Tag Archives: food

Jan 06 2012
6 Comments
Fake advertisements, Fiction, Humorous, Two minute read

Shame Eat With Ease!

Hi! Thank you for purchasing 8 oz. of Lynette’s “Seriously Chocolate” Homemade Fudge: Shame Eating Edition.

Through market research, we have determined that it’s highly likely you’ve considered not sharing this purchase with anyone. Right after you bought this butter and sugar brick, you may have been thinking about how much your spouse, kids, co-workers, or roommates would enjoy savoring its creamy texture and delicious chocolate taste. Then you started thinking about how much you would enjoy these same things, and how much longer you could enjoy it if you didn’t share. Hey, we’re with you there! We also think it would be lovely to sit and gobble this diabetes trap furtively like a woodland creature, discarding it before anyone you know sees you.

Just when you thought Lynette’s fudge couldn’t get any better, we’ve made it easier for you to shame eat and dispose of the evidence quickly and simply. For that reason, we’ve included a little plastic spoon right here in the container at no extra charge! By using a spoon to shame eat fudge, you can still retain some dignity and avoid a big post-fudge mess. Lynette’s recommended shame eating method is to drive to the nearest parking lot, make sure you’re mostly alone, and inhale the fudge-y goodness as soon as you park the car. If the weather is appropriate, Lynette likes to go to a different part of town and shame eat her fudge in a park while enjoying nature. We’re sure you’ll love it  too!

Currently we are developing a car-friendly way to devour fudge embarrassingly fast that doesn’t involve grubbing it with your hands and risking a stain on your work clothes or getting fudge fingers. If you’re interested in being put on our newsletter list, we can keep you updated on all the tricks we have up our sleeve to help keep you eating behind the backs of your loved ones. Just email us at eat@shame.org and we’ll put your name on our list.

Here at Lynette’s, we have always believed that you deserve complete privacy as you put away the treats you deserve. Thank you supporting our mission and happy shame eating!

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Jan 04 2012
2 Comments
Fiction, Humorous, Stories, Three minute read

Gummy Dreams: Lisa’s True Story

just because they’re all gummy bears doesn’t mean they all look the same

What if a gummy bear was one of us, just a regular teenage mom trying to make ends meet? What if she had come from abroken gummy home, where dad ran off with a peach ring, and mom committed suicide by going hot tubbing?

What if the kids in elementary school called her dummy bear, gumtard, and sweet cheeks? What if every night of 1st through 5th grade she wept weird gummy tears before dreaming gummy dreams of a sweeter world? What if no one sat by her in middle school because of her pineapple b.o.?

What if she tried to go through a goth phase during freshman year of high school but had no facial features to coat with black makeup? What if no one asked her to the prom senior year because they didn’t want to be the one dancing with a gigantic 6 foot candy bear? What if her first love and father of her gummy cub said he wouldn’t marry her because he had fallen for a Sour Patch Kid?

What if, after she dropped out of high school, she was reduced to selling her body and being rented out for parties as a freak spectacle? “Mommy, mommy! Come look at the huge gummy bear!” The kids would say. Her name was Lisa.

One New Year’s Day, 3 years after dropping out of high school and after working a particularly grotesque New Year’s Eve party, Lisa decided she’d had enough of this life. She quit her job and got her GRE, passing the test with the highest score of the year. She made headlines that week: “Gummy Bear Mauls Test.” “Why couldn’t they use my name?” she sighed.

But the news caught on. Soon she was a local celebrity, attending mini league championships and appearing in car dealership ads. She started a blog called “Faceless” and it didn’t take long before she became a national celebrity after a youtube video of her in zumba class went viral.

Soon movie deals and invitations from talk shows were flooding in. She was already writing a book and starring in a wildly popular reality television series featuring her and her son called “I Want Candy.” Notoriety began to consume every second of her life. She grew weary from the fame.

She yearned for the days she would lumber home from school and spend hours reading and thinking about the absurdity of life. There was no time to think about anything anymore.

