Last Meal

I don’t know about you Pat, but I plan on never getting arrested and then executed on death row. It’s one of the items on my empty bucket list (things I don’t want to ever do before I die). Sure there’s the off chance I’ll get framed for a crime I didn’t commit. But my plan for that is to just execute a harrowing escape from prison. Which is why I schedule weekly escaping practices for myself from my basement. Granted I have never been able to successfully escape from my basement in the allotted time - 3 hours - but that’s most likely because I keep all the beer down there.

Anyways, another area of the being-put-on-death-row-for-a-crime-I-didn’t-commit scenario I have put a lot of thought into is my last meal (assuming my harrowing escape works out the same way as trying to escape from my basement -There’s beer in prison right?).

Pat, have you put any thought into what your last meal would be if for some reason you could only have one more meal before you died?

Pat: Man, buddy, when you nail it you REALLY nail it!* I have thought about this one, a lot!

And it might surprise you, me being the grand gourmand I am. Forget the idea of filet mignon and lobster with beurre blanc, with macerated roots and tubers. If it’s my last meal, I want a gut-stuffing platter of all the shit that experts said would kill me if I didn’t stop eating it.

That’s right...we’re talking gravy--LOTS of it!--on top of fried balls of anything covered in cheese that comes out of a tube. Might as well throw some crispy bacon on top of all that and try to squeeze it all into a giant tortilla in order to make the giantest crap-food chimichanga the world has ever seen. Cover it with some crema and some guaca-sauce, and I might just be swimming in a little pool of heaven.

Yep...kinda' like that.

Christian:  Seems like you should add an item from 7-11 on top of that thing too. Doesn’t matter what the item is as long as it’s from 7-11.

But Pat I think we are on the same page on this one. Yes, the naive and foolish answer would be to select something like lobster or steak. And I’ll be the first to admit that some of my favorite meals of all time were such things. But the kicker here is that lobster and steak aren’t always really good.

Even the top elite chefs from the finest Sizzlers around don’t always get it right. Are you going to want to risk it on your last meal ever? No.

As for me my last meal would be a large sausage pizza from my favorite pizza place, Papa’s Pizza (Sorry non-Oregonians, they’re a Willamette Valley only establishment). I’ve probably had over 1500 of these pizzas in my lifetime and I have never been unhappy with one. Their cheese is thick and melts with flavor while their crust falls perfectly between not too thin and not too thick. Perfection. And what is the only way to improve upon perfection? Put sausage on the perfection.

I think I really hit this one out of the park.

Pat: Something about the image of a sausage pizza always makes me vurp a little. I had a bad experience with an over-sausaged Chicago style pizza (I was in Chicago at the time, so I guess it was just “pizza”), where, in order to be able to eat it I had to pick out a lot of the sausage, which left me with a big ball-like thing of sausage and cheese, flecked with little spots of red.

Somewhere between...

this

and

this.

But that’s cool...if that’s what you want for your last meal, then who the hell am I to argue. (vurp!).

I know that this isn’t the time or place to get a little self-righteous or preachy, but do you want to think about having even a little something green on your last meal Christian?

What if we play the airplane game as I feed it to you?

Christian: Something green? Pat, do you even understand what we are talking about here? This is our last meal. EVER. We’re going to die shortly after eating it (which is why I’m ordering a large pizza. It’s going to take me awhile to finish that baby off).

Why would you want to eat some greens? Are you planning on doing some exercising afterwards too? Don’t forget to floss while you’re at it.

Sheesh Pat, you really know how to take the fun out of being executed on death row.

Pat:  No, you’re probably right. It’s just that I think I might get a tiny bit nostalgic right at the end, and I might feel a twinge of regret about not eating something that connects me with this beautiful green planet that has nurtured me and helped me grow.

You don’t want to throw even a sprig of parsley on there? Just for fun, fresh breath...and a final taste of mother earth?

Christian: Stacey is right. You are a hippy.

*for all of our followers playing the “that’s-what-she-said” game, I just helped you get 100 points!

I Hate Everything...

