House of Wachs

CHRISTMAS LATKES

Mmmmmm! Organic ice cream sandwiches for dessert tonight. Right off the tree. Thank you, God.

I think the word organic, as a marketing phrase, has officially jumped the cruelty-free mako shark fillets in a lime-basil butter.

It even fooled me into believing it was healthier when they just kept it to meats and produce.

"These tomatoes are organic! Grown in a sun-kissed valley from the rich and loamy soil, pulled gently from the vine and on your table that evening. It''l make your hair grow back, lower your heart beat, and make your pecker, ZING!! Ha ha!

Not like those tomatoes over there, the wretches. Grown between the cracks of gritty urban sidewalks, surrounded by chalk outlines, and noise pollution. Then cut down by a machine...a machine!...which takes them when they're still GREEN!

And they go to a factory, where they're spraypainted red, and turn your guts into cancer. GET THEM OUT OF MY FRICKIN SIGHT!"

There's no difference except price, the cost of vanity raising the price of the organic stuff. Oh, and the organic stuff has somebody's poo on it, usually.

But then the marketers got greedy. Now, every product has an organic cousin and it's become meaningless because there is no health benefit to wearing organic shoes, or wearing organic deodorant. That can't possibly work. Body odor is as organic as it gets, and a product that tamps it down is the definition of unnatural. The circle of absurdity is complete.

Ya gotta admire Kosher. It's kept it's integrity through the lo-cal, lite, natural, oat bran, fat free, lo carb, and clear crazes.

No ham means NO! DAMN! HAM!

NO! NEVER!

ROCK HARD'S RICEY NUTS

Lemme tell ya sumpin' about ole Wachs.

He may be a disappointment in radio and personal hygiene, but when it comes to recommending quality products for his readers, few can beat him.

Many people ask me, "Say, where can I get healthy breakfast products?"

They know that breakfast is a mecca for junk food. It's hard to find stuff that won't give you instant onset diabetes.

That's why I recommend my cereal of the year.....

PERKY'S NUTTY RICE!

This is top echelon cereal, you people.

The name...

Sounds like their talkin' about some tig ole bitties right there, yep.

The taste...

Perky and nutty.

The crunch...

Just as you think you might bust a tooth, each nugget of Perky's Nutty Rice gives up the ghost like the treadmill for the cast of "The Biggest Loser."

Crunch is so important to me in food. I try to avoid foods that don't snap to.

Crunchless foods tend to clog up the urgent business of the bloodstream.

I found Perky's Nutty Rice at Whole Foods (Geez, ya think? I was fooled by the Amish hillside and the gluten/nut allergen discussion on the box)

This is not one of those paid shill blogs...but it can be.

SOUTHERN COMFORTABLE

The hell with holiday travel. I haven't left my house in 3 days. That's what Thanksgiving is all about. A chance to be openly depressed. The only reason I've showered is to get in some slap and tickle.

This is my first Thanksgiving in my own home in a decade. That's it. No more Thanksgiving travel for me for the next 5 years. If people in my life really like me, they'll show up.

My parents were the only ones who came this year. Not attending my Thanksgiving feast was the first thing my brother and his ex-wife have agreed upon since 2001, if I could brightside it.

My sister went to Jamaica for her father-in-law's wedding, which is OK, unless you consider it part of a continuing pattern of excuses, dating back to the days when I would lure her into the bathroom after I took a huge dump and locked her in with the odor, as to why she can't travel to Georgia more than once a decade. Maybe not a lot of flights here from NY.

Well, more food and fun for me.

Here's our premium quality, tightly cooped, genetically modified, assembly line slaughtered, frozen turkey.

Here's our turkey frying rig out back on the lush green barely legal lawn.

Old Man Pickle Nose prepares a post-breakfast snack. He's a good cook. His secret is aging. He treats every meal as if it could be his last.

We engage in sports.

Happy hour! Fresh guac and chips. I missed out because I was busy

Back to involvement in sports, and the film industry.

The two turkeys! HA! Brown and crispy, the way they serve it in heaven

Crispy potatoes. Don't they look good? Yeah, well, they were.

Crispy asparagus. I actually enjoy the smell my urine gives off after eating these.

