Category Archives: Terrible Things People Eat

12 Easy Ways to Maintain Your Majestic Dad Dad Bod All Summer Long (via The Loop / Golf Digest)

Goals.

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The Loop / Golf Digest — That visible blob around your midsection isn’t going to keep itself there all summer, dads of America. Here are a few tips for making sure you reach the end of summer without succumbing to any of that exercise you planned at the beginning of it:

• Black coffee contains zero calories, so limit yourself to syrupy beverages. You may be tempted to at least add sugar to your black coffee, but that only gets your hafway there. Make sure to order only drinks that feature caramelly drizzles or, if possible, come topped with burst of whipped cream the size of a hockey puck.

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Tastes Like Burning: The Never-Ending Quest to Breed and Consume the World’s Hottest Pepper (via GQ)

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GQ — Late last year, the former guitarist for Guns N’ Roses propped up his camera phone, pressed the record button, produced a cherry-red coffin-shaped box and put its contents directly in his mouth.

The box contained a tortilla chip—one single chip—made from the dust of the Carolina Reaper, the hottest pepper on Earth, designed solely to obliterate the senses.  In the video, the guitarist, Ron “Bumblefoot” Thal, places the shard of fire on his tongue as his wife of 27 years, Jen, does the same. Incredibly, Jen smiles. Bumblefoot, meanwhile, looks like somebody hit self-destruct on his face.

“If you like pain, you’re gonna like this,” he says, through breaths that grow increasingly panting. “It’s still burning. I’m feeling kind of sweaty.” He grimaces, forces some smiles, the fire inching back up his throat. A few minutes in, he absently brushes his right eye, which, because his immune system works, immediately swells shut. “I no longer have use of my eye,” he says, half-laughing through tears and mucus. Jen, next to him, continues to seem totally fine. A guy who spent eight years with Axl Rose as his boss is getting slaughtered by a tortilla chip while his wife is like, eh, whatever.

This episode goes on for six minutes. Bumblefoot excuses himself to flush his eye with water—which obviously doesn’t work—until the fire finally dies down enough for the couple to record an outro. “Paqui chips,” he says, sweating and one-eyed, “Thank you very much for destroying my life for the next half-hour.”

The full story at GQ.com.

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The Five-Second Rule Is Still a Bunch of Hot Garbage (via GQ)

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GQ — Scientists can rip atoms to pieces, make spaceships buzz past Saturn, and create perfect copies of other animals, so we should probably believe them when they confirm—again—that when you drop food on the floor, your food becomes gross right away. Not after a honeymoon phase. Not after a consultation.

The five-second rule is childhood fantasy: a wishful assumption that if you drop a Jolly Rancher on the floor, the germs, bacteria and vermin on the ground will pause and hold a committee meeting before deciding whether to attach themselves physically to the candy’s adhesive surface. According to Rutgers researchers, who spent apparently two years knocking over fruit, bacteria transfers on contact just as soon as food hits the floor—which, conveniently enough, mirrors how science works in the rest of the universe!

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What Is Pea Milk and Should You Be Drinking It? (via GQ)

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GQ — Alright, let’s get this out of the way: If you can say the phrase, “I’m about to drink a nice glass of pea milk” out loud without dissolving into hysterics, you have never been to seventh grade and I feel sorry for you.

And yet we need milk alternatives because cows are over and everybody hates them now. No one drinks milk anymore; we’ve all turned to an uproariously diverse buffet of beverages that includes, but is not limited to, almond milk, coconut milk, macadamia milk and hemp milk (yes it’s real, and no it doesn’t). The newest—and pretty much only—entrant into the white-hot alternative milk game is Ripple, a yellow split pea-based concoction that has already made the industry sit up, take notice, giggle at the name, and then say, “Eh, sure, why not.”

Here’s what this stuff tastes like.

