uriney today, it’s a good sign. They must be using a new cleaner. I wait for the train by a guy talking to his invisible dog. It must have been a bad dog because he kept yelling at him, telling him to fucking sit, or I’ll take you back to the fucking pound, you mutt. The 3 feet between us became 6 feet. Fuck where’s the train? I look at my watch which isn’t there. His name is Loki, the man was smiling a single digit grin. Oh, heh, Loki, Trickster God of Norse mythology, nice. Look at your watch, look at it! God where is the train. No, that’s Lo-ki. His name is Low-Key. Like a single 5K HMI on a scene. He’s very dramatic. Double take. What did you say? He was rambling again, saying something about Xenu and midichlorians. Train is here, finally.

I sat impatiently, dreaming of my lovely lomo saltado, my mouth salivating in anticipation. Pavlov’s dogs had a bell, I had the loud rustle and shaking of a subway car. The vagrant was in the car, thankfully on the other side, kicking the side of the car with his boots singing an offtune rendition of Manfred Mann. Doowah ditty ditty dummm ditty do…apparently his dog was singing too, he petted him. This guy is completely psychotic, I thought. I spotted where each exit was. Vrrrr…the brakes jolted the car, as it eased into my station. One step out of the car I realized that new cleaner wasn’t being used here. I ran up the steps, leaving crazy homeless guy to play Frisbee with his dog. I don’t think the dog ever brought back the Frisbee.

It was cold outside, but it didn’t matter, soon I would have good food in my stomach, and a smile on my face. Maybe the Arclight after..what was playing? Busted out the phone. Valentine’s Day? No, I wanted to keep the food in, thank you. I heard a twig snap. I turned around, fucking terrified out of my mind. Gunshots, sirens, girl screaming rape in the alley, that’s fucking normal. There are no trees in LA. A twig snapping is fucking out of place. No one there. But then…off in the distance…was that crazy homeless guy? Yes. Ah, better pick up the pace, I don’t want a confrontation. Just get the food, just get the food. I walked briskly, at the pace you would go when you need to take a shit but you don’t want anyone to know. He’s still following me isn’t he. Yep, he’s even closer now…though he did stop to fix his dog’s collar. Alright make a break for it. So I start jogging. I look back, and the crazy homeless guy is running, full on at me! I fucking take off like a mule coming out of a stable (I’m out of shape) and started hoofing it as fast as I can. I think he sent his invisible dog after me, he was shouting orders at it. Kill, Lowkey, Kill! The restaurant is so close! I can see it! BAM, Something knocks me down, I eat pavement. I scream for help! FIRE! FUCKING FIRE! I heard somewhere you call for fire when you need help, please be right. He started stomping me with his untied dirty white Nike Vandals. These are the things I notice when I’m getting assaulted. Stomp, my chest was getting crushed! I should have fucken wasted that homeless motherfucker when I had the chance, then I’d be stomping on his chest.

I ready my feet for some ball kicking action when I see my assailant: A short asian guy, black hair, holding a big fat fucking book in his hand. Are you kidding me dawg, seriously? A book? The stomping stops. I see my savior—crazy homeless guy! He’s fucking unleashing on this mother fucker, kicking the shit out of him. It’s wild  ‘cause he doesn’t even punch the fool, he just kicks like a motherfucking Rockette. The asian goes down and I get up and help the homeless guy stomp the fool. It’s Payback time, bitch! The crazy mofo was just stomping on the guy’s nuts like it was Christmas. After the Asian guy stopped moving (maybe 5 minutes later), we take a breather. I thank crazy homeless guy profusely. He stole my dog’s bone, I had to get it back. Right, still psychotic, but a hero nonetheless. I look up and the homeless guy is stomping the asian again. This dude’s got issues, man. A big fat fire engine pulls up, and I explain the situation to some very confused firemen, who call in the proper authorities. Apparently the assailant, a Kwot-san Ming, was responsible for a series of muggings in the area recently, they had been looking for him for weeks.

He was still unconscious as they drove him away in the squad car, leaving just me, crazy homeless guy, and Low-Key sitting on the sidewalk. I thank the guy once again, but he seems preoccupied with his dog. For some reason I remember a film I had seen recently and mutter “…Have you ever heard the expression Let sleeping dogs lie? Sometimes your better not knowing..” Ah, one of my favorite movies.