A few years after she had quit her rental job, she woke up another New Year’s Day. The night before was hazy and mostly forgotten, a collage of bright lights, glitter, and plastic. She gazed into the mirror and realized what she’d become: a true monster. That very moment she decided to leave it all, the celebrity, the cocaine, the lacquered friends.

She took her son and fled to a small but tolerant city in upstate New York, where people had heard of her but were too interested in living wholesomely to pay much attention.

Within a month she was signing the lease to a space where she was going to build her dream, a dance studio called “Bounce!” where women of all sizes were welcome. As she opened her front door after driving back from the real estate agent’s office, she exhaled deeply.

“I’m home,” she whispered, “Lisa’s home.”

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Nov 27 2011
5 Comments
Fiction, Two minute read

Will It Stick: Thanksgiving Edition

As I sat at my friend’s apartment deeply pondering the political turmoil in Egypt and my miraculous completion of a homework assignment, I found myself struggling to come up with a blog post idea. Despite the fact that we are living in unusual times and Christmas is coming, I pulled blank after blank. Finally I began considering what kind of foods, after being thrown, would stick to a wall. As I delved further into this topic, I realized what an intellectual treat it would be  to analyze the traditional foods of Thanksgiving through this lens of viscosity and velocity.

Allow me to present the results of my brief investigation:

For purposes of simplicity, I have divided the foods into the categories of stickers, non-stickers, conditional stickers, and sliders. A sticker being, of course, something that would remain on the wall for a period of no less than 10 minutes after being thrown. Conditional stickers are things that would stick depending on the circumstances, and sliders are things that would ooze down the wall slowly before puddling into goo at its base. I’ve commented on the particular nature of some dishes, while leaving the rest to personal interpretation.

Stickers:

Mashed Potatoes (those with a fairly firm consistency)

Sweet Potato Casserole

Jello Salad: this fine traditional midwestern dish that provides a preview of dessert at the dinner table would most certainly grace a wall for a few minutes after being flung upon it

Pumpkin pie: a little too gooey sometimes for my taste, this viscous dessert would most certainly join its mashed brethren in decorating the wall.

Non-Stickers:

Rolls

Turkey legs

Leafy green salad: though one or two leaves that are particularly soaked with dressing might stick, odds are most of it would just bounce right off. You  shouldn’t have too much dressing on the salad anyways. If it sticks, you might want to consider laying off the blue cheese dressing

Apple Crostata with Cinammon-Almond Topping: not only will this not stick, but you’ve probably annoyed most people at the potluck by insisting that your crostata is not an apple pie.

Conditional Stickers:

Slices of turkey, depending on size and whether or not someone ruined the turkey by over cooking it

Stuffing/dressing, depending on if it’s inedibly dry, disgustingly mushy, or toothsomely perfect

Pecan Pie, depending on the velocity with which it was thrown

Sliders:

Gravy

Green Bean Casserole: no doubt some of this would remain plastered to the wall, but a good amount would probably slither all the way down

Cranberry Sauce

There is certainly more to be said, but I will leave some fun for Christmas, where many of the same dishes will once again be over-eaten and then lobbed against the walls.

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Nov 25 2011
2 Comments
Humorous, Open Letters, Two minute read

A Very Ex-Pat Thanksgiving

What have you DONE?!

Dear attendees of last night’s Thanksgiving celebration,

You ought to be ashamed of yourselves. Never have I seen such a despicable sight on this green earth. Normal Arabic students and friends were transformed into beasts of insatiable greed in front of my very eyes. The mutilated carcasses of the helpless birds alone speak for the gluttony that transpired last night, not to mention the photographic evidence of post-poultry dance moves that were ill-advised if not downright dangerous.

First of all, have you any idea of the ridiculous amounts of food that each and every one of you consumed? Not only that, but many of you had the audacity to complain about being too full even while shoveling more chunks of pecan pie down your gullets. Shame on you. Do you think I felt anything even close to pity when I saw you later on the couch with your tongue lolling out of your mouth and your eyes glazed over? Of course not.

