I Get E-Mail, My Mom Gets a Blog, David Rosengarten Gets Hit By a McDonald's Truck (Well, One Can Dream)
1. In Two Words: E-Mail Me. In Several Hundred Words:
The money I'm forking over for my clever 'n mildly saucy domain each month (note: doesn't "clever 'n mildly saucy" seem like it should be the tagline for a brand of British frozen entrees? Like "I Do Say, Dear Fellow Microwavable Enchiladas" or "Jolly Good Show, Guv'nah! Heat-'n-Eat Lardy Cake")... um, where was I? Oh, that cash apparently also gets me an e-mail address (me@thumbscre.ws).
In order for me to achieve maximum bang for my internet buck, you should e-mail me. I will be clever and witty and verbose enough to make your mail server beg for mercy ("Noooo! I'm sorry about all that penis-enlargement spam! Your penis is perfect just the way it is!").
I will also share my risotto recipe if you wish. It's pretty rockin'. It's also the only thing I can cook. I don't mean "cook well", I mean "cook AT ALL, without it emitting plumes of acrid smoke and becoming molecularly bonded to the bottom of one of my husband's fancy-ass French skillets. Every time I find myself hunched over the sink, scraping away at carbonized chicken with a butter knife, I imagine the good people at the Bourgeat factory slamming down their tiny cups of espresso and exclaiming, "SACRE BLEU! Zees cannot BE!".
2. Nepotism is Nepo-tastic:
My momma has a blog now, too. It's funny and sweet and really well-written. You should visit it: http://www.pinelands.blogspot.com/ . If you do, I'll even let you know the two TOP-SECRET special ingredients* which transform my risotto recipe from "better than chocolate-dipped sex" to "capable of driving Italian master chefs to commit ritual suicide on their mezzalunas". Which, come to think of it, might take a loooong time. "Ow!... I have brought shame upon my profession... OW!... I am the biggest disgrace ever to wear a puffy white hat... AAAGGGHHH!...".
3. Special Asterisk Section: The Dipshittery of David Rosengarten:
If that phrase seemed awfully familiar, it's probably because you've received the "teaser" copy of "The Rosengarten Report" (uber-prig David Rosengarten's food magazine). While it appears at first glance to be a normal sample issue, it's actually fifty pages of statements EXACTLY LIKE THAT... maddeningly vague, hilariously florid and designed for one purpose: to coerce you into giving David Rosengarten $75 a year NOW NOW NOW.
"Many people feel that European plugra is the world's best butter. I say, "Feh! I wouldn't use that shit to grease the wheel bearings on my Lexus!" The world's best butter is actually made in a tiny Andalusian dairy, hand-churned each morning by beatific, full-breasted milkmaids who make Botticelli angels look like the St. Pauli girl. These skilled artisans have been making butter the old-fashioned way for over 50,000 years. What's that, you say? Cows didn't exist then? Well, maybe they milked trilobytes or something. But that's not the point. The butter is the point. It is so rich, creamy and delicious that it actually makes you LOSE weight, as ingesting a fat so perfect will make your own trashy fat cells die of shame. Is your mouth watering yet? Are you trembling with desire? Are you shrieking, "DAVID, TELL ME WHERE TO GET THE FUCKING BUTTER ALREADY?!" Well, I will... for just $75 a year!
I swear that's only a modest exaggeration. Now if only I could pay $75 a year to eradicate the mental image of David Rosengarten quivering with ecstasy while licking the wrapper of a $30 stick of butter.
The money I'm forking over for my clever 'n mildly saucy domain each month (note: doesn't "clever 'n mildly saucy" seem like it should be the tagline for a brand of British frozen entrees? Like "I Do Say, Dear Fellow Microwavable Enchiladas" or "Jolly Good Show, Guv'nah! Heat-'n-Eat Lardy Cake")... um, where was I? Oh, that cash apparently also gets me an e-mail address (me@thumbscre.ws).
In order for me to achieve maximum bang for my internet buck, you should e-mail me. I will be clever and witty and verbose enough to make your mail server beg for mercy ("Noooo! I'm sorry about all that penis-enlargement spam! Your penis is perfect just the way it is!").
I will also share my risotto recipe if you wish. It's pretty rockin'. It's also the only thing I can cook. I don't mean "cook well", I mean "cook AT ALL, without it emitting plumes of acrid smoke and becoming molecularly bonded to the bottom of one of my husband's fancy-ass French skillets. Every time I find myself hunched over the sink, scraping away at carbonized chicken with a butter knife, I imagine the good people at the Bourgeat factory slamming down their tiny cups of espresso and exclaiming, "SACRE BLEU! Zees cannot BE!".
