HAVE IT YOUR WAY®?

What Exactly is a Whopper anyway? Any man worth his fancy ketchup has eaten at least a gross of Burger King's signature sandwich in his day. And I would hope that we all know what goes into making its Mickey D's equivalent - in stature, if not ingredients - the Big Mac (hint: it includes 2 all beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles and onion, all piled delectably high on a sesamee seed bun). Riddle me this: if you order a Big Mac without the "special sauce", is it still truly a Big Mac? 'Course not, fool.
So what is it that makes up a WHOPPER®? Well, I'm so glad you asked! The Original WHOPPER® Sandwich has been doing its thing since 1957. It's a fire-grilled classic and everything you would expect from a great-tasting burger – 1/4 pound of (grey) beef, red ripe tomatoes, crisp lettuce, creamy mayonnaise, ketchup, crunchy pickles and onions all on a freshly baked bun. In the interest of full disclosure, let me admit right now that I have what some consider an odd taste in burgers. I don't like bacon on them in most cases. With fast food, I am more apt to order a hamburger than a cheeseburger (I love cheese, but American singles are the ugly stepsister of cheeses). I am not really a proponent of the double patty. I preferred the WHOPPER® to the old school Riva's House Burger. But don't let minor facts steer you off course. I know my fast food. I'll sing you a jingle to prove it. I know who has a deal going for what. I don't like to eat things that don't leave me bloated and reaching for Tums.
Here is where things really get ugly. Little Johnny Jitters and I have a running argument; he says that he loves to order "Whoppers" at BK, but herein lies the rub: he orders them sans mayo. Shudder. It isn't that someone would order a burger without mayo. I usually prefer them that way myself. Especially that weird cold mayo and unmelted cheese crap they try to pull at Wendy's. But it ain't a WHOPPER®, there is just something about the nasty way the ketchup and creamy bird period extract melt togetther. I would argue that it is just as much a part of the signature tase that makes an ordinary burger a WHOPPER®, as the "special sauce" is a necessary part of the Big Mac. What is the main ingredient in that "special sauce" anyway, if not that same creamy mayonaisse? Part of what makes eating a WHOPPER® the unique culinary experience that it is is the distinctive scent that it leaves on your hands for the next 36 hours. I will not argue this. Goddammit, there is just something un-American about ordering your sandwich that way and still having the audacity to call it a WHOPPER®. Who's with me?

Coming next week...KFC vs. Popeye's, the blind taste test!

Title!? We Don't need no stinking title

I know what you're Thinking....some drunken asshole just posted his entry to the wrong blog. It has been known to happen. But just this once that is not true. See I wrote this last night, then I passed out before I could post it, andI just don't feel right about posting a "weekend" blog on my site when clearly it is not the weekend....

In all honesty, I was just going to delete it, and maybe I should have, but Javen promised me if I post this he would make the post to end all posts...No Pressure.

Oh well,

I've been drinking....and now I don't know what to do. The common sense part of me is screaming at me to please pass out, while the sufferin artist in me keeps screaming "Blog you fool. Blog!!" and of course all this time the Jiminy Cricket in me is screaming, "It's perfectly OK to go pass out!!"

It's kind of a weird night, which is the perfect ending to what was kind of a weird weekend. I can't explain it, but I really didn't like this weekend. Don't get me wrong, it was filled with good times and new bars. Two things I have traditionally buitl my campaign platform on. I got to do all that and still spend all day today by myself, something that i am starting to learn to really enjoy. It soundslike this should have been a perfect weekend, but as I sit here typing I can't shake the feeling that this weekend was just missing something.

Perhaps it's the fact that I never took a nap. Normally at some point on both Saturday and Sunday I compensate for my inability to sleep past 8 Am by sacking out for a good 45 minutes on the futon. If I'm lucky and it's a really good weekend, I may even nap twice in a day. I call that the jackpot. But thanks to some pretty shitty planning on the part of yours truly, the nap never materialized despite spending all day Saturday with no caffeine. (Note to self: Avoid future commitments after 11 Am on Saturday morning.)

Yeah I definitely missed the naps, and of course theother thing I really missed was my favorite part of most weekends...the weekly stop at the McDodnald's drive through for a large coffee and two $.99 double cheese burgers. Most weekends, this is the highlight of my weekend.

So now here it is, all of a sudden 11 Pm on a sunday and I am sitting here drunk and dreading work, and being pissed at myself for not taking enough "Dan Time" this weekend to get my mind off work and all its stresses. My stomach is a combination of a pit of despair pining for a longer weekend and bubbling cauldron of indigestion from the combination of Hot Dogs, Baked Potatoes and Pop-corn that made up my three-course dinner.

BY rights I should be dying and writing this blog while perched atop a toilet with a mild case of the green apple splatters, but, instead, i am sitting here in my recliner all sweaty and confused and wondering just where the hell the weekend went and what this blog is about.

I'm New Brunswick...who are you??

You're New Brunswick. You're a very easygoing
person. You're easy to please and not very
demanding. You're seldom the target of much
mockery or scorn.
When you are, it's never very serious. It's smooth
sailing for you.


What Canadian Province Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

These pants are really cramping my hardy boys; its no mystery.

A little something to add to my comment on No One Cares What I Think. I care what you think Bill, and so do all the Jared haters.

Classic Overwing Weekend: Post-Mortem

To Mr. and Mrs. America and all the ships at sea. They came from Portugal to Mansfield, Ohio, and all points in between, with one thing on their mind: Chicken Wings and plenty of 'em. It was a journey that started in the Mecca and Medina of edible poultry limbs and ended 180 minutes to the east where the art has been perfected.

While Jitter, Javen and TT might be best able to relay the events of their exploits in Erie County, I'll take you the last furlong. Dateline: Syracuse, New York, Grant Blvd to be exact, where the Wings were hot and so were the sweaty men at Change of Pace Sports Bar, home of the best Chicken Wings in Syracuse.

Here is a brief pictoral recap of the evening:


Young Toastie got a late Christmas gift from our friend Mr Tomsich. A powder blue vinyl jacket that said "Margie" and emblazoned with the Old Style emblem. If you don't know Old Style, then you don't know Chicago's finest beer.


Yes, Toastie, we CAN feel you!

Isn't he cute?

And this jacket fit like a 5'11" glove!


Messrs Bohall and Tomsich welcome themselves to flavor country. It may not be Buffalo, but the wings are just as good if not better.


Jitter mocks all comers by enjoying his wings in front of jealous vegetarians. Too bad, non-meat-eating suckers.


Willie decides to give up his veganism and try a chicken wing for the first time. He will not be looking back.


Billy want wingie, but Jitter says, "Not in my house, Jackson!"


What a magical weekend. In olden times, they used to throw the chicken wings and legs away! What a waste. Look at the all the enjoyment people in olden times missed out on. When can we have a Garbage Plate weekend?

These pictures were provided by Javen's camera, but he obviously didn't take all of them, since he's in some of them.

Sometimes, a sweatshirt is worth a thousand words...

Exactly.