Category Archives: Humorous

Mar 31 2012
40 Comments
Humorous, Lists, Miracles of British Cookery, Two minute read

5 Everyday Items You Can Replace with Scotch Eggs

Enough talking about them. I need to eat one.

Today, we complete the Scotch egg trilogy, part of the Miracles of British Cookery series. (parts 1 and 2 here)

For years, the Scotch egg has been used primarily as a foodstuff and a mediocre bludgeoning device. However, it is documented by science that you can also improve your pathetic life by using the Scotch egg in place of these five everyday items.

1. Easter Eggs: As the Holy day grows nearer, children are already dreaming of annihilating the chocolate bunnies hidden in their grassy Easter baskets. In order to spice up the Holy Easter Egg Hunt, fry up a couple dozen Scotch eggs and use them as an environmentally friendly option to the plastic ones. It will be an event the entire neighborhood is sure to remember. As a bonus, you will probably not be asked to organize it again.

2. Cookie Bouquets: For the same price as a three cookie bouquet delivered in a pail and gone within a day, you can make over 30 Scotch eggs. Stick them on wooden skewers and arrange them in buckets. Imagine your loved ones’ surprise when they behold the stark physical beauty of their favorite treat on a stick.

3. Faberge eggs: Instead of flaunting your wealth with a tacky symbol of capitalist wealth, consider putting a Scotch egg on display in your china case. As opposed to a Faberge egg, a well placed Scotch egg highlights the practicality, good taste, and thrift of a home instead of the wasteful excess that disgusts most visitors.

4. Meals: Scotch eggs are a natural powerfood, with each one containing roughly 500 calories. By replacing two meals a day with one Scotch egg (per meal), and eating a head of cabbage for the third you could could lose up to five pounds a week, depending on everything else. Note: this diet is not for those concerned about scurvy or other diseases caused by malnutrition.

5. School Mascots: More than a symbol reminding us of the Brits’ hardened arteries, the humble Scotch egg is also a symbol of bravery and persistence. Some unknown genius sat in a darkened room with her two favorite foods–a hardboiled egg in one hand and a sausage in the other–and knew there had to be a way to unite them. Despite being told it couldn’t be done, she achieved the impossible. Competitors and friends alike will fear the Fighting Scotch Eggs for their tenacity and tendency to achieve miracles. At halftime of every game, the school chefs can roll out a barrel of Scotch eggs onto the playing field.* Scrambling for the treats will ensue, as well as laughter, mirth, joy, and complete happiness.

*This idea originated from someone else’s mind vineyard. You know who you are.

P.S. A link to a real recipe for Scotch eggs.

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Mar 28 2012
54 Comments
Humorous, Miracles of British Cookery, Two minute read

Miracles of English Cooking: Part One

The ultimate picture of romanticism.

This is the inaugural post of a possibly endless series on the achievements of British cookery. But before I begin, a few disclaimers: Though I have not, in recent memory, called Africa or Europe a country, I have been guilty of other geographical oopsies. Feel free to correct me should I–God forbid–make a mistake. I, in turn, will feel free to ignore the correction and openly mock the person who made it. I also apologize in advance to any British food lovers that I might offend throughout this series. If it makes you feel any better, please check back for an upcoming series on the Miracles of Midwestern Cooking. Or see the site: http://thisiswhyyourefat.tumblr.com/

English cuisine is known the world round for being only slightly better than its Irish cousin, which is based on one stolid pillar of a salted potato. Indeed, it was only through rampant imperialism that the British ever got to taste actual food. One could even say that India saved British taste buds from becoming obsolete.

Nowadays, London is sprinkled with some of the finest food in the world and consequently, British food is no longer a guaranteed letdown. Indeed, some say it even competes with the cookery of Midwestern America, where cream of mushroom soup is the housewife’s cure-all. However, it still behooves us to examine some of the more bizarre and unpleasantly named dishes, such as the Scotch egg, black pudding, and Marmite.

Today we learn of the Scotch egg. According to “uklaine” on allrecipes.com, Scotch eggs are “Hard boiled eggs wrapped with a seasoned sausage meat. A meal that goes over great at a party or with a salad for a light dinner.” What she fails to mention in this description is that the egg, cozy in its meat blanket, is also rolled in bread crumbs and then deep fried, making its inclusion in anything called a “light meal” more than dubious. It is certain, however, that the Scotch egg is delicious. How can the words hard boiled, egg, sausage, meat, and fry not describe a dish worthy of the royal tongue (another British delicacy).

According to an article on BBC food, the Scotch egg also makes a special picnic treat. I recommend that the next time you want to wow your lass or laddie, take 8 scotch eggs, 2 Lipitor tablets, and a jug of Kool-Aid to the nearest field. Prepare yourself for overwhelming romanticism as you both fall into a food coma while your body attempts to cope with the deluge of cholesterol and fat. It may be the closest you get to having a communal, spiritual nap.

Stay tuned tomorrow for instructions on how to make Scotch eggs and woo a lover.

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Mar 26 2012
43 Comments
Fiction, Humorous, Modern Life, Social Media, Two minute read

YouCave: An Unsocial Media Website

Leave. Me. Alone. -YouCave

Do you struggle with finding enough alone time? Do you secretly resent your friends for all those hours you wasted hanging out with them playing Settlers of Catan?

