Making Idaho the place to be
Columbus Day is the only day of post office-closing power (excluding generic Sundays) that can come and go without massive and uber-marketed recognition from the general public. And rightfully so, Columbus and his respective day both suck.
In some aspects, the Italian explorer/pioneer was a crucial part of history; he technically made the first publicized trip to the Western world, although many intelligent thinkers know he wasn't the European to place his 15th-century boots on American soil. Yet thousands believe he was the hero who discovered the continent, and for that, I rant.
It's widely agreed that Chrissy-poo was oblivious to his findings and also popular to vocally distribute the fact. But there's still something unjust with his unintentional achievement: he's sorta idolized for it. If he has his own 24 hour period named in his honor, so should numerous and deserving heroes who do not have such a luxury/distinction.
IN SHORT, THE THEME OF THE WEEK IS:
(fill in the blank) day.
Let's begin.
George Crum Day
*note: this may or may not be, in fact, a picture of George Crum. But hey! He's like 250 years old and he has a hat! A hat, for crissakes.*
Waaaaaaaaaeighy back in the time of Napoelon III and pre-Seattle Washington state, there was a cook who prepared food in a restaurant. But this wasn't just any cook in any restaruant, it was a man by the name of George Crum, the head chef for Moon's Lake House in Sarogota Springs, NY.
George was a good food maker. Seafood, Italian, weasel delicacies, you name it: he'll bake it and you'll take it all the while at Moon Lake. Look, a tit.
*image cencored because I can't legally see boobies yet*
But dispite his mastery, he still had his fair share of shitty customers. One special day, a businessman moseyed into the restaraunt and ordered something, with a side of fried potato slices. George prepared them with his typical finesse and apron, nothing to abnormal for him. After eating a few of the spud selections, the nameless customer viciously complained that George sliced them too thick and that they were saturated with grease. George adapted to his criticism and served up another plate. The customer was once again angered, claiming the same thing: too fat and too wet.
Even after another batch, the picky prick wasn't satisfied. His obnoxious tantrum was apparently the straw that broke George's possibly hairy backy-back-back. In a furious rage of fury, the chef cut the potatoes impossibly thin and overcooked them to a light crisp. He then dumped an excessive amount of sodium chloride on his creation. That otta show the cheesy whiner, the potatoes would break if punctured by a sharp utensil such as a fork!
The customer, however, used his hands to eat the slices instead, an unforseen action on his part. He enjoyed the crispy slices so much, he ordered like 67 platesworths and became the first person ever to be unable to stop once began to pop.
Shocked, George collected himself and realized what he had accidentally done. These potato turds...er...dropping piles...um...chips! Yes, these potato chips would lead him to massive amounts of gold/money and who knows - He might even get to be on Rosie O'Donnell!
Cooking for other people is hardly ever fun, especially when the said other people are hard-to-please douchebags and agressively finicky. George got fed up with a particular and snapped, like so many have and will. He got lucky, yes, but this goes to show you:
If someone is frustratingly selective, make a fool of them.
Kick a book,
Brett and the tator tots NAPOLEAN LAWLS!
In some aspects, the Italian explorer/pioneer was a crucial part of history; he technically made the first publicized trip to the Western world, although many intelligent thinkers know he wasn't the European to place his 15th-century boots on American soil. Yet thousands believe he was the hero who discovered the continent, and for that, I rant.
It's widely agreed that Chrissy-poo was oblivious to his findings and also popular to vocally distribute the fact. But there's still something unjust with his unintentional achievement: he's sorta idolized for it. If he has his own 24 hour period named in his honor, so should numerous and deserving heroes who do not have such a luxury/distinction.
IN SHORT, THE THEME OF THE WEEK IS:
(fill in the blank) day.
Let's begin.
George Crum Day
*note: this may or may not be, in fact, a picture of George Crum. But hey! He's like 250 years old and he has a hat! A hat, for crissakes.*
Waaaaaaaaaeighy back in the time of Napoelon III and pre-Seattle Washington state, there was a cook who prepared food in a restaurant. But this wasn't just any cook in any restaruant, it was a man by the name of George Crum, the head chef for Moon's Lake House in Sarogota Springs, NY.
George was a good food maker. Seafood, Italian, weasel delicacies, you name it: he'll bake it and you'll take it all the while at Moon Lake. Look, a tit.
*image cencored because I can't legally see boobies yet*
But dispite his mastery, he still had his fair share of shitty customers. One special day, a businessman moseyed into the restaraunt and ordered something, with a side of fried potato slices. George prepared them with his typical finesse and apron, nothing to abnormal for him. After eating a few of the spud selections, the nameless customer viciously complained that George sliced them too thick and that they were saturated with grease. George adapted to his criticism and served up another plate. The customer was once again angered, claiming the same thing: too fat and too wet.
Even after another batch, the picky prick wasn't satisfied. His obnoxious tantrum was apparently the straw that broke George's possibly hairy backy-back-back. In a furious rage of fury, the chef cut the potatoes impossibly thin and overcooked them to a light crisp. He then dumped an excessive amount of sodium chloride on his creation. That otta show the cheesy whiner, the potatoes would break if punctured by a sharp utensil such as a fork!
The customer, however, used his hands to eat the slices instead, an unforseen action on his part. He enjoyed the crispy slices so much, he ordered like 67 platesworths and became the first person ever to be unable to stop once began to pop.
Shocked, George collected himself and realized what he had accidentally done. These potato turds...er...dropping piles...um...chips! Yes, these potato chips would lead him to massive amounts of gold/money and who knows - He might even get to be on Rosie O'Donnell!
Cooking for other people is hardly ever fun, especially when the said other people are hard-to-please douchebags and agressively finicky. George got fed up with a particular and snapped, like so many have and will. He got lucky, yes, but this goes to show you:
If someone is frustratingly selective, make a fool of them.
Kick a book,
Brett and the tator tots NAPOLEAN LAWLS!
posted by Warx at 5:53 PM
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