I read Wright Thompson’s essay about pimento cheese sandwiches on ESPN the other day (“Only in the South would a sporting event serve pimento cheese.” True, because Southern people are fat and gross.), and was so horrified by it that I immediately thought of fifty things equally as repulsive.

1. Hoof salad
2. Flourless mayonnaise torte
3. Creamed foreskins
4. Artichoke pudding
5. Olive frosting
6. Butterflied horse vagina
7. Eel bread
8. Bleu cheese taffy
9. Poached bran flakes with tuna juice
10. Antler fricassee
11. Whale sperm fondue
12. Liver pancakes with cockle syrup
13. Baked donkey
14. Smoked salmon ice cream with beef-infused whipped topping
15. Consomme of jellied cat blood
16. Hot lettuce with saliva dressing
17. Phung Du Lo (Vietnamese jellyfish noodles in landmine battery acid broth)
18. Dog tartare
19. Peanut butter and oyster sandwich (big dish in Oxford, MS)
20. Beer-battered toejam
21. Chicken foot cupcakes
22. Fresh oatmeal vegan dog topped with butterscotch
23. Paula Deen’s legendary Crisco soup
24. Buffalo rinds
25. Poop tacos
26. Ant milkshake
27. Sashimi of Bea Arthur’s corpse
28. Anchovy pie with Weetabix crust
29. Cassoulet of aged beaver skins with mung beans
30. Snake paste on five-grain toast
31. Vulture egg quiche with Velveeta and fresh apple cores
32. Farm-raised pig nipples stewed in ammonia
33. Crab-stuffed horse meatus
34. Candied fish ribs with Vegemite glaze
35. Cheese and owl dung lasagna with nutmeg-and-earwax béchamel sauce
36. Toe-malaya
37. Niman Ranch organic grilled calf bowels
38. Human tripe enchiladas with horse cheese
39. White chocolate-covered bat wing
40. Whipped flounder
41. Herring and molasses casserole
42. Guy Fieri’s trademark Dorito-crusted caramel popcorn egg rolls with beef grease shooters
43. Deviled monkey head
44. Fingernail waffles
45. Chopped bullfrog and papaya salad
46. “Cocked Roger” (British dessert)
47. Dried field mouse with drizzle of sardine oil
48. Moose mousse
49. Mustard bubble gum
50. Beets

This has nothing to do with the NFL, and it’s not very funny. But if you’re interested in the military roots of a football blogger, read on.

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This is Ted Leonsis. He is the owner of a professional hoc-key (sp?) team and a Greek, two solid giveaways that you should never pay credence to anything that slinks out of his fat tabbouleh hole. Yet here we are getting pissy about some obtuse nonsense he spouted on his blog. Such is the gaping void of suck that is the NFL offseason.

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BLOGGER CIRCLEJERKIN’ Interested in seeing Ufford and Ape join other prominent bloggers in talking shop about such pressing topics as “Blogs, And Why You Should LOL” and “Girls, And How We Will Finally Work Up The Nerve To Talk To Them”? Well, then make your reservations now for Blogs With Balls. We promise there will be punch and pie.*

*Offer not valid in any way

Vitali Klitschko successfully defended his share of the heavyweight title over the weekend in his adopted homeland of Germany with a win over Juan Gomez. So excited was the Ukrainian born fighter to have knocked out his former sparring partner that he felt compelled to offer up this classic German salute. Either that or he was attempting to salvage the merger between Morgan Springs and Poland Creek. We may never know.

One of the secret benefits of the current economic death spiral is that, with cable ad rates plummeting, a sudden wellspring of retarded novelty product ads has sprung up virtually overnight. You, of course, know now about the ShamWow and the Snuggie. I’m not a big believer in the Snuggie. After all, the whole point of a blanket is for your girlfriend to give you a handjob underneath it without anyone noticing. But the Snuggie destroys that opportunity. If you don’t have your hands through the sleeves of your Snuggie, everyone is going to exactly where they are: on a cock somewhere.

Furthermore, the Snuggie seems awfully practical as far as novelty products go. It’s missing that one-of-a-kind uselessness inherent in products like the Showtime Rotisserie Grill (you can get a roto chicken for $5 at the store, with no risk of MASSIVE GREASE CONFLAGRATIONS), or that one asshole who sells DVDs about how to surf the internet, or Alonzo Spellman’s Clown Burgers. Those are products worthy of a $7 production budget.

And now, I have found another. Good Christians, I give you THE PRAYER CROSS.

Finally, the classy type of accessory you need to wear to your Michael W. Smith concert. Best of all, hidden inside the Prayer Cross’ fabulous pseudo-crystalish center is THE FUCKING LORD’S PRAYER. The whole thing. Unexpurgated. No bullshit.

Now that’s one bitchin’ piece of jewelry. Think Jane Seymour’s double scrotum Zales design has the Lord’s Prayer hidden inside it? FUCK AND NO. The only thing you’ll see if you stare up close at a DeBeers diamond is the blood of a Sierra Leone refugee. And Jared the Galleria of Jewelry is run by filthy Jews with back hair. This is like a DVD Easter Egg, sent from resurrected Jesus himself.

Now, if you need the Lord’s Prayer in an emergency, all you have to do is press a cheap light prism against YOUR FUCKING EYEBALL. Did you just get t-boned by a tractor trailer and are pinned to the road by the flipped chassis of your vehicle? Well, shit on a shingle, you got salvation hanging right around your neck. No need to wait for your preacher to show up and pray for you. Fucking preachers, always with the slow response time.