Jack Nicholson. The homeless guy muttered. Excuse me? I replied. That was Jack Nicholson. We had to do that take eighteen times because of his damn method. I was perplexed. Did you work on Chinatown? I asked. Yes indeed, I worked as assistant gaffer on that film, working that damn 5k all fucking day. Oh well, that’s where I found low-key here. We’ve never parted since. I smiled. You want to get some Peruvian food?

It was the best lomo saltado I’ve ever had.

But really though… this time around it was actually fun watching the Olympics, because I got to yell at the screen on behalf of the skiers… Whoever was saying they weren’t looking too good should ski uphill for two hours themselves.

Now if they can only quit jumping events and show one at a time instead of 50 within 5 minutes.

Around 10:30 p.m., I ended up going a mile and half down the street to my friend’s apartment.  The drive there was fine, just a little slush on the road.  I get there and we basically just watch some tv and listen to some vintage old hip-hop (you know before the genre turned to complete shit).  I also forgot to mention, I downed about 3 full glasses of a mix of 1/2 Absolut Vodka and 1/2 Cranberry juice.  Around 12:30  a.m., I am slightly tired and definitely tipsy so I decide it’s time to go home.  I notice the parking lot of the complex is completely iced over and it’s thick.  I get in the car and make it towards the exit, one slight problem though: THE EXIT IS ON A HILL AND IT’S A COMPLETE SKATING RINK.  I try for 5 minutes to make it up the hill and out the complex, but to no avail. I decide then to just park the car and try again in the morning. Only thing is that I parked it on the other side of the apartment complex about 3 turns from the gate.

I get out of the car and then realize I’m slightly drunk and definitely lost and can’t find my friends apartment.  I tried to walk through the woods and take a shortcut but noticed at one point I’d have to jump about 10 feet down to the next part of the complex.  HELL NAW (as they say here in A T EL).  I start walking back through the parking lot, call my friend to tell him I cant find his place, and in the middle of the call —–SLAM.  I bust my ass and fall on my side.  I am literally gasping for air as the epic fall crushed the right side of my ribs.  My friend is completely laughing hysterically on the phone as he realizes I just busted my ass.

Ten minutes later, I arrive back at his apartment and try to lie down.  Little did I know that the fall mixed up the liquor in my system. I started to get the spins.  YAK…..I throw up FOUR times in the toilet and am effed up.  Eventually, I fall asleep.  When I wake up around 9am, I realize I need to get home. Eff this.  I hear CAR AFTER CAR screeching tires in failure trying to leave the parking lot skating rink.  I think back to myself, SHIT I HOPE I CAN FIND MY CAR.  It takes 20 minutes to find the car, but then I realize something else stupid.  I PARKED ON THE BOTTOM OF A HILL.  They cleared the exit hill of the ice and snow but the hill I parked on was way more icey and way steeper.  Another guy and I try for FOURTY FIVE minutes to get our cars up the hill but just spin tires over and over and over.  Eventually some people come out to salt the hill but of cois that shit doesn’t work at all.  Eventually, I back the car to the very bottom of the hill where the sun had melted a good amount of the ice.  I get a good start like I was Doc in Back to the future and BAH DAH finally I make my exit!

What the Hill kinda looked like....

Last night was one of the dumbest nights of my life.  I should have just listened to myself and stayed in and played xbox.  This post surely will make me sound like I was 19 years old again…Oh Well.

Verse I: The Homegrown

It’s a mild October night, I’m starving. It’s around half past eight. I’ve just been let out from a Master Gardener class and our lesson over the past month or so had been ‘how to cultivate your own homegrown.’  Friday is our show-n-tell night. The majority of the class chose to grow for medicinal and spiritual purposes (many growers are part of the Kapnobatai clan). It’s no surprise here in Southern California where it is the number one cash crop. In fact, this class wouldn’t be around if it wasn’t for Mary Jane. Although I fully support the federal legalization of qannabos, food is my only drug, and I chose to cultivate watercress. Why? Well that MF grows fast as fuck and is mad nutritious, and while cannabinoids do add one helluva kick to brownies, they don’t really add to the flavor. Watercress got mad flavor. Also, the ancient Greeks believed that “Eating cress makes one witty” and I’ve been fairly dry and dull ever since I moved to Southern California. Self-deprecation? Self-deprecation.

So back to the class, my show-n-tell went as I expected. Only the fat soccer moms admired my fleshy, shiny, heart-shaped leaves. All the unkempt kids in the class didn’t have shit for growth on their psychoactive bullshit plants. Not even a THC bud yet. I was the winner and Shakesperean cultivation champion, but I was hungry.

