neverbeencool

Squeak.
Stomp.

That’s all I hear today.

Squeak.
Stomp.

My right shoe is squeaking every time I take a step.

Squeak.
Stomp.

Started first thing this morning, soon as I stepped off the train.

Squeak.
Stomp.
Squeak.
Stomp.

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Over on the east side of Vancouver, in the part of town that actually does fit the Vantuckey mental image that Portland hipsters have of this side of the river, there’s a pizza joint that wants you dead.

Don’t get me wrong, the folks at Juliano’s are nice enough.  Been there a few times and none of them have pulled a gun or tried to run me down in the parking lot, which is more than I can say for most people I’ve interacted with more than once or twice.  But let’s just face facts: their pizza will fuck your shit up.

Behold, the Hefty Ho!:

The only Hefty Ho the Mrs. would approve for the Boy's 14th birthday.

The 389 cows and pigs killed to make this one pizza will get their revenge  soon enough.  Undoubtedly, just looking at that picture’s making my cholesterol shoot up another 30 points.  Eating it probably knocked 800 years off my life.

Sure, the description in their menu sounds innocuous enough:

The Hefty Ho!
Pepperoni, Canadian Bacon, Ham, L inguica, and Sausage

But what they fail to tell you is that they pack on about 17 pounds of each.  Seriously, a cross-section of that bastard looks almost exactly like this:

I know, I should totally be an artist or something.

Who cares, though.  It’s yummy.

Turns out the YOUCANHASCHEESEBURGER and the REDONKADONK are for pussies.  Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the Fifth-Third Burger:

Now we know what God did on the 8th day.

According to Ben’s Biz Blog (by way of Fark.com):

The “Fifth Third Burger” (so-called because the Whitecaps play in Fifth Third Ballpark) is 5/3 pounds of grilled hamburger topped with lettuce, tomato, nacho cheese, chili, salsa and crunched tortilla chips. Saddled with the heroic task of holding it all together is an eight-inch sesame seed bun.

Amen.

Let me just get something off my chest right off the bat:  I’ve never eaten SPAM®.  Nearly old enough to run for President of this great nation, and yet that I’ve never enjoyed even an itty bitty bite of it’s spiced hammy goodness.  That, my friends, will soon change.

See, this morning, my friend Aaron told me about a new burger joint among the food carts in downtown Portland, place called Brunch Box.  In Aaron’s words (and my emphasis):

Yesterday I had a $5 burger which was a burger/lettuce/tomato/onion/condiments sandwiched between two grilled cheese sandwiches (instead of a bun)

After the CPR, it was great.

Clearly, my friends, I had to drop everything, head down to the carts, and bask in its greasy glory.

Behold, the Brunch Box’s YOUCANHASCHEESEBURGER:

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Just ran across the creepiest, saddest, most uncomfortable Google AdSense ad I’ve ever seen:

I don’t know what Matt’s writing about these days that made Google’s algorithm think this one would hit home with his readers.

But, of course, I had to check it out.  And I regret it.  If you’re looking for an excuse to drink today, you should head over to their online store, too.

Oh, and I didn’t have the nerve to check out the message boards over there.  The keepsakes did enough for my imagination.

Now excuse me while I think of excuses to get out of the rest of my afternoon and head home to spend time with my daughter.