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Science Says Cheese is Basically Cocaine (via GQ)

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GQ — You know how it is: You’re bored at some fancypants dinner party, so you meander over to the snack table and think, “Cool, they have cheese,” and then, “Whoa, that cheese is tasty, I should have another few blocks,” and then 10 minutes later you’re smearing cheese all over your nose and jumping over coffee tables while shouting about how you’re the god of thunder? Well FINALLY science has taken a break from proving Earth’s spherical shape to B.o.B to afford us an explanation: Turns out cheese triggers the same excitable brain-parts as some of your favorite hard drugs! So the opposite is probably also theoretically true, which will help explain if you’ve ever been like, “This meth is good, but what I’d really love is some lasagna.”

The full sharp revelation over at GQ.com.

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Snacks of the Damned: Half the Foods on This Terrifying List Are Real (via GQ)

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The one on the left we made up. Everything else is fair game.

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GQ — So, a New York bar has created a gourmet pizza that’s topped with Cheetos; it’s a fancy blend of cavatappi pasta, Béchamel sauce, a “signature cheese blend,” and the number-one reason your video-game controllers no longer work. It looks, well, delicious—let’s not be elitists about it. But it was hardly 2015’s only curious kitchen mash-up. We’re not sure what’s up with this game of culinary one-upmanship being waged by basically every restaurant that the Omnivore’s Dilemma buzzkill might have whined about, but a lot of the results make Cheetos pizza look like an organic-kale quesadilla wrapped in Volt brochures by comparison. See if you can tell the real food-flavored objects here from the very, very fake.

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Right, Like You Haven’t Fed Your Kid This Type Of Bacon Before

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Stop looking at me like that, Paltrow

Island Packet — I casually mentioned to a friend last week that I’d made my son waffles and bacon for breakfast that morning. I also casually mentioned that I’d done it a few days before, and a few days before that, and probably a few times the previous week as well. My older son does not have an adventuresome palate, so when his dad finds something the boy will eat that doesn’t originate from exhaust-belching factory machinery with the words “VAT OF NUGGETS” on it, he sticks relentlessly with what works. So, sure, I said, waffles and bacon. Get some OJ, throw some fruit out there, breakfast of champions. Let’s get this kid to third grade.

But my news seemed to come as a solid surprise, like, wait, you make him waffles and bacon? Every day? Sure, I replied, feeling really pretty jaunty about myself and my breakfast-related fathering, given all this sudden affirmation and everything.

Well, obviously, this was a bit of a communication breakdown. It took me a few minutes to realize she was talking about actual waffles and actual bacon, while I was talking about something different — namely waffles that can be waffled in a toaster and come from Sam’s Club in a box of 35,000, and precooked bacon that can be re-cooked in a microwave and come from Sam’s Club in a box of 47,000.

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AspireAssist: The stomach-emptying foodbag that’s officially preferable to exercise

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Not entirely sure this will fit in the outbound tube

GateHouse — There are lots of ways to lose weight these days. You could have part of your stomach clamped off, you could binge n’ purge, you could sample any number of delicious chemical medications, shakes, cocktails, injections, pudding cups, synthetic meals or genetically modified livestock. You could also consume fewer calories than you burn off in daily activity or exercise but ha ha come on who seriously would do that it’s just madcap whackadoo crazy talk.

Far less crazy is the idea of the AspireAssist, a new product from the world’s fledgling over-the-counter weight-loss medication industry and the latest magic bullet for the admirably tenacious chunk of the country’s food aficionados who, bravely in the face of hundreds of years of medical science, expert analysis and that kind of good old-fashioned common sense that everyone’s grandpappy apparently had, believe it’s possible to drop pounds without modifying one’s portion size or occasionally going for one of those walks your grandpappy told you about.

The AspireAssist, and I have to reiterate that this part is real, takes the food you’ve decided to eat, since you’re theoretically a sentient adult who isn’t being force-fed a kids’ wagon full of blueberry pies (unless you are, in which case try to escape immediately, forced-pie-eating crimes are on the rise), and vacuums it right out of your stomach before it’s converted to fat and sadness. If it works, the machine makes it so you only absorb about a third of the calories in the food you eat, and I think we can all agree that attaching an electronic machine to your body to slurp out 2/3 of the material you consumed is immeasurably more convenient and uncreepy than not eating it in the first place.