I left the class and made haste in my black M3. Mazda3 that is. My stomach was thinking outside the bun and laced in MSG. Vietnamese (or Vietnese as some of the Caucasian folks say) sounded about right.

My Idea of What the Aysya Fridge Looks Like

There’s this Viet/French/Thai spot down the block from me that I haven’t been to ever since I saw the Ratatouille rat enter it by escaping from the KFC across the street. It’s called Aysya and this night is Bikini night. How delightful. Just what I need after a night of hanging out with characterless Swedish housewives and frat boys talking about plants. So I arrive at Aysya and its popping. The music is bumping loud enough to make a gang of guidos start their fist pumps to bang the beat. There were mad herds of white boys ogling the scenery, tipping big and satisfying their yellow fever for the night. Mad Vietnamese MFs hanging out at the bar fully furnished in Armani Exchange suits financed by their parents. For the most part,  it is a sausage fest and the only girls there are the ones wearing about 4 inches of fabric hiding only the body parts, which if revealed would require a bouncer at the door. I take a seat right by the dance floor.

Verse II: The Order

One of the half-nekkid legal hookers asks if I want a drink. I tell her I’m going all out tonight and want a glass of milk. She smiles at me awkwardly and thinks I’m trying to be cute. She must have thought I was giving her a line she’s heard a million times, given that her pale mammaries are pasted directly in my line of sight. I tell her, “Nah, I’m being serious.” And through the music that is now banging loudly, I say, “milk please.”

Aysya Waitress Résumé Photo

The stereo speaker is directly to the left of me and my table is starting to thump every time the bass kicks in. The legal harlot comes back with my drink and asks if I’m ready to order. With my watercress garden class trophy for Best Growth glimmering in my mind, I tell her I want a Banh Mi swich with watercress in it.

“Can you guys hook me up with it something special? I have an itch for it.”

She says, “For real? How many do you want?”

“Enough for two so you can join me (my lame attempt at flirting).”

“Alright meet me at the bar when I call you over.”

The EPIC FAIL flirt attempt turn out to be an be EPIC NGUYEN! I’m surprised the girl could hear me clearly with all the fucking guido music playing. Basking in my glory of being watercress champion of the evening and using it to pick up girls, I decide to sit back in my chair and enjoy my glass of “bovinic rum” and keep my eye on the bar. Within a few minutes, the legal tramp calls me over and there’s a plate with a Banh Mi sandwich sitting on it.

” Where’s the second one?” I ask her.

“Check under the plate,” she says. I look under the plate and see a baggy with 2 pills chillin’ inside. She looks at me as if I’m suppose to do something. “What is that?” I ask her. She says it’s mitsu. “Huh?”

“Mitsubishi x,” she responds.

It takes me about 10 seconds of a stupid dazed look at the baggy to realize what’s going on. I leave a green paper photo of Lincoln for the milk and am Audi 5000, leaving the (now) illegal Jezebel and her drugs back at the bar. I never get around to asking why she offered me the drugs, my guess is I said some kind of keyword: ‘watercress’ maybe?

Verse III: The Sandwich Millionaire

My Recollection of Slumdog Millionaire.

So it was a fun night despite the drug deal that I almost got involved in. I’m still hungry as fuck, so I head back home. Fuck man what can I make? All I got is this half grown watercress and whatever’s in the fridge. What’s in the fridge and how can I make a recipe out of it all? Let’s do this shit Slumdog Millionaire style. Question: What’s da illest sandwich you can put together using watercress?

*WARP BACK IN TIME TO THE YEAR 1987*

Context: I’m sitting in front of a fly I recently disected with a Silverhawks toy.

Me: Tio Loulou, your mustard sandwiches are great can you make me one.
Tio Loulou: Ok, Mr. cool.

*WARP BACK TO PRESENT*.

A couple of key scenes happen with me trying to find something complementing the mustard while a cop punches me, and I fall into a pile of shit.

*WARP BACK IN TIME TO THE YEAR 1997*

Context: Walking around the ghettos of Paris, France with a McDonald’s meal in my hand.

French Ghetto Kid: So which part of New York you from? Brookyln, Bronx?
Me: Bronx. You guys seriously eat mayonnaise with your McDonald’s fries?
French Ghetto Kid: Yes my American friend, we put crushed garlic in it.
Me: This shit tastes dope.
French Ghetto Kid: Yes, very fly.