Crispy cornbread stuffing. Tastes like manna, photographs like hell.

From scratch pecan/choco pie with a crispy crust and homemade caramel sauce spooged on it. One bite of this delight can supply the caloric needs of 10 children in Darfur for a month. It sure takes the pressure off the job search when you have this pie in the house.

Home made cranberry sauce with crispy bits of caramelized fruit. Oooh, doesn't that look tart and sweet? Yeah, you bet it does. It tastes like an orgasm. This is my contribution. I made it 3 days ago in the slow cooker. My secret is vanilla extract, brown sugar, and a special raisin wine from Spain. That's all I'm saying because I'm thinking of going national with this one day with a franchise chain of cranberry-centric eateries.

Cranny's. We'll even have a play area for kids with a giant cranberry bog they can swim around in after eating their cran-burgers and cran fries, and wash it down with some cranberry soda. We'll have cuddly characters like McDonald's has. Urethra the Clown will play up the cranberry's role in promoting urinary tract health.

Let the feast begin with a crispy turkey wing. The skin is like eating bacon. Turkey that tastes like bacon. Score! It's a club sandwich without those other non-essential ingredients. Fuck off toast, lettuce, cheese, and tomato.

Time for more athletics. Even OMPN is surprised at the ease with which the Falcons take it up the ass repeatedly.

Tea...because it gives the illusion of health.

Good night.

FLUCKED

Tonight's snacktime cereal is Special K Chocolatey Delight.

This cereal makes me sad. Special K is a dignified cereal for older people who think they are taking nutrition and care of the self seriously. Special K is garbage that carries itself like health food. It's an Afterschool Special behaving like 60 Minutes. 

While it's true that, all else being equal, the hardcore Special K eater will outlive the loyal Lucky Charms eater by 27%, it's neither a hurtful or helpful cereal. It has a nutty, crunchy taste that people of all ages can enjoy while they slopped some emergency calories. It's called Special K, and it was special. Not in the special way we condescend to our handicapped people, but in the special, quiet conservatism that surrounds a cereal represented not by a cartoon mouse on the box, but a bowl of it, pure and simple.

Now Special K has added chocolatey pieces and flake sweeteners. Special K is acting like the senior doing the Electric Slide on the cruise ship.

The taste is excruciatingly mediocre. What do you expect? Chocolatey pieces do not belong in cereal. Period. The secret to good chocolate is it's meltability. The better the melt, the better the flavor. There's no melting here, kids. Not in cold milk.

It's like eating pieces of a BIC pen cut up and dipped in chocolate. A mistake of monumental proportions from the R&D people at Kellogg. These chocolate bits have no shot of melting even in the milk of Satan, and the tip off is that they're called "chocolatey" pieces. Not chocolate. Chocolatey. Kinda like chocolate, but not exactly. This is minstrel chocolate. Mockolate is mocking this chocolate. Some people call that fake.

Fake chocolate is usually made from some petroleum byproduct that NASA discovered and fed to the astronauts to see if they could cap diarrhea while in space, and has a melting point far beyond the typical breakfast cereal environment. Chewing on the chocolate pieces has all the satisfaction of eating wax lips.

Special K. It is for you I weep...but not just yet, because Britney has lost custody of her kids. She was bobbling them and couldn't get her feet in bounds. Possession: Federline, on downers.

I have wet myself in disbelief. And Britney getting the news just after she'd taken the two darlings on a trip to the wild dingo store! That so crazy.

Reaction from Britney was muted. "That how my baby flow."

Meanwhile Federline was ebullient: "NATIONWAAHHHD IS OOOONNN MAH SAAAHHHD...yeeeeuh!

Superior Court Judge Scott M. Gordon ruled that ex-husband Kevin Federline will take custody of Sean 2, and Jayden 1, beginning Wednesday "until further order of the court." The order stemmed from an unspecified oral motion made by Federline's attorneys and was handled in a closed-door hearing.

Apparently these Federline attorneys won the case by pantomiming blow jobs whenever Britney's attorneys spoke. Hell of a strategy planting the slut seed in the judge's mind.

