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Posts Tagged ‘hot’

I love Pulp Fiction.  Laconic pup sent me a link to youtube movie that is a compilation of all snippets where the world “****’ is used in the movie Pulp Fiction.  If you are at work or have little kids, only play this if you have headphones.

Who the hell posted this or sent it to me recently?  Who came up with it?   I can just see Hobbes saying:

I been saying that sh*t for years. And if you heard it, that meant your ass. I never gave much thought to what it meant. I just thought it was some cold-blooded shit to say to a motherf*cker ‘fore I plunged a tooth in his ass. But I saw some shit this mornin’ made me think twice.

****

My son, who is four – named Frankenboy because his run-in with a several hundreds-of-pounds fountain last year that tried to crush his skull left him with a hell of a scar – has made me proud.

It all started when I brought home two bags of Doritos Second-Degree Burn chips.  I like them a lot.  They are not the most flavorful of chips but they have some flavor and I like them.  They are also hot enough that Cruel Wife won’t eat them ( based on the folks I know, she’s probably somewhere in the top 5 percentile in heat-tolerance) and Zoe-pup now fears them after eating half a bag one night.  To give you an idea, they don’t sell them in the big bags – they only sell them in single-serving bags.

I was sitting there with my fresh-made reuben sandwich – loaded with kraut, swiss cheese, dripping with dressing, and piled high with meat – and munching on these chips.

My boy was sitting to my left and I heard his little voice say “I want some chips, please.”

I said “No, buddy, these are hot and you wouldn’t like them.”

Just then I felt a puff of air on my hand as he was blowing on the chip to cool it off.

“Bud, these are spicy hot – they aren’t hot-hot.  They would hurt your mouth.”

More puffs of air wafted over my hand and little bits of chili powder dusted my reuben.

I tried again, figuring repetition would enhance understanding.  “Bud, they aren’t hot but they are spicy hot and they would hurt your mouth…”

Sayeth the boy, “I want some chips” and he reached over to pinch the chip to see if it was truly hot to the touch.

I looked at Cruel Wife resignedly, “You know, he’s just not going to get it unless he experiences it.”   She wearily nodded in agreement. “Let him have one.”

He took the chip, crammed half of it in his mouth, took three munches… and immediately grabbed his juice and drained the container by three-quarters many times faster than I thought a fluid could actually flow.  His eyes were open a bit more and he was sucking air.

“See, pal?  They’re spicy hot.”

He nodded and took another bite.  Then he grabbed Cruel Wife’s ice-water and drained it of two inches worth of water with efficiency that would make Dracula moan with admiration.

He nodded, glassy-eyed, as if to some unspoken wisdom – and then asked for another chip.  Still shaking my head I complied with his request.

Chomp… nom nom nom… crunch crunch crunch…

SLUUUUURRRRRRRRRRP.   SLUUUUURRRRRP. <burp> <excuse me>

“Can I have another chip please?”

Chomp… nom nom nom… crunch crunch crunch…

SLUUUUURRRRRRRRRRP.   SLUUUUURRRRRP. <burp> <excuse me>

I made up my mind that I just could not make up my mind as to whether I should be proud or write him off as an idiot.  Being a chili-head, I eventually opted for pride.

He ate three chips.

Twenty minutes later I hear a scream from the other room, “I NEED THE BATHROOOOOM!”   Apparently all that liquid must go somewhere.

Lest you think that I bullshitteth thee, take a look.


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Edible Things.

I was with Cruel Wife eating Thai food this weekend.  Kids at sitters.  Us at dinner.  Wow.  Very strange.  We quickly agreed that once we removed my work and our kids from the conversation we had absolutely nothing to talk about and we were grateful when the food came – it gave us opportunity to -ahem- spice the conversation with “MMMPH!” and “MMM-MM!”  Occasionally punctuated with a <blerp>.  “Excuse me…”

As I mentioned a few posts ago, she had 3 stars for a heat setting.  I asked for 12 stars, effectively pulling all the safety interlocks out of the system as I ran without a guard-rail on greasy wood around a 20 foot drop over razor-sharp metal chips and broken glass stewing in a bath of hot turpentine.  It led to the graphic I’m working on now.  Rather, that kind of hedonistic abandon led to this graphic.

Helpful input is always welcome!

****

Again, thanks to Amusing Bunni who had another gorgeous kitteh pic.

****

CONFIDENCE LOWEST SINCE ’83

The White House has been quick to lay the blame for the latest surge downward squarely on Bush’s shoulders:

Even now, the fruits of my predecessor’s labors are being harvested – let me be clear, if it wasn’t for Bush’s ineptitude we would not be in this situation, and indeed, we would be in a time of milk and honey, peace and prosperity, and gold, diamonds, and unicorns.  (as read by Robert Gibbs, standing in for the TOTUS)

****

Disclaimer:  I am categorically (some would say rabidly) against domestic abuse, so don’t go there.

This sounds an AWFUL lot like another “It’s for the children” argument.  Reid talking about how joblessness has led to out of control domestic abuse by men.

Reid, speaking in the midst of a Senate debate over whether to pass a $15 billion package meant to spur job creation, appeared to argue that joblessness would lead to more domestic violence.

“I met with some people while I was home dealing with domestic abuse. It has gotten out of hand,” Reid said on the Senate floor. “Why? Men don’t have jobs.”

Reid said that the effects of joblessness on domestic violence were especially pronounced among men, because, Reid said, women tend to be less abusive.

Reid should have visited a bit more often 30 years ago.

How many anti-domestic causes has he taken over the years?  Is this the first one?  I’d like to know.

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I read an article about an indian curry (which turns out is not really all that “indian”) at this restaraunt in New York.  Sounds like Phall is worth trying, if I ever get to NY.  The idea of a dish with a “smoky ashtray taste” sounds intriguing.

It reminds me of a visit to a local Thai place (Thai Bistro, Canton, MI) years ago when I was a lightweight in spicy food but thought I was Mr. Tough Guy.  I ordered this Orange Roughy dish which sounded pretty good.  The waiter asked me how hot I wanted it.  I said “Four stars, please.”   He pauses and stares at me, unsure of how to respond.  Finally he says simply “Uh, our chef is from Thailand…”

I look at him with my best patented You’re An Idiot™ stare and said “And I’m from Oregon, give me four stars please.”

It might have been that I pissed the chef off, I don’t know.  I do know that I took my first bite and said “Cruel Wife, I can’t eat this” and dropped my fork.   Cruel Wife’s eyes got wide when she noticed the smoking napkin as I wiped my lips.  It looked like an Alien™ got shot and spewed acid-blood all over our dining area by the end of the meal, with smoking black spatters all over the tabletop.

I finished the whole damn dish and wept in a very manly fashion as I went over the threshold to the car.  We raced over to the Meijer store across the street where I gobbled a half bottle of Tums and then went home to lie in agony on the bed for three hours.

The next day was bad.  Very.  Very.  Bad.  The lining of my intestines sloughed off.  My gallbladder dissolved into giblet-sized chunks.  My liver volunteered for donation and my lungs went on strike.  Then-governor Engler declared my alimentary canal a disaster area.  Relief was not forthcoming.  Had I eaten ice-cream for dessert I might’ve had that to look forward to, but I hadn’t so there wasn’t even a prayer.

Now, looking back I say “Oh was I ever so young?” and chuckle.

**********

So… where have you eaten culinary napalm, what was the dish, and have you got a good story?

************

The Ultimate Web-Surfer’s Chair – the Daybed.

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