*WARP BACK TO PRESENT*

Sandwich ingredients still a bit too dry for my tastes. So, I look for another wet item to throw in there and this rich fat guy named Javed tries to eat my sandwich and ends up spitting it out.

*WARP BACK IN TIME TO THE YEAR 2004*

Context: At an Italian-American household with Italian-American friend who just announced he was marrying an African-American woman to his Italian-American mega-conservative grandparents (don’t ask me why I wrote this memory with so much political correctness).

Italian-American Friend: Na, Pa, yea so this is my girl we’re gonna get married her name’s Lakeisha.
Grandparents stare at each other uncomfortably.
Me: Mr. Vanzetti this pasta sauce is incredible, what’d you put in it?
Mr. Vanzetti: Nothing just tomati e olio. ‘Tony you’re out of your mind. Is she even Catholic?

*WARP BACK TO PRESENT*

Hmm, need a protein. Egg? Nah. What else we got? I try to eat my sandwich at a train station but my childhood friend and his thugs stomachblock me.

*WARP BACK IN TIME TO YESTERDAY*

Context: I open refrigerator. My gilfriend is sewing next to me.

Me: What the fuck kinda bread is this? Has mad mold.
IndoSage: It’s not mold it’s flax seed and onion. It’s Flax-seed Onion Bread.
Me: What’s your beef with wheat?
IndoSage: Shutup, eff outta here.
Me: Da fuck is this!
IndoSage: Oil browned turkey.
Me: Why you gotta buy everything brown? You mad racist.

*WARP BACK TO PRESENT*

I spread the mayo and mustard on the toasted onion bread with the the turkey placed on the bread first. Outside, my childhood friend shoots himself in a tub of money, gangsta styles.

*WARP BACK IN TIME TO THE YEAR 1990*

Context: Sitting at my aunt’s coffee table eating a ham and cheese sandwich.

Me: This cheese is EWWWWWW.
Aunt: Et teeeeeh ["and ummm" to the English speaking world] it’s not called ewww, it’s… como se dice….. et teeeeeehhh.
Aunt #2: It’s called Heidi Ann…
Aunt: Heidi Ann Swiss Cheese. I’m on a diet.
Me: I like the monster cheese not this one.
Aunt: It’s called…. et tehhhhhh, muenster cheese not monster. When you get to be my age you’ll understand good cheese is not based on its name.

*WARP BACK TO PRESENT*

I throw the swiss cheese on the turkey, add the tomatoes and close it off with the FRESH watercress that I grew over the past few weeks. I end up with THE phat sandwich that I should’ve made at home in the first place. Every bite of it is an ode to my bitter, sweet, delicious memories.

Verse IV: The Recipe

1 handfull of fresh watercress
2 slices of flax-laced onion bread lightly toasted
2 slices Heidi Ann swiss cheese
1/4 thinly sliced romano tomato drizzled in olive oil
2 slices oil-browned turkey breast
5 pickle slices
pepper to taste
mayonnaise with roasted crushed garlic
yellow mustard

No Mitsubishi X required.

Verse V: The Pics to Prove

Verse VI: The Resolution

Watercress sandwich is a Nguyen for me. Mitsubishi X is FAIL for girl and vietnamese restaurant. My girlfriend ends up kicking me out for flirting with bikini waitress. I hope some of those Swedish mom’s from my class are single cuz I can tell they already like to eat.

Bay Talk Ranking: 7
Bay Eye Movement Ranking: 10
Bay Wardrobe Ranking: 8
Loneliness Ranking: 7
Bay Voice Ranking: 9
Total Bay Ranking: 8

Chad Ochocinco has McDonald’s. Mark Sanchez has Burger King. Brett Favre has In-N-Out. Catch the trend? If you didn’t, the trick is to look at what race each of those players is then match that race to the restaurant. Now that you understand the clientele that In-N-Out caters to, what to say about their burgers? I have a rule when it comes to the size of the meat in my burger: If you can fit the burger patty into a DVD case, it’s not a burger, it’s a DVD. And that’s what In-n-out burgers are. You end up having to order a double double DVD or 3x3 DVD just to taste the meat in your burger. The only two items you can order other than a DVD are shredded paper (what they call fries) and tri-color printer ink (chocolate/strawberry/vanilla). The secret menu is a joke. Just make it the normal menu. Stop trying to be cool. Especially with the little Jesus quotes hidden on all your sub-par office products. They don’t do it for me in terms of life and spiritual guidance. I prefer Ezekiel 23:20 or Proverbs 1:26. Those are dope verses. Your restaurant on the other hand is not that dope. A burger that isn’t a DVD.