Hey buddy. So, the other day I was facilitating a meeting of high school social studies teachers--oh, sorry...lotsa people are fascinated when I say that and want to know what such a thing is like so I let them know it’s a lot like the Vatican conclave, only we allow some women and there’s no smoke because that’s against fire codes--and my colleagues let me know that they were a little tired of my “nice guy” shtick. See...I tend to be nice to people at the meetings I’m facilitating, and while usually that keeps me in good favor with the participants, apparently this time it ran its course.

So I tried being not nice, or the opposite of nice, or un-nice, or...just kinda’ dicky, and guess what? I really liked it!

Now, I know that you’ve come to think of me as synonymous with rainbows and koala bears and Desmond Tutu, but I’ve gotta’ warn you--you might start seeing more of dick-Pat, ‘cause I got a whiff of the bile and now I have a taste for it!

And you know what...it’s going to start RIGHT here, RIGHT now! I’m going to devote this post to all the things I HATE (yes, I know...that’s a very strong word), and indulge my inner dick. You can play along, but if you don’t want to, that’s cool. I completely understand.

Pat:  So...in this festival of hate, you know what I hate more than almost anything (until I think of the next thing I hate)? Stupid little annoying yipper dogettes. Hate the fuckers. Tried to get some reading done outside a coffee shop on a beautiful afternoon while my daughter was in a dance class next door, and this little vest-wearing chihuahua (<--hate that stupid name too! Not the state in Mexico, just the dog name) kept barking his miniature ass off ‘til his owner came out of the shop. I kinda’ wanted to kick it into the intersection, but I don’t think that’s legal to do. I was polite enough to turn off my cell phone; the least the dog could have done was silence his barker, or put it on vibrate.

Don't try that cute shit on me, you little fucker!

Christian: You had a group of high school social studies teachers tell you that they are tired of you being nice? And now you hate tiny dogs?

Pat: No. I’ve always hated tiny dogs. It’s just that now--because of the teachers of our nations’ youth--I’m willing to say it out loud.  

Christian: Out of my way fuck-o! You’re full of crap!

Pat:  What?

Christian: You’re right. Being mean and hateful is fun.

I hate fancy water.

Wow! This IS exhilarating!

No.

(source)

Feel free to list off something else you hate but then can you give me an example of how you were not nice while herding those teachers.

Pat: Oh, don’t get me wrong. When I said I tried being not nice, it was a really lame attempt at trying. Like, I apologized afterwards for using harsh words and sounding so stern. But the 15 or so seconds between saying those harsh things sternly and apologizing, I felt REALLY good!

And get this--back at the same place where that little yipper dog was antagonizing me, I found a new thing I hate. I was trying to enjoy a nice afternoon while sipping a beer and reading a book, but was completely distracted by the couple at the table directly in front of me. Know what they were doing? Drinking beer, and MASSAGING EACH OTHERS NAKED FEET. Eww! And they were doing it in that gross, super tantric sexual kinda’ way, which made it so I couldn’t even finish my beer (‘cause it was kinda’ cloudy, and that made me think some of their toe or foot detritus had floated in there). Yuck! I HATED them!

Christian:  There should be laws against that kind of thing. Not finishing your beer is a crime against humanity.

Since you are all into hate right now maybe you could suggest something new and exciting for me to hate. As you may recall we did post awhile back where I talked about how I hate all bicyclists. Well I have recently purchased a bike and have now started biking to work and other places around town. Don’t get me wrong I still hate all bicyclists but to be honest, now that I’m a bicyclist, it’s kind of taken the fun out of hating them.

Do you have any suggestions for something cool and hip that I could start hating instead? I need something bigger than public foot massages or tiny dogs. Even bigger than public tiny dog foot massagers.

Pat:  Well...where are you lately on lawn-mowing, running or weather-people? We covered each of those earlier, though it seemed those were things you detested rather than hated.

(I don’t mean to parse words, buddy, but I want to make sure we’re talking about the same emotions)

Do you want to return to one of those topics?

Umm...I’ve had mixed feelings about testoster-rock bands like Insane Clown Posse. Not sure if I’d go so far as to say I hated them--as we all know the LAST thing you need working against you is a horde of juggalos--but I could pretend for the sake of argument.

Christian: Yeah I really don’t care for Insane Clown Posse and the like, but because of that they rarely cross my path. I need something that I will encounter regularly that gives me more opportunities for hate. That’s what I’m looking for.

How about our readers, do you guys have any good hate suggestions for me?