2. Nepotism is Nepo-tastic:
My momma has a blog now, too. It's funny and sweet and really well-written. You should visit it: http://www.pinelands.blogspot.com/ . If you do, I'll even let you know the two TOP-SECRET special ingredients* which transform my risotto recipe from "better than chocolate-dipped sex" to "capable of driving Italian master chefs to commit ritual suicide on their mezzalunas". Which, come to think of it, might take a loooong time. "Ow!... I have brought shame upon my profession... OW!... I am the biggest disgrace ever to wear a puffy white hat... AAAGGGHHH!...".
3. Special Asterisk Section: The Dipshittery of David Rosengarten:
If that phrase seemed awfully familiar, it's probably because you've received the "teaser" copy of "The Rosengarten Report" (uber-prig David Rosengarten's food magazine). While it appears at first glance to be a normal sample issue, it's actually fifty pages of statements EXACTLY LIKE THAT... maddeningly vague, hilariously florid and designed for one purpose: to coerce you into giving David Rosengarten $75 a year NOW NOW NOW.
"Many people feel that European plugra is the world's best butter. I say, "Feh! I wouldn't use that shit to grease the wheel bearings on my Lexus!" The world's best butter is actually made in a tiny Andalusian dairy, hand-churned each morning by beatific, full-breasted milkmaids who make Botticelli angels look like the St. Pauli girl. These skilled artisans have been making butter the old-fashioned way for over 50,000 years. What's that, you say? Cows didn't exist then? Well, maybe they milked trilobytes or something. But that's not the point. The butter is the point. It is so rich, creamy and delicious that it actually makes you LOSE weight, as ingesting a fat so perfect will make your own trashy fat cells die of shame. Is your mouth watering yet? Are you trembling with desire? Are you shrieking, "DAVID, TELL ME WHERE TO GET THE FUCKING BUTTER ALREADY?!" Well, I will... for just $75 a year!
I swear that's only a modest exaggeration. Now if only I could pay $75 a year to eradicate the mental image of David Rosengarten quivering with ecstasy while licking the wrapper of a $30 stick of butter.
Labels: The Compleat Thumbscrew
posted by thumbscre.ws at
1/06/2006
4 Comments:
Doesn't Plugra sound like the name of some greasy Japanese monster threatening to smother Tokyo in a buttery golden smear?
No?
Carry on, then. Pardon the ring.
Please excuse me for a moment while I geek all over myself... OHMIGOD OHMIGOD OHMIGOD, JULIE COMMENTED ON MY BLOG!
*regains composure*... ahem, where were we?
Ah, yes. Plugra the terrible. Plugra the feared. Plugra, who must do battle 30,000 feet above the surface of the earth because he's spreadable at room temperature. Here's how he'd fare against various opponents:
Plugra vs. Godzilla: advantage Godzilla. While he does have tiny, stupid arms, he's also ravenously hungry, and nothing goes better with char-broiled Tokyoites than butter.
Plugra vs. Mothra: advantage Plugra. During the various nature walks I was subjected to as a youngster, I was repeatedly instructed to NEVER touch moths, as the natural oil on my fingers would do irreperable harm to their wings. As Plugra is comprised ENTIRELY of natural oils, he'd clearly be the victor here.
Plugra vs. Gamera: advantage Gamera. Roger Ebert suggests that Gamera is powered by farts. This leads one to believe that if he consumed Plugra (who, despite being sentient and combatative, is still just a giant wad of butter), he would become the most powerful space turtle in the world, and might even need a new theme song.
OHMYGODOHMYGOD, JULIE COMMENTED ON YOUR BLOG! I'm giddily aglow from the geeky, reflected glory, because you read me and that's only two degrees of separation, LOL!
Plugra sounds more like a gay sex toy to me. Shows you how MY mind works.
Heh... it's weird yet cool to see someone gain notoriety for being a wonderful, funny writer (rather than, say, running naked across the field at a Yankees game or being Paris Hilton).
Now I'm imagining "Plug-Ra, Egyptian God of Anal Play". He's a giant rubber monstrosity with an eye of Horus emblazoned on him in "for-her-pleasure" rubber nubbins. If you anger Plug-Ra, you don't walk straight for a week.
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