Opinion, Rants, and Stories

Another Damned Food Blog

I’m a post-modern mother-fucker. That’s right, I eat Foucault and shit Derrida. Yeah, that’s me, one reflexive mother-fucker. I know what I’m doing. Hating on you, you fucking foodies, but rating you anyway. Heidegger you too. You didn’t get that? Fuck you. Get skinnier jeans. Cause I wear them skinny, skinny enough for my irony to drip down, like fucking goose fat. I fucking love food. Of course I do. How else would I be able to write so fucking fluently about fucking everything. I fuck foodies. You write a food blog? I fuck your partner. I fucking live amongst y’all. I am you, fuckers. You just don’t know it yet.

I make like I hate pretentious food.  I don’t. I fucking love it. But the one thing I love more than food is typing and saying fuck. Fuck fuckiddy fuck do I like saying fuck. Fuck me, if I had a pork belly for every time I said fuck I would open up a restaurant. I’d call it FCUK. No, more like FUCK YOU YOU FUCKING FUCKS AND THE FUCKING CAB YOU CAME IN. I wouldn’t let anyone in either. Just fuck off.

You know why? Because I know fucking better. I am a fucking fuck, who fucks better than you fucking know. Fuck me, I love being fucking right. Fuck it. I have discovered the secret to writing: Fuck. say it all the fucking time.  I fuck everything up. Give me a restaurant, I’ll fuck it so fucking hard it’ll never fucking see what fucking hit it. A chef? I’ll fuck him up; a blogger? Too easy. A bar? Fuck it, I fuck them for breakfast. That’s how I fucking roll, fuckers.

But let’s be honest here. I know all of you. I am in your fucking midst. I pay out my fucking arse for meals. I fucking breath Columella, I fucking inhale Kobi Beef. I have a dedicated table at every fucking fine dining fucking restaurant in town. I know you bitches. I am one of you. As I said, I am one post-modern foodie mother-fucker. Sure I make fucking smart jokes, that’s what keeps you reading. I fucking love it. The whole fucking food world (err, city bowl mother fucker) is asking who I am. Do you want to know who I am? Fuck you and the organically grown fucking horse you rode in on. For fuck’s sakes, I am the über foodie. I am to A.A Gill what Mohamed Ali was to, well, fucking everyone. I don’t give a fuck, and when I do, I’ll fucking tell you.

Fuck I love saying fuck. When I cook I use profanity as a garnish; mother fuckers I sprinkle fuck on my risotto. I know more shit about saying shit than you know about whisking egg white. Fuck that. I am so fucking popular now I hook up my blender to twitter; I get so many retweets I can whip fucking egg whites. Fuck yeah. Did I say I love fucking saying fuck? Fuck me, I do. Sometimes I fucking can’t think of fucking anything else to fucking say. Fuck. Some of you I fucking love and most of you I fucking hate, most of all my fucking self. Fuck it. I’m going to Mc Donalds.

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