It's sad all the way around. Little Sean Papazao and Jayden Bootay won't be able to roll around unharnessed in the back of the Escalade anymore. Britney will have a tough time getting HD reception since the kids won't be available to wrap in foil and tie to the antenna. Perhaps they'll meet again when Britney is caught sleeping with the boys' high school buddies.

We can take comfort in the fact that since they have hit their heads so many times on Sakrete bags and 50 gallon drums that there's a chance they'll never come to understand the sudden twist of fate and luck (fluck) that has swept their way, although even the pinkest brain would be hard-pressed to detect a coke line's difference between the two ghetto-ized suburbanite parents.

I say give them to Britney so she can finish off their miserable futures. Young males who will never grow with a mother's love and raised by a white rapper; one need not be an actuary to calculate the life span and it's quality for these tots. These are the children of the Clinton generation, and we must cleanse them from our society.

The Spears saga underlines how all too easy it is for ill-equipped people to breed. People who have no skills at all can do it legally. People who can't operate a paper clip can do it. People who don't know what nostrils are can do it. We need to clarify some legislation on the matter. If it were this easy to bleed to death, don't you think laws would be passed?

As the great shemale prophet, Crocker, once pleaded....

Thus spake Crocker, and it has come to pass.

THE STORY OF OH!

You're looking at a picture of one of my top 3 all-time cereals, Ohs!

Ohs! are an onomatopoetic cereal. I find my self saying "Oh!" everytime I delightedly crunch into a handful. And, as the box claims, they are always a great value at half the price of other extended adolescent cereals on the market.

I'm just a little annoyed by the spelling on the box. Is that an exclamation mark doing double duty as an apostrophe to save space, or an apostrophe trying to pull off an exclamation? It doesn't matter. THERE IS NO APOSTROPHE IN OHS! Dammit.

It's not a possessive. The cereal wasn't invented by Sadaharu Oh or resemble little sculptures of actress Sandra Oh, and the box doesn't belong to the cereal inside in which case it would be spelled OHs' anyway.

It's not a contraction of "Oh is" cereal which would be too conceptual for most sweetened cereal buyers, or "Oh was" cereal which would be gross as it suggests a food product that had been pre-digested by paramecium and maggots. No, it's simply the plural of Oh. One piece of that graham and honey cereal with the oat bits in the middle has been trademarked as an Oh! by the Quaker Oats people, and many of them are called Ohs!.

Oh! By the way, they make computers now that can fit all the graphics properly onto any cereal box.

IT AIN'T MY DAMN CEREAL....

CRUNCH ADDICT

Shit! Help! Damn..what the..oy!_{....fffffffffffffffff...}

I hope my dentist is reading this early in the morning. If you are, call me as soon as you can. I just broke off my temporary fake teeth again due to cereal eating.

This will be my third reglueing since getting them on Thursday.

The first was two hours after getting them on. The next was Monday the 20th, and now this. I hope he's not mad. I'm in a tough spot. I can't help it. I'm addicted to crispy and crunchy foods and it's hard to go cold turkey hold the fresh baguette. I also have business dinner plans Wednesday, and I cannot go in there looking like Nosferatu. Besides, air makes my stumps hurt.

I know that's a lot pressure on you, but you are the professional here and I'm the amateur. I'm not prepared for this pressure. Had I been screened for my addiction and then told of the burden placed on it by this dental project, I would have trained myself better by eating more soft foods in the weeks leading up to the big day.

Listen, I know it's all my fault and I'll try to exert a little more self-control for the remaining two weeks until the permanents. I'm a fast adapter, and I'm determined to reach my goal of at least two days without a re-glueing. Do you think I like holding my teeth in with one hand while drinking water with the other? It's not refreshing, I assure you.

Just understand this crunchy-crispy addiction is harder to stop than alcoholism. Food is not nearly as satisfying when it's not bitten into and chewed properly and the skull can't feel the sensual vibrations of crushing victory over it's prey. Dinner tonight was plenty and good, but I'm still kind of hungry because I didn't chew on much of it. I feel like a boy who came late to the party, scrounging the last coagulated swedish meatballs and crumbled chips.

