8 Ounces and Stout Onion Rings

Finally a worthy cheeseburger on Broadway!

I refer to the brand new 8 Oz Burger on Broadway and Union.

I am a cheeseburger man, through and through. I loveeeeee love love love a good cheeseburger. Nothing like it. Dope cheese, good veggies, awesome beef.

And perhaps the most important thing, or one of the most important things, is the onion rings. Stout battered onion rings. Shit yeah.

I cannot respect a burger place unless they take the whole damn thing seriously. Because, frankly, even if I love your burger, I'm not going to love your joint unless you got some dope fries or onion rings for me. And some places really get lazy with their onion rings (I'm callin' you out, Lil Woody's). Don't give me your damn frozen onion rings! TAKE THIS SERIOUSLY, SON!

How dare you charge me $6 for a basket of these!:

We've all had onion rings like these. We can all taste their mediocrity as we look at this photo. Don't go there, son. Back off, bro. Don't do this to me!

And thank goodness, 8 oz. burger takes its onion rings seriously.

God bless America.

God bless 8 oz. burger.

I hope to eat there again soon. Especially because Oprah called their short rib grilled cheese one of here favorite things of 2011. I hope to try it soon!

Because I had just about had it with all of this Blue Moon, Lil Woody's, Deluxe bologna.

I NEED GOURMET BURGERS IN MY LIFE!

A bit spendy. But worth it.

Just the Skin Thanks

Sometimes I just want the good stuff. Sometimes I just want that part that you know everyone is just trying to get to anyways. Shit doesn't always come together. Life isn't all entrees. Not everything ends up a nice whole pizza pie. Nope. Sometimes you hold the pizza up and let gravity make that cheese mudslide all the way down to your greased up paper plate. And then you ball up all that gooey cheesation till it resembles a collection of old gum. Then you just pop that cheese hunk right in there and feel it breathe. Your mouth overflowing with cheese. Teeth frantically working to slice it into smaller ribbons so you don't choke to death on an adam's apple cheese wad. Yep. Sometimes you just want the cheese. Throw the red smeared pizza dough away. Other times you just want that KFC chicken skin. Whole flags of it, all sewn together, looking like an edible map of some brown and crunchy land.

Friend and fellow blogger, Riley, brought over some lovely lovely pastries yesterday. Two perfectly paired red velvet slutcakes. They were all plump and dark, all dressed up for the dance. Topped, no smothered, in a cream cheese frosting. Asking for it. Riley and I tagteamed one of them. Cake and cream and all. But really, the both of us kinda just wanted to go down on them. Go for the cream. You know. Menace over top of them. Face looking down on that gorgeously detailed evening gown. Just looming, resembling a giant about to put his teensy-humans captives in a bottle with a horsefly.

Just wanted to swoop down. Mouth humongous. Eat all that cream cheese up. Leave them slutcakes bald for the prom.

Sometimes you just want the cream, the cheese, or the skin. But you're too ashamed to own up to such a filthy appetite. So you eat the whole thing. All the parts. And you pretend it's your entree. A balanced meal.

Rush Hour 7

I don't have alot of time! I am frantically working! I am healthy again! I am the renewer! I am the guy you can talk to about what the hell happened to all that food you ate! Where the fuck it ended up! Everyone here is! Happy 2012! Let's not die!

Sometimes I think that things that go into me are getting lodged. They are taking up space in my throat pipe. It's like they go down a slide, through a hole, through a hole in the roof, into my stomach house. But as soon as they get going down the slide, they put their hands and feet against the tunneled walls of the slide. They stop. Or so I think. They wedge themselves somewhere in the beginning of my throat. Well then they set up lodgings there. Like it's a loft bed at the top of my stomach house. NO GOOD. I think there is a chunk of potato chip in that lofty throat space right now. I can try to ease it by pouring water down the slide. Try to break it up. Chunkify it, until it all tumbles down to the slippery hardwood floor of the stomach house. This jalapeno chip chunk has got to go!

But maybe I am just plain wrong. Maybe it did end up at the bottom, but as it went down the slide it sort of scratched and clawed its way down. Leaving this lingering bruising and scratching. A reminder of the chunk that got away. Enough of a reminder to feel like it's the actual thing. Who knows. I am going to wash whatever it is down some more. These here food chunks shouldn't be hanging out in my throat space! Nor should they be leaving painful reminders of their journey through said space. BACK TO WORK