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Deep-fried fair-food cereal: Can it be worse than regular Trix?

Pictured: Step 5 of the P90X program cycle.

GateHouse — I am not a big eater of fair food, which you can probably tell, because I am not dead.

I am also not a very big rider of fair rides, which you can also tell, for the same reason. There was an annual fair that came through my Indiana hometown every year — it had to, because it was an annual fair, and if carnies are known for anything it’s their strict adherence to contractual obligations — and I would go every year, because it was either that or play fantasy baseball with my friends. And here is this only time this sentence will ever be written anywhere on Earth: The county fair was the much stronger option for possibly meeting girls. (It was also a much better option for eating funnel cakes, which was the far more likely outcome.)

This happened when I was in my teens, in the mid-1930s according to my hair and posture, back when my unformed adolescent body could do things like consume three consecutive funnel cakes without collapsing into a heap of convulsive stomach-clutching. (By contrast, if I eat one whole glazed donut now I must run four miles to destroy the attendant calories, which is hard, as I don’t really have the two hours to spare.)

And it is a DARNED or possible GOLDANGED good thing, too, because if I were a teen hitting up the Lake County Fair now I would have all manner of newfangled (and newdanged!) fair foods to consume while not meeting any girls. (Can I tell you that I have never understood the idea of fair foods anyway, and not just because of my aversion to throwing up into a Crazy Ball game, but because I cannot fathom why, when you’re going to be hitting 8 Gs in a rattletrap spinny contraption that was built in 1956 and contains most of its original rivets, you definitely want your waist parts jammed full of unregulated dough prepared by undocumented gypsies. God the kids are going to LOVE going to the fair with Fun Dad in a few years.)

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Why All Of These Face-Chewing People Aren’t Signs Of The Zombie Apocalypse, Probably

Show’s over, Shakespeare

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GateHouse — First, I will admit that it looks bad. In the past few weeks the news has been thick (annoyingly thick, not deliciously thick) with stories of innocent bystanders being attacked by what are pretty obviously zombies: a guy caught chewing on another guy’s face in Miami, a Maryland man charged with killing another man and eating his heart and portions of his brain, a dude in New Jersey who disemboweled himself and “threw his intestines at police officers,” according to a newspaper. All classic signs of zombie attack, except for the last thing, which is just gross, and, I believe, distasteful even by zombie standards, which are not terrifically strict when it comes to disembowelment.

But despite the mounting evidence and occasional intestinal throwing, I must urge you all to remain calm. This is NOT the zombie apocalypse. I mean, sure, the zombie apocalypse is coming, because it’s 2012, and, you know, Mayans or whatever. And it will bring suffering and plagues and moaning and the dramatic breaking of glass doors and puns about the best ways to escape from zombies. (Trains. Obviously.)

But these are isolated incidents, friends, not nearly the cause for alarm the overcaffeinated SEO-obsessed noisemakers on the Internet would have you believe. (Zombie apocalypse is your answer for everything.) Don’t believe me? Let’s look at the evidence. Except the intestines. You may keep those covered.

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1. The zombie apocalypse is not going to start in Miami.

Now I’ll admit, if there’s any town I want to see fall into the hands of the ravaging undead, it’s probably Miami (also Cedar Rapids, Iowa, AND THE PEOPLE OF CEDAR RAPIDS KNOW WHY). But Miami’s climate is far too moist, humid and energetic to properly support zombie life, which, I am told by scientists and movies, mostly movies, is repelled by warmer climes, as well as unlikable professional basketball players and god-awful Latin dance music. Besides, Miami isn’t near any nuclear test facility, and everyone knows all zombie apocalypses start near nuclear test facilities. So the apocalypse, if it comes (and by that I mean “when it comes,” but I’m trying to keep faith or whatever), will likely start in someplace remote and small-townish, probably in Iowa. Hopefully Cedar Rapids.

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[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6Ejga4kJUts]

Is there any type of monster the Cranberries have not prepared us for?

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