How about you just book me everyday for the next two weeks at lunchtime for a quick re-glueing and I'll buy lunch for everyone who works on my mouth? If I don't need it, I won't come in, but I'll still pay for the lunch.

I'm gonna try to get some rest. See ya tomorrow? Call me. Please?

xoxoxox

Nosferatu.

GUT INSTINCTS

I went to Quizno's and the line, already slowed by the language barrier and the sandwich maker trainee on the job, slowed even further by a request from the conscious consumer in front of me inquiring if the political refugee behind the counter might have any fat free cheese available?

Fat free cheese. On a sub piled high with smoked meats and secret sauces on a honey wheat roll, in a place where chips are a side dish and a juicy, meaty prime rib sandwich with au jus, onions, and cheese is a top seller.

Where do people get the idea that Quizno's is a healthy food place?

Just because something is assembled and toasted before your eyes doesn't mean it's better for you. It's just more recently assembled, that's all. What nutritional value that has is not known by man.

I'll bet if McDonalds started to let people see them fry the burgers to order, many people would come to believe that McDs is a healthier place to eat despite not changing the caloric content one tasty iota.

I know some people who are pissed that McDonalds doesn't allow them to buy rare burgers. Isn't there enough for your antibodies to do as it is? Is it even possible for matheticians to calculate the amount of time a McDonald's burger could be on a griddle and still wind up rare?

Subway is not a health food store, either. Let me explode that myth. Just because that fat-ass Jared says it helped him lose weight, don't be fooled. What Jared doesn't tell you is that he could have eaten just two pieces of Popeye's chicken every meal for a year and lost weight he was so heavy. Subway has some lean items, but it's not medicinal.

Let's review. Quizno's. Not a health food store. Fast food. Not a health food store. It's fast. It's fun. It's comforting. But it's not a healthy lifestyle. Stop asking for fat-free cheese, you. It slows the line down and makes you look foolish. Go home. I'm trying to buy my family a snack.

Then my mother called to complain about my father.

"Your father almost burned down the kitchen today."

I'm sure.

"OK, I give up. Why?"

"He was making chicken wings."

I have to give my mom credit on this one. Their kitchen at the beach is tiny, and why the hell does he have to MAKE chicken wings there instead of going out and buying some from one of the 80,000 junk food merchants that line the beachfront highway covering 3 states, as any sane person would do?

It would be inaccurate to say that niether of them misses a meal. While it's true, it's more accurate to say that none of their waking minutes misses a meal. They're like a test couple for some misbegotten Ronco product that never saw a store shelf. Meal-A-Minute! The amazing new funnel that helps you eat every minute of the day!

Then George Stein called because my wife got a speeding ticket and it turns out that this is a death penalty case--Clayton County. They're cracking' the whip down there and I can't say I blame 'em---so we need his help. But I was on the bowl, so I called him back.

"Who takes a crap at 6pm?"

"I just did."

"I read an article in Prevention Magazine that says the best time to go is in the morning."

"What is that supposed to prevent?"

"I don't know. It said it's just a better time."

Well, my apologies to the poop schedulers at Prevention Magazine for being such a maverick, but I go when my belly tells me, morning, noon, or night. Here's an article idea for you. It prevents me from crapping my pants, and that's all the prevention I need.

GFC

I ordered French Toast today at the breakfast shop.

"Ooh, that sounds good," said the waitress.  She makes it sound as though I invented French Toast on the spot. Well, is it good? I don't work here. Is this a real waitress or an imposter who tied up the real waitress in the back and is stealing all her tips?

For the record, it was good. Very good. But I forget the name of the place except that it had a Jewish name. Oh, big deal. Like you can't get comparable French Toast anywhere else.

I have another recipe for y'all. So many people enjoyed my burger recipe last May, even after being offended by it. It is amazing to me, too, that people can be offended by a burger recipe, yet they were. I think it was the "my way or the highway" approach to cuisine that I like to take with my recipes.

This recipe, as with the hamburger, is as flavorful as it is audacious. It's a simple fried chicken recipe, but you southerners and negroes aren't going to be happy about it. The key ingredient is Greek yogurt. Crazy delicious.

