Food, those little slices of death . . how I love them

According to my SEO coach, I need to tighten up and get hyper-focused as per the shit I write about. I’m supposed to pin down muscular keywords and offer up dynamic content whilst grasping a more intimate knowledge of Google’s ample bosom . I wonder what Poe would say about all this? Would he be down with the data-ism of today’s literary Avant-garde?

I’m just kidding about the SEO coach. I wouldn’t dream of hiring one of those peeps, seeing as how the going rate for their services fluctuates from billable hours to craigslist ads with printable coupons. I mean, who do they think they are? Lawyers?

Besides, we’re pretty content focused here at sorryless. We write about love, food and people . . . mostly. Which is why I referred to our blog as a ‘passion blog’ in one of my earlier posts.

Anyways . . . it’s the holidays and that can only mean one thing. I’m eating like a fucking Viking. Yep, from Thanksgiving Day until December 26th, I get my grub on with reckless abandon. It’s the result of longer work days, diminishing sunshine and that most time honored of dietary pitfalls: Not giving a shit. Okay so maybe I’m exaggerating just a tad. Because the truth is, I kept to my running schedule and my stationary bike and my martial arts exercises. And I even contemplated eating an apple . . until I realized we didn’t have any caramel in the house.

Here then is a quick look at some of my dinner time decisions over the last week. Sans the nutritional values since . . yanno, there weren’t any.

The Fantastic Five of a Gloriously Gluttonous (Almost) Week in Food: 

The McDonald’s Dinner Box– You know what? Fuck Morgan Spurlock and his pretentiously sophisticated intestinal tract. McDonald’s is like a hooker- as long as you’re willing to pay for the outrageous shit it’s going to do to your body, they ain’t asking questions. I like that. Their latest crime against humanity is a tasty treasure trove of “Fuck yes”. This week, I bought into the package for me and my merry band: Two Big Macs, two cheeseburgers, ten mcnuggets and two medium fries. Heroin never tasted so good!

Green Bean Casserole- After my hot date with the burger whore, I needed me some down home comfort food. And since I only got one lousy serving of green bean casserole on Thanksgiving, I cooked up my own personal sequel. For a dude who flouts convention, this dish can keep me home at night. At least . . for one night.

Burger King Double Whopper- If I was going to break my fast food rule- one visit per week, tops- I figured I might as well shop the competition and order up their most destructive delicacy. I added cheese to this hunk of burning love because why the fuck not? And to those of you who have a lactose intolerance, no worries. The gravitational pull of this massive meat-eor will be torching the inner lining of your stomach so effectively that the cheese will feel like alka-seltzer in comparison.

I would be remiss if I didn’t mention my Peanut Butter Oreos discovery. It took me fifty one years to find them, and only a couple bites to understand. This must be what Ernest Shackleton felt like.

Jimmy Johns Italian Night Club- Stuffing this monster with veggies is akin to gift wrapping a MOAB. It looks pretty but it’s still gonna kill you. I think I make a better Italian sub, but why miss out on the chance to be part of a class action lawsuit when my colon goes missing?

As for tomorrow night? I’ll be digging into a Supreme, delivered from my newest crush- Feliciano’s Pizza. And we’re going to double down with some Fat Tire Ales and a good flick. It will be the perfect bookend to a week of gastrointestinal debauchery.

Am I too old to take up cocaine?