Tag Archives: humor

Apr 02 2012
40 Comments
Humorous, Modern Life

How to Tell Your Partner About the Black Hole You Just Created

a photo I just took in my laboratory

Telling your partner you accidentally set the earth on an irreversible path to destruction is not a comfortable subject. However, if you care for them, then you understand that he or she deserves to know they have roughly three minutes before being swallowed up into an abyss of infinitely dense spacetime.

The ideal way to address the subject is in a romantic environment, while walking on the beach at sunset, gazing into each others’ eyes after a fancy meal, or watching the lights twinkle on in one of the world’s great cities.

Unfortunately, it’s unlikely you’ll be in any of those situations. In reality, you’re lucky if your loved one is even close enough to your laboratory so you can run up and tell them the news in person.

But, if you have the good fortune to be addressing them in person, the first thing you should do is look deeply into their eyes and reaffirm how much you care about them. At the same time, remember the black hole is expanding as you speak. Be brief.

Once you make your feelings clear, lead into the subject gently by saying, “You know that secret particle accelerator I’ve been working on? Well, it turns out that just seconds ago I created a very small black hole. It’s not dangerous now, but–this is the scary part–in three minutes it’s going to engulf the entire earth and swallow all of us into oblivion. There’s a way to reverse it, but the internet’s being weird so I can’t look it up. I’m telling you this because I really care about you. On the bright side, we won’t have to get the transmission fixed. Let’s just spend these last few minutes together.”

Keep in mind that the most difficult part of telling them will not be the black hole itself, but the fact this hole will suck up the entire earth and end both of your lives. Also, make sure they know this is not a joke.

They may or may not have a chance to respond, but if they do, it will likely be garbled nonsense because of the mental shock. They may laugh, say I love you back, or feel a vague sense of gratitude and admiration that you had the guts to tell them in the first place.

You should be grateful for their confusion, because it will allow you to spend your last moments together in relative peace, regardless of what your relational status was beforehand. It will be like the time your puppy was adorable and sleepy after she got spayed. The most important part is that you enjoy your last few moments together.

Should you have to send a text message instead of telling them in person, use the bad news sandwich method, putting the unpleasant revelation of the black hole between two happy bits of news. Here’s an example: I love you and I’m so sorry but I just created a black hole in my laboratory and the earth is going to be destroyed. :(. No need to worry about making dinner tonight. Love you always.

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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 29 2012
25 Comments
Fiction, Miracles of British Cookery, Two minute read

How to Make a Scotch Egg

A quest for the best.

You cannot mine for truth in a quarry of lies. Likewise, you cannot search for an authentic Scotch egg recipe on Google. Even articles from reputable sources like the BBC and Allrecipes.com are wormy with deceit, indicating that mere boiling, wrapping, and frying exercises are all you need to make a Scotch egg. Do not be fooled.

A real Scotch egg can only be found through questing, and the journey is not for the faint of heart.  A long time ago, on a night like this, my babysitter told me how to seek the egg.

Should you think yourself brave, you must set out for the darkest part of the forest with nothing but a case of cheap beer, the collector’s set of American Pie movies, and a small pouch full of Sacajawea dollars, the most unpopular coin in America’s history.

In the forest, you will find a bare breasted bro* living in a tree trunk. Midway through his M.B.A. program, this bro partied a little too hard one Thursday night and lost a series of bets that led to his eternal banishment. He owns one baseball cap and lost his t-shirt months ago after trying to wash it in the creek. All he can do for entertainment is bulk up and watch sports on his iPhone. Be kind to him.

The journeyer must present the American Pie movies and beer as an offering. After accepting the gift, the bro will immediately want to have a drinking contest, but you must resist no matter how goofy he is or how much fun he promises getting hammered in the forest will be. One must retain all their wits for the next part of the journey. Politely refuse, promising him you can do it another night. Should you prove successful in your offering and bro-conversation, you will be granted the location of the magical farm. Don’t let him follow you.

Night falls as you approach the farmhouse, which appears to be abandoned.  You knock on the door and hear no answer….you try the handle….it’s unlocked. With silence in the pit of your stomach, you enter the house and find, illuminated by soft yellow light, a gleaming basket of Scotch eggs on the counter. Be careful. Do not act foolishly in your egg lust.

Look behind you!

It’s the Scotch Egg Monster protecting its litter! Throw a handful of Sacajawea dollars at the beast, grab the basket of eggs and RUN. Do not stop. Run past the bro in the tree and throw an egg at him. He needs the protein. Keep running until you are home in bed.

Catch your breath.

Devour the litter.

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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 27 2012
21 Comments
Anecdotes, Egypt, Three minute read

A Lunchtime Revolution

You know you’re in Egypt when you’re surrounded by Russians in Hurghada and see this walking in front of you on the beach.

Based on a true story that happened last weekend.

We’re on vacation and it’s lunch time.

We’ve all had a hard morning. After sleeping in and enjoying a leisurely breakfast, some students ventured to the beach, where they were subjected to a blazing sun and gorgeous views of the red sea. Unfortunately, their fragile psyches were scarred by the unreasonably high ratio of body mass to swimsuit size, and they saw more Russian butt cheeks than anyone should have to see in a lifetime. They need nourishment.

Others of us suffered equally in the lobby, where we were tortured with 90s pop music, cigarette smoke, and slow wireless internet.  Our applications did not load quickly, and people we did not want to see came and sat next to us. We are exhausted from the effort of maintaining simple sanity in the face of such hardship. We need refreshment.

It’s 1:24. According to the itinerary, lunch is in six minutes. We seat ourselves at a dining table, preparing to renew our souls. Silverware is fidgeted with, glasses filled with water. We are ready.

But something’s wrong. The staff is still setting out the food. The buffet is yet incomplete, and only the salad bar looks prepared. This does not bode well.

A few minutes pass. It is now 1:30. The staff gives us no signal. Do we sit like dumb beasts? Do we help ourselves to salad? Do we drink water and laugh as if everything were fine even though our stomachs cry out for salvation?

Unable to wait any longer, I decide to go for the salad bar. Just as I’m about to grab a tong-ful of cucumber slices, the staff member in charge of fruit arrangement stops me and says firmly “You wait five minutes. Please,” and points to my seat with disdain. This was not a request. I turn away, starving and indignant.

“Excuse me?” I think to myself,  “Are we not on vacation? Is this not an all inclusive resort? Can we not act as we please? Is the salad bar not sitting in front of me, waiting to be devoured? Are there not hungry students behind me, waiting to eat? What kind of a cruel topsy turvy upside downy hell is this?”

I sit down. The time is 1:35. Angry mutterings rise from the table, “What did he say?” “Why can’t we eat the salad?” “I’m so hungry.” “What does it matter to him? They’re not even doing anything to it.” “grumble grumble complain grumble.”

And so we sit, staring at each other, grousing from every end, the buffet a mere 10 feet to the right.

Finally I could take it no more. What was this madness? It is lunchtime, the time in which we eat the lunch.

“Colleagues,” I said. “My peers, friends, brothers, sisters, acquaintances,  enemies, and Steve, will you stand for this, that we should be deprived of eating lunch at the appointed hour? Will you submit to the arbitrary tyranny of the hotel staff? Will you cower and recoil in fear from a single man? No, dear friends. This is our lunch time, and lunch we shall, a great lunch, one that shall go down in history as the greatest resort lunch ever taken. Brothers, sisters, Steve, let us lunch!”

And with that I rose and went to the salad bar. A great cheer erupted and the others followed. Lunch we did, and I learned that the taste of victory is only as good as the food at the hotel.

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