"SUMBITCH! thathardagumjewbawsumbitchgawnduntellmegoanmakemuh chikininthatthuryogurt? Sheeyit. Hail naw!"

See? Already the stubborness. Fine. Eat thighs dipped in Shake 'N Bake. Hate yourself.

HOUSE OF WACHS GREEK-FRIED CHICKEN

-chicken (duh)

-Greek-style yogurt with 23% milkfat

-flour

-3 tablespoons of garlic salt

-2 tablespoons of coarse ground pepper

-1 teaspoon cayenne pepper

-lard

1. Rinse chicken and pat dry.

2. Coat chicken with yogurt.

3. Put in refrigerator and run errands or look at web videos for 12 hours.

4. Season chicken with garlic salt and the peppers.

5. Coat chicken with flour.

6. Heat lard on medium low heat. When it melts, it should come up 1/4 way up the pan.

7. Fry chicken in melted hot lard for 6 minutes a side for boneless chicken. 11 minutes for bony chicken.

8. Eat.

9. Apologize to me for being thick-headed.

This is the best yogurt to use.

Could anything be creamier than a Greek Yogurt called Fage?

Whoa, hold on! Calm down, juveniles.

Well, listen. I'm pronouncing it "Fag-e" anyway. If this company really cared about the feelings of fags, they would have changed the name of the product.

I think it's disingenuous to print the tiny plausible deniability pronunciation on one side of the container, while getting full benefit of the hilarious and titillating name of the product on the other side of the container.

ETHNIC SPENDING

After receiving a call from Blockbuster threatening corporal punishment if they didn't receive the videos we had out for a week,  I jumped into my Wachs Utility Vehicle, the vehicle that does what I tell it, to drop the videos off and spare my family's knees years of agonizing rehab.

The grand opening of the new Super H Mart was in full broom down the way, so I stopped over there after appeasing my video overlords and trying on some hilarious party ears that were on sale.

I don't know why they call it that. Super H Mart. Was that because K-Mart was already taken? Why the "H" then? Does the word "Korea" in Korean start with an "H?" Wait, let me look it up. On the internet, there is no need to look feeble-minded.

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

Han Ah Reum (Korean: 한아름, Hanja: 韓亞龍)—which also markets itself as H Mart and Super H Mart—is a Korean supermarket chain with several locations in the

United States and Canada.

From the Washington Post

..the name Han Ah Reum (HAR), translated from Korean as "bountiful..."

And a bounty indeed. A bounty of perfume, Hello Kitty merch (I couldn't resist the backpack), jewelry, oh, and food.

The place is set up more like a grocery store with a flea market squeezed in the perimeter. They have more space for Korean DVDs than refrigerated, prepared, heat and eat foods. Oh, you can get some of that Acorn Pudding with some fried Kimchi, and a side of Sea Cucumber Porridge, but it really gets old after a few days of it and one craves variety. Sweet Buddha! Would it hurt them to stock some fresh Abalone Tofu Casseroles once in a while?

They did have a food court with a Chinese place, a Korean place, and a Japanese booth with traditional dishes and scary writing that are cooked to order for eat in or take out, so the Koreans are fitting in nicely into the American way of life by making the women work and ignoring their kids and all that, and then rushing around to get everyone fed.

The produce was of very nice quality and variety, certainly better than the local Publix, which has gone downhill deeply recently, and has not been able to rise to the competition at the Whole Foods across the street. It was cheap, too. One of them quart boxes of strawberries was a buck, fresh broccoli could be had for 58 cents/lb, and the more exotic stuff to these parts was only slightly more money than that of Dekalb Farmer's Market by which Super H seems to be influenced.

And tell me. Where else are you gonna get a steady, fresh supply of Crunky Bars?

I wouldn't go there for rib steaks or NY strips, but there was plenty to like in the meat department such as thin-sliced fresh and fresh frozen rib eye steak like they use for authentic Philly Cheesesteaks. It's hard to find this meat in this condition and quality at a Kroger or Publix, unless you are tasteless and don't care and choose to go with those putrid chopped and formed Steak-Ummmms (should be called Steak-Uhhhhggggs if you axe me).