Have you ever fled to a beach resort, excited for uninterrupted internet usage in the lobby? Were you then dismayed to find your friends’ intrusion continued through the devilish devices of social media? Are you frustrated with how your computer has been transformed from a haven of solitude into a communal nightmare, where even your self-diagnosis for back pain at WebMD can be shared?

Your FaceFriends have the potential to know everything you’re doing online, and soon full disclosure will become mandatory, forced upon us by advertisers and facebook overlords. We will be too busy sharing our favorite brand of toothpaste to realize our white shirts have turned to yellow from body oil because we have sat in our own filth for months. This is the future we face.

Welcome to YouCave, an unsocial media website. Think of YouCave as the ultimate form of online solitude, the antidote to social media.  No YouCave profile can ever be connected. The friend requests that are made will be responded to with an automatic “Leave. Me. Alone.” accompanied by a picture of this cat. This response is simultaneously tweeted, facebooked, instagramed, and foursquared to all of the unfortunate user’s applications to keep them from making the same mistake again. They will learn to love the quiet.

You can post whatever you want to your YouCave wall, e.g. Yahoo News Articles, kitty pictures, memes, etc. because no one will ever see it, not even you. After posting something to your wall, it automatically begins sinking into the depths of the YouCave Lake. Through the use of expensive animation, you can even watch as your newly posted information slowly descends into the inky blackness, disappearing forever.

Each user is only allowed to upload one picture. All other uploaded pictures will instantly sink into the depth. This picture will sit in the middle of the screen, surrounded by dark colors and a texture that connotes a cave like environment. In addition, all YouCavers have the choice of turning on sound effects, such as the cavern water drip and an occasional furtive scurry. After being welcomed into the cave environment, most of our users simply stare at the screen, breathing in the solitude like a sweet elixir. At least, this is what I do. I have no idea about anyone else because YouCavers do not share information.

If you’re tired of your life becoming one giant show for the comment and criticism of others, join YouCave and get back the life you deserve, one of complete isolation and darkness. Enjoy.

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Mar 22 2012
27 Comments
Humorous, One minute read

How to Be Funny With Words

I have a friend. He is real and his name is Joe. He is a novelist who co-runs a website called The Write Practice. One day I was in the bathtub playing with rubber ducky and suddenly I was like “DAMN! I need to write a guest post for this blog and tell everyone how to be funny with their words.”

I put on a towel and was teleported at that instant into his living room, scaring him, his wife, and his dog as I demanded he let me guest post on his blog. There was no knife in my hands. He acquiesced.

Later that night, I, the humorist, drank alone and wrote a post with my own blood mingled with the four humors of three cats. It was a Friday.

Weeks pass, and we arrive at today. While millions of showers are being taken, my guest post “How to be Funny with Words” will bloop onto the screen of The Write Practice, startling thousands and making hundreds more cringe as they pick their noses.

Please go to The Write Practice, and for God’s sakes, write something funny for once in your life. Do it! WRITE ABOUT THE SPOOOOOOOOOONS!

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Mar 20 2012
53 Comments
Fiction, Humorous, Stories

Prophecies in the Bathroom

Speak and we listen, oh wise oracle

My roommate’s loofah is an oracle.

As it sits unassumingly on the bathtub’s rim in all its rough, spongy banality, it communicates with the gods and is our mediator, though I do not presume to call it our friend.

Its strange shape– the mysterious internal chambers, the bizarre woven texture, the evenly regulated rippling of its exterior—is designed to absorb the gods’ will and disperse it throughout the bathroom as if in a fine prophetical mist. How many times have I been in the bathroom when I am visited by intense revelations: insights into my future after I return from Egypt, novel birthday gift ideas, meals I should eat later on in the day, the appropriate length to which I should cut my bangs?

Before I knew the truth, I thought these moments of brilliance were the result of my own cognitions. Now I know they came from the sponge.

The oracle is ancient. Before this apartment building, before the city of Cairo had even been conceived of in thought or deed, the oracle quietly existed. In the time of the ancient Greeks, sandaled men and women would journey on foot for days with baskets and pots on their heads just to seek the oracle’s presence, and if they were lucky, its prophecies. It was revered by all, though they feared to worship it because of the gods’ anger.

The oracle itself did not want their worship; it wanted quiet. It longed to cease answering the absurd petitions of man and meld its consciousness completely with that of the gods. Daily and nightly it was pulled out of its reverie to a brash existence, greedy humans grubbing after what was not theirs to know. Who could ever truly understand the will of the gods?

The Greeks came and went, as did countless other civilizations, the piles of rubble growing and shrinking with the ages, until Cairo came, and the sponge was once again lifted up, into our bathroom, onto the bathtub’s rim where it now sits enigmatically, an endless stream of communication flowing between it and heaven.

I now realize I misspoke. The loofah could not belong to my roommate any more than the Rocky Mountains could belong to the United States. These kinds of things are not simply owned. Indeed, because the loofah oracle did not belong to me, I assumed it was my roommate’s and she likely assumes the same.

This is the wisdom of the oracle. It quietly leads us down paths of assumption, all the while safeguarding its own peace. It does not even pay the price of having to scrub elbows and backs and instead gently perfumes the air with knowledge, leading us to greater insights.

And today is the last day it gets a free ride. As far as I’m concerned, things are about to get exfoliated up in here. Just wait until the weather gets warm enough for everyday sandal wearing—I don’t care much for prophecies but I do need something to sand down the horns that grow on my feet. Thanks oracle!

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