Second of all, for all of those who cooked or baked or sautéed or peeled or mashed or otherwise did anything to help prepare the feast that was later set upon by the guests as a plague of locusts to the harvest, what business did you have in creating anything so delicious? Don’t you know that the human heart is weak, and that by making mouthwatering, delectable dishes, you were setting a trap for the already revolution-enfeebled souls present at the party? Had there only been sleeves of saltine crackers and unfiltered water, I have no doubt we would have witnessed similar hedonism, since these Thanksgiving-ers had all the self-control of a starving herd of goats.

And do I even need to mention the general spirit of gratitude that pervaded the atmosphere with a ripe odor not unlike rotting fruit? The sickly sweetness of good feelings and camaraderie were downright inappropriate, especially since many of us there were hoping to continue focusing on the negative aspects of the political, economic, and social situations in America, Europe, the Middle East as a whole. People kept saying they were thankful for things even when it was abundantly clear that there is no hope and everything is going to hell in a hand basket.

Last but certainly not least, I would just like to say that the generosity of the hostesses was completely inappropriate. Had I seen a herd of Arabophiles like these heading for my doorstep, I would have bolted the doors and called the cops as well as reported them to Homeland Security before lighting the fire under my cauldron of oil and getting ready to heave ho. The willingness with which you opened up your home and allowed it to be destroyed in a craze of excess clearly points to some kind of mental illness, for which I hope you will be treated very soon.

I hope to never see anything so disturbing again, and I’m thankful for the fact that Thanksgiving is only once a year.

Your disgusted colleague,

Emily

P.S. But really the party was great. The food and the company were both a sheer pleasure to enjoy.

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Nov 18 2011
5 Comments
Anecdotes, Travelling, Two minute read

Desert Madness: S’more Edition

Illicit s’more innovation

Desert madness manifests itself in many ways. Some bury themselves neck deep in the sand and drool. Others lose the ability to internally narrate. In our cozy group of four, however, desert madness took the form of wild and, at times irresponsible innovation in the s’more field, urged on in particular by one go-getter we’ll call Stew.

Stew is an active young man of about 22, and though I had only met him briefly before our trip, by the end of it I knew two important things about Stew: he’s hungry, and he never settles for second best. Whereas I always leap at the chance to settle, Stew refuses to even look at the second tier of life.

This is a man that used to drink multi-thousand calorie protein shakes before bed in high school in order to put on weight. Wait! Can you hear that? It’s the gooey sound of millions of dieting men and women exploding from rage. Eighty percent of his conversation revolved around things he had once eaten, liked to eat, or was planning on eating very soon. While listening to his culinary fantasies, one was also drawn into his passion and shown an eatable world of which only geniuses and madmen could conceive.

Since we are real, red-blooded Americans, each night we would crack open a couple bags of marshmallows, Hershey’s chocolate, and graham crackers and get our s’more on. The first night passed quite lamely, featuring the usual discussion about how we like to roast our mallows: charred or golden brown and melted all the way through, etc. And just when I had accepted this level of normality, Stew remembered there was an unopened jar of peanut butter sitting on the sand. He hatched a plan, and then the magic began.

The next three nights were a kaleidoscope of different, almost unimaginable combinations of peanut butter, chocolate, marshmallow, twinkies, jam, and both roasted and unroasted banana.

Stew would be silent, and then burst out with a statement like, “What if wrapped this twinkie in foil with chocolate and peanut butter and then roasted it? You know what? Yes! I’m going to do it. Yes.” Never have I seen such a go-getter. There was no delay between the formation of his food wishes and their realization. In one night he ate nigh on 10 twinkies, all prepared different ways. It was a wonder and a blessing to behold. Were I a business person, I would hire Stew for any job that I had, especially if it involved him walking around without his shirt on or grabbing pushups on the go, two things he also excelled at

I once even heard him utter the words: “I’m going to impregnate this marshmallow with chocolate and then roast it.” This is the kind of literary and functional innovation that has made America great. Thank you, Stew. You make me proud to be an American.

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