I went with the fresh frozen because it was almost $10/lb. cheaper than the non-frozen rib eye, and what I'll do with that is go ahead and buy some frozen Tandoori Naan bread down at Trader Joe's. Toss that in the oven at 400 degrees for 5 minutes. Cook up the ribeye with some garlic salt and pepper plus some onions and green pepper for a few minutes in some hot olive oil, and dump the whole thing on the Naan bread now lined with a couple slices of provolone. I call it The Dehli Cheesesteak. "Pardon me, Adrian!"

But what I really come to Super H Mart for are the misspellings.

Well, that is the way "asian" is pronounced in the South.

How does that Earth, Wind, and Fire song go again?

Do you remember,

my 21st time with a cucember

This is parsley actually grown at a Catholic Franciscan high school in Baltimore.

Maybe Andruw Jones should shop here.

Peteetong!

THE DAY AFTER THE DAY THE MUSIC DIED

It saddens me that it has come to pass that David Chase's post-Sopranos explanation of the last show is a top story on Drudge.

Millions of Mexicans pouring over our border with money nets in hand pales in comparison to the millions of domestic illiterates clamoring to be spoon fed the meaning of every piece of culture they cram into their brains. Might as well let Pedro and his brood in for good.

My god. The very idea that a TV show producer has to flee to France to avoid his upset followers because he failed to pack a knapsack full of closure for 15 million thumbsuckers and their individual views on how his TV show should have ended, just really sticks in my gullet.

As I pointed out yesterday, The Sopranos didn't end ambiguously.

OK, enough. I don't want to start down the path of being the self-anointed expert on all things Soprano. I've got a whole other non-career to deal with that doesn't pay, either. I'm just saying, is all. We need to start thinking about deporting more than Mexicans. I'm sad knowing I will die before ever hearing someone say, "That movie was great. Can't wait to read the book."

Just because I read books doesn't mean I'm superior to people who don't, although I am, to be objective about it. I have my weaknesses, too. Fajitas make me panic.

They come to the table spitting mad and sizzlingly pissed, and the waitress scurries to the table, all hazmatted to the shoulders with her professional grade oven mitts, because the restaurant industry hasn't found the technology to make the handle out of wood, and an armed escort from the Chili's Police Department. And it's scary for me, especially since I often doze off between ordering and eating, face down next to a formerly frosty beer stein.

The fajita parade ends slumber and I'm groggy and it looks like someone is attacking me with a plate full of angry vipers. I panic for a second. Then it's a mad scramble to clear space on the table to give the fajitas the wide berth they need. Like mom's coming up the stairs while you're masturbating. I really think fajita eaters should get their own table. Once you've ordered fajitas, you're escorted to a private fajita room, the size of a walk in closet, with a table, some towels, a guard, and maybe a stripper pole, and you are brought your chow in there.

And by "fajita eaters," I mean people of all colors who literally enjoy eating the dish known as the fajita, and not a racist slur against a people of a certain country. Hey, gotta spoon-feed it. Look at what happened to the last guy who went out ambiguous. I don't have the cash to flee to France.

..Yet.

I've been hatching a great money-making scheme just in time for Father's Day. I'm sending Father's Day cards to wealthy elderly men with bad, at risk, troubled, foolish sons, hoping they'll be touched enough by my thoughtfulness to consider my request for their hand in holy patrimony and sticking my name in the will. All it takes is one. Real Dad, don't be jealous. We'll cut a side deal where I come back after my adopted father's death.

I recently sent a card that says "Be My Sugar Daddy This Father's Day," to Tim Conway, Sr. the father of my good pal for a number years, Tim, Jr. I've always enjoyed Tim Jr's carefree and easygoing manner that obviously stems from knowing that he has a rich dad who cares about him very much. Here's his dad running over his granddaughter with a remote control car.

See? Nothing gets in the way of their relationship. Not even a 3 year old.  I want to be a part of that scene.

I even sent him a little gift for good measure; a sweet TV/VCR combo unit with a copy of "The Best of McHale's Navy" put in the VCR. What's not to love?

Anyone know Rick Hilton's address? Michael Lohan? Shabba Ranks? I'm sure he has some lethal offspring.