Lee’s Sandwiches

If Brett Favre has In-n-out then Scott Fujita or Heins Ward’s lighter half has Lee’s Sandwiches. Ever wanted to roll a dull razor blade inside your mouth? Well I have by attempting to shove one of these MFs into mine. I seriously think Lee’s Press-on nails had a failed line of razors that they refined and made into their baguettes. It’s not so much the strings of skin that are left dangling on the roof of my mouth that piss me off, but more so the fact that I just dropped $4 for a cilantro sandwich. Stop trying to act like you’re still dope Lee. Your Banh Mi is weak. The only thing dope about you Lee is that you’re owned by the viet cong and are thus hated by all the southern Vietnamese that live out here. Other than that, you’re not that dope. Make your own Banh Mi and save the roof of your mouth

Roscoe’s Chicken n’ Waffles

Eggo Buttermilk Waffles Pack of 10 $3.50. KFC’s Extra Crispy Chicken 12 pieces ~$12 . Roscoe’s ‘Scoe’s’ 2 pieces 2 waffles $10.20. (Thought I was going to pull a master card ad joke?) The KFC+Eggo can feed 5 @ $3/person. The Roscoe’s alternative can feed 5 @ $10/person. We’re talking fried chicken and waffles, not King Fish Salmon (which I’ve happily paid $35/person for in the past). Dependent on the breed of rats running around a particular KFC, you will sometimes have the rat from Ratatouille in the KFC serving up the chicken FRESHNESS. If rat infested KFC doesn’t do it for you and you prefer Kosher or Halal, then Jewish-owned Popeye’s and formerly Muslim owned Church’s Chicken, respectively, are far superior in terms of taste and flavor than Roscoes. You’re only dope cuz Snoop eats at your spot Roscoe. On other occasions I can watch an entire restaurant get held up while waiting in your parking lot on any given weekend night. For all other reasons, you’re not that dope.

Frosted Cupcakery

If you recall South Park’s Prius episode, a storm of smug created by George Clooney’s Oscar speech strikes South Park. All of San Francisco and South Park are destroyed. In reality a storm of callow has hit southern California in the last three years. At least those MFs in south park got a warning. We had no effin meteorologist warning us. And there are plenty of hot plastic 304 meteorologists out there that could’ve done it too. Are you people serious? Cupcakes? CUPCAKES? The in-class birthday celebration birthday cake? Are you serious? This whole cupcake fad has got to go. What the eff is a velvet cupcake where the hell did it come from? Anyway there’s a crapcuke place out in Long Beach that charges dolts (usually of the Brett Favre persuasion) $3 a pop. I recently walked by it and noticed it had closed down. While I smiled cheerfully at the empty glass window, I moved towards the door and noticed a BIG ASS sign saying ‘we’ve moved!’ To my disillusionment they moved to a bigger, more trafficky spot. Meaning their cash flow is solid and will continue to grow. EFF! The storm of callow has not left. It has left socal in a state of attrition. I’m hoping to create a storm of ‘not that dope’ with this post that will hit the southern California area and make the dolts of socal realize that corny ass places like crapcukery are not that dope. Make your own 20 cupcakes for $6: Mix Frosting Liner

Frozen Yogurt Places, specifically Pinkberry

I’ll let the video speak for itself. It’ll be 45 degrees out and you’ll still see a grip of Asian cliques chillin’ hard out in front of these places. Asian cliques + frozen yogurt + Big Gay Al jingle song in video = not that dope. With exception to overpriced, mediocre Cold Stone, ice cream still shining ($4 @ Albertson’s).

Honorable Mention: Kogi Taco

I’ve never eaten here, but yes people actually throw Korean food into a tortilla and make a profit. Think about what you’re doing. You’re throwing quality tasting food into an inexpensive food container. Any seasoned eater would laugh at this. Any one in the mood for Lox on a hot dog bun? How about a fillet mignon between two rice cakes sandwich? Yeah didn’t think so, that sounds not that dope doesn’t it? Go to Korean all you can BBQ instead $14 and you can bring your own bag of tortillas (less than a $1) if the rice doesn’t do it for you. And the nicest part of it is you don’t have to deal with a 1 hour wait time in a sea of asian cliques twittering about where they’re at.