Why crack open a bible to see the Lord’s Prayer? That’s boring. Look how much fun kids have with this shit.

Awesome.

My hope is that this is only the beginning of novelty jewelry products that contain hidden biblical messages. Who wouldn’t like to own a cock ring that WAS SECRETLY TRYING TO UNGAY YOU? I know that would help me personally. What about earrings that tell the story of Sodom and Gomorrah? Or a chastity belt that features the entire section of Leviticus? A jeweled wonderbra that contains the entire Left Behind series? The possibilities are endless… FOR WORSHIP!

With the Prayer Cross, you can get more praying done on the go. Need Ruth Ginsburg’s cancer to metastasize? BOOM! The Lord hears you. Hoping to God that the Golden Corral is still open? Oh, you know it will be now, my friend.

So ditch that Snuggie, you heathen fuckfaces. The Prayer Cross is all you need to keep you warm at night.

Above is the image Punté used yesterday for Beaker’s Super Bowl prediction.  Of course, blog commenters being what they are — that is, people who tend to ignore the forest to look at the trees (and leaves, and individual pieces of bark, and chloroplasts) — they instantly ignored the obvious bandwagon imagery and instead asked why Beaker was riding a D.C. Metro bus.

Anyway, from Maj’s annoying homerism for our nation’s capital (and Punte’s annoyance with it) was born a new meme: Beaker in D.C.

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Yesterday, the good people at Sloshspot created a guide for bacon-infused alcohol and bacon-flavored mixed drinks.  It’s a handy thing to have if, like me, your two favorite things not attached to women are bacon and alcohol.  The only problem is, Sloshspot completely fucked it up.  The article reeks of Google search and inexperience.  As the preeminent Internet writer who spends most of his free time finding new ways to combine bacon and alcohol, let me set things straight point-by-point.

1. Bacon-infused vodka

To its credit, Sloshspot accurately copied the dozens of recipes out there: fry three pieces of bacon, put it in a mason jar with vodka, wait three weeks, freeze, strain.

2. The Bacon Martini

AKA colossal fuck-up #1.  SS takes a recipe meant to give a regular vodka martini a hint of bacon (lining the edge of the glass with bacon grease; garnishing with a piece of bacon), and mistakenly says that you should use three ounces of bacon-infused vodka with the recipe.

I’ve dabbled with making bacon-infused martinis, and anything that is 90% or more bacon vodka will taste like ass.  I promise you.  The bacon flavor is just too salty and overpowering.  It’s like drinking pork-flavored seawater.

So you have to dilute it a little.  Here’s a tomato-bacon martini recipe that will knock you on your ass:

- 1 oz. bacon-infused vodka
- 2 oz. plain vodka
- 3 oz. tomato water (It’s another time-consuming pain to make, but well worth it)

Add ice.  Shake.  Garnish with fresh cherry tomato.  Optional ingredient: dash of black pepper.

You know how good a BLT tastes, right?  Imagine getting rid of all that horseshit lettuce and bread and mayonnaise and adding booze.  Make that at a party and you’ll be a goddamned hero.  Just remember where you got the recipe: an obscene football blog.

3. The Bacon Bloody Mary

This is another one that’s pretty impossible to mess up.  Just a regular Bloody Mary made with bacon vodka instead of plain.  And rimming the glass with bacon salt is definitely a good call.

4. Bacon-Infused Bourbon

There’s a bar in New York called PDT that insists you can make bacon-infused bourbon in just a couple hours.  New York Magazine bought into that idea, and so did Sloshspot.  Guess what?  It’s a fucking LIE.  I tried it, and it sucks.  The best way to make bacon bourbon is the same way you make bacon vodka: by waiting impatiently for three weeks.

5. Bacon Old-Fashioned

This is a brilliant drink, but only if you do the annoying time-consuming process to make your bacon bourbon.  Start with just a little maple syrup (a little goes a LONG way), add just enough water to liquefy the syrup, then add a shot of bacon bourbon.  The PDT recipe calls for bitters and an orange twist, but I prefer a few drops of lemon to cut the smoky sweetness.  Serve over ice.  If you need a garnish, I recommend a dark cherry.

So go forth, Internet readers, and drink bacony booze down the path of delicious drunkenness.  Have faith that these recommendations have come only after extensive trial and error, and though it pains me to share my secrets, I’d rather do that than see others lead you astray.  Because bacon-flavored booze is a terrible thing to waste.

Image via XKCD

Ooohhh, look at the big-shot serious writer! Did you ever expect to see the name “Drew Magary” hidden amongst the schmaltz in Reader’s Digest? Well, now you can read Drew’s six-word memoir on love. Surprisingly, it’s not about pie.

I think a better one would have been “Born fat, raised preppy, jerked it.” Yours in the comments.

Yesterday, resident KSKentuckian flubby directed our attention to this story, and without dipping into too much hyperbole, I can say that it is at once the saddest and funniest thing I’ve read all week.  It’s a terrible family tragedy in which every tired hillbilly stereotype gets paraded around without the slightest hint of irony.

Come, let’s read it together.  Something that involves tractors, highway blockage, trailer smashing, 35-year-old grandmothers, and pie-stealing shouldn’t be experienced alone.

There’s little undisputed in this story, the tale of the tipped trailer.

Frances Barton’s single-wide, the one she had fully paid $5,000 for and was hoping to move to a little piece of land she was buying on a $250-a-month land contract, is now literally in pieces on Jim Gaunce’s front lawn.

Rule of thumb: any news article that includes the term “single-wide” ain’t gonna have much good news.

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