Highly Important Royal Wedding Update: Prince Hot Ginge And Meghan Markle Have Chosen Their Cake Flavor!
Every wedding invitation should provide guests with all the important details, like the date, the time, the address, and more importantly, what kind of cake are they going to serve at the reception. Nowadays all these Pinterest brides and grooms think it’s cute to ditch cake and serve lavender bread pudding in a mason jar. It’s not cute. It’s wrong. If you ain’t going to have cake, you ain’t going to see me. I am not going to suffocate in the too-small ASOS suit I wear to every wedding in order to not eat cake (I’m talking to your hateful ass, Natalie Portman.) So I appreciate that Kensington Palace delivered an important royal wedding update on the only thing that matters: THE CAKE!
Adele’s album 25 Trillion Sold And Counting missed the Grammys nomination eligibility cut-off for 2015, so next year will be its year. Expect the 2017 Grammys to be one long Adele appreciation ceremony where Adele will host, produce, sing in every performance, win every category and the In Memoriam section will be filled with everybody who released an album in 2016 since her sales killed them all. Last night, Adele gave a little preview of next year’s Grammys by performing “All I Ask” and it was an off-key and technical mess.
We’ve all been there. We’ve all ended up in a booth at KFC after our bastard live-in piece dumped us. We’ve all tried to drown our feelings with chicken wings, french fries and that gross tub of lawnmower barf they try to pass as coleslaw. We’ve all woken up in a puddle of our drool and biscuit crumbs on a KFC table and have watched the sun set 7 times as our salty tears fall into a Styrofoam tub full of mashed potatoes. We’ve all kept the bathroom door shut with one foot as we wash the 3-day stank out of our chonies in the sink. It has happened to all of us and it happened to 26-year-old Tan Shen of Chengdu in China.
Guy Fieri, America’s culinary master who looks like a wart hog that was violently attacked by an albino porcupine, opened up one of his gourmet wonderland emporiums in Las Vegas, which is pretty smart, because after you get all the way drunk, you usually want to wrap your mouth hole around deep fried gluten wrapped in deep fried cheese wrapped in deep fried creamed pork rinds and covered with bacon-embedded lard sauce. I think I just described the amuse-bouche at Guy’s Las Vegas restaurant. Guy Fieri’s Vegas Kitchen & Bar opened in April, and just like his Times Square barf house, the critics have fallen in love with all the delicacies on the menu. Everything on the menu will make your heart stop, literally.
The menu of the makers of Lipitor’s favorite restaurant has the usual stuff that’ll make most of your internal organs clock out and quit this bitch. There’s a Mac-N-Cheese Bacon Burger and fondue dippers. But the bright shining star of the menu is the $12 Guy’s Cheesecake Challenge, which is basically half of a cheesecake that’s been attacked by fudge, pretzels and potato chips. It looks like some kind of mess that a 4-year-old would make, which is pretty impressive since Guy usually has the culinary skills of a 2-year-old. He’s truly growing as a culinary artist.
Instead of sitting flat — commonsense, quotidian, even jejune — the cheesecake is set on its edge like a wheel, so it presents itself as a sort of runaway half of a dirty and broken Thundarr the Barbarian moon that’s been ripped out of orbit by cosmic forces beyond our reckoning. And, by now calorie-drunk, swooning with surfeit, I imagined Guy Fieri straddling that ragged crescent cake-moon like a motorcycle, riding into a cold and inscrutable universe, crying for an answer, a connection, somebody, anybody, with his painted flames and chocolate-sauced potato chips, his pepperoni armor and outsized burgers: Is anybody out there? I’ve got cheesecaaaaake!
Why did Andrew give me that visual? Just when my tongue was starting to get moist over something that looks like Mama June’s colon, he just had to make me picture Guy getting his crotch sweat all over it while riding it. And I bet Guy’s crotch sweat IS fudge.
But even though that disgusting thing would stop me from shitting for weeks, I still would. I’d hit it. I’d eat it ugly, which is saying a lot since it’s already damn ugly.
Pic: Vital Vegas
Here’s A Story About A Woman Named Cameo Crispi Who Tried To Burn Her Ex-Piece’s House Down With Bacon
File this under: If Lisa “Left Eye” Lopes was born a crazy white woman from Utah.
KSL reports that the crispy beauty above is 31-year-old Cameo Adawn Crispi (Side note: I hate throwing puns so early in the post, but Cameo Adawn Crispi is truly a hot name. With a name like that, she should’ve been the member of an R&B girl group from the 80s) and she was busted by the cops in Naples, UT after she broke into her ex-boyfriend’s house and tried to burn that bitch down with a pound of bacon. Vanilla Ice just fell in love.
Cameo Crispi’s ex-boyfriend called the cops on March 14th, because she kept burning up his phone with calls and texts and he wanted her to stop. He wasn’t home at the time and he was afraid she was going to go to his house. When the cops showed up to his house, Cameo Crispi was there and they noticed that she was plastered and smoke was coming out of the front door. They went into the house and found the deadly deliciousness cooking on the stove. The officer wrote in his report:
“I asked to come in and observed a wood stove left open with a fire burning inside and hot coals on the floor around the stove. I observed the burner to be on the setting ‘High’ and the bacon to be severely burned and smoking badly.”
The officer turned off the gas stove, put out the fire and arrested Miss Crispi’s ass. They took her to the hospital before taking her to the police station, because she blew a 0.346 on a breathalyzer. She was charged with arson, burglary, assault by a prisoner, interfering with an arresting officer, electronic communication harassment and intoxication. Miss Crispi admitted to the cops that she wanted to burn her ex’s house down to get back at him for doing her wrong. She’s due in court next month.
0.346?!!!! Yes, I know White Oprah considers 0.346 “a slow night,” but most people would find it hard to operate a gas stove while the feeling in their hands is completely gone. But being drunk is the perfect defense for cooking a pound of bacon. Miss Crispi should’ve never admitted to trying to burn her dude’s house down. Because she could’ve told the judge that she had a few dozen cocktails and wanted some bacon. The judge would’ve understood and immediately dismissed her case, because everybody knows that eating bacon while wasted is like getting your salad tossed by an angel. There’s nothing like it.
With that being said, Miss Crispi should get the death penalty for destroying all that bacon.
How fitting: a place famous for taking two buns and stuffing them with greasy questionable meat topped with plastic cheese volunteering to cater the wedding of a cheesy plastic-faced woman most famous for stuffing greasy questionable meat in her buns.
Burger King responded to a story released earlier this week by the Daily Star that said Kanye West was planning on buying 10 European Burger King restaurants as a wedding present for the Grade-F meat patty herself, Kim Kardashian; and knowing that it was most likely untrue, and proving that they have a good sense of humour, they released the following statement to NME:
Burger King Corp. is familiar with the recent news stories regarding Kanye West and Kim Kardashian. We are unaware of any purchase of BURGER KING® restaurants made by either Mr. West or Ms. Kardashian, but we’re available to cater the wedding!
If Kim and Kanye were smart, they’d take Burger King up on that offer, because the scent of Whoppers and BK onion rings is the only thing strong enough to mask the stench of their obnoxious shit-show of a wedding. Plus, the promise of Burger King also works as an incentive to get people to actually show up, since there probably won’t be an open bar (Pimp Mama Kris is a cheap penny-pinching pimp). Then again, the lure of Whoppers might not be enough to make people want to risk being trampled to death by Khloe and The Sock One during the bouquet toss.