Archive for the 'food' Category

Because I thought “Wiit Power” was too inappropriate

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Anonymous Coworker
on May 1, 2008 @ 9:34 am
in Mrs. ACW, awesome, beer, devil cat, food, happy hour, money, movies, potty humor and suhmuhmuh bitch
. 11 Comments

Before we get to the moist, throbbing awesomeness that is my post for the day, there’s some business we have to attend to:

blah blah blah happy hour blah blah tonight blah blah 6pm blah blah

Dougherty’s Irish Pub
223 W Chase St
Baltimore, MD 2120
(410) 752-4059

blah blah blah blah whatever blah be there, or be somewhere else: I know I will.

Anyway, on to the nonsense!

The night of the bachelor party I was actually hemorrhaging man points because I wasn’t actively engaged in the act of pickling my liver with as much alcohol as possible. In fact, I unfortunately spent the entire night maintaining a fine balance on the line between sobriety and mild buzz.

“Why,” you ask rhetorically because actually speaking to the computer is more than a little crazy, “would you deprive yourself of the sweet inebriating nectar that the gods themselves saw fit to excrete from their magical alcohol-producing organs so many Tuesdays ago for the benefit of all humankind?”

Because I was waking up early the next morning to go wait in line to buy a Wii. There. I said it. Are you happy?

Mrs. ACW and I have wanted to buy a Wii for some time now, but due to their relative scarcity we’ve been unable to procure one. Actually, we would have been able to get one a long time ago for about $600 on ebay, but Mrs. ACW refuses to sell her body on the street, and I just can’t bear to do another half-dozen equine-related porn movies. (I’m half-proud and half-nauseated to say I was second-assistant director on an official Harry Potter porn spinoff- More than a Man: Fisted by Firenze) Plus, let’s all finally admit that ebay is pretty much the squalid back alley of the internet, and that we want as little to do with it as possible.

The guy at Target told me to get there about an hour early because they expected there to be a line, and at 7am I was the only person waiting in line. And at 7:20am, I was the only person waiting in line. Thanks, Target guy, you unmitigated doucheface.

So I went home, fed the cats, jettisoned the previous evening’s mountain of snack food, had something to eat, and then went back to Target at about 7:45am to find myself the second person in line. Not too bad. A cold and boring quarter of an hour later and I was on my way home, not at all hungover but so exhausted that I may as well have been.

It wasn’t until many hours later that I was awake enough to actually set it up, and once I did I was immediately happy with our decision. It’s simply a fun gaming system. One of the things that surprised me is that you can even give your Wii a nickname, so I’ve dubbed ours, “The Wiiner”, which leads to hilarious conversations like this, “Have you played with the wiiner yet tonight?”
“No, not yet. I plan on working up quite a sweat later with the wiiner.”
“Excellent. The wiiner will definitely get you sweaty.”

And so on. For that reason alone I think everyone should get one.

I think I’m the only one who noticed the irony

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Anonymous Coworker
on April 30, 2008 @ 9:10 am
in awesome, beer, food, money, music and sex
. 24 Comments

Last weekend I had the honor of joining a friend at his bachelor party, and I have to admit that I’ve never been to a more masculine bachelor party.

We started out at my brother’s house drinking beers (10 man points) and playing video games (5 man points) eating half a tub of party mix (2 man points) and somehow consuming three pounds of onion dip (15 man points).

From there we went to a barbecue place for dinner (20 man points) and filled our bellies with various kinds of meat served to us in heaps (18 man points, 23 double entendre points). One of the attendees bit the inside of his cheek while eating and started bleeding profusely (3 man points (yes, bleeding counts as something manly)) and decided to “cauterize” the wound by taking a huge swig of the bottle of hot sauce that was on the bar (35 man points). Numerous shots (15 man points) and PBRs (5 man points) were consumed before we headed off to the next bar.

We started with more shots (20 man points) but generally took things pretty easy, primarily having beers (5 man points) and shooting the shit (2 man points). I think, however, we get extra man points for getting one of the waitresses drunk (5 man points).

From there we went to Max’s in Fell’s Point where we had boilermakers (30 man points) and the bachelor had a pimp-cup full of some high-falutin’ hefewiess microbrew that clocked in at about 10% alcohol (27 man points).

From Max’s the decision was made to go to a strip club (25 man points), and while strip clubs aren’t necessarily my thing (-45 man points) I was happy to have one of the other guys buy me two 10-dollar Miller Lites.

Numerous table dances (40 man points), lap dances (50 man points), and public spankings (100 man points?) later, we were closing out the strip club (200 man points). We piled back into the limo- did I mention it was a stretch Escalade? (50 man points)- to head home.

So let’s see, ignoring the fact that strip clubs aren’t my thing, as a whole, we scored 681 man points for the evening with the only thing missing being a bare-knuckled street brawl between our bachelor party and some other douchebag’s bachelor party which would have netted us 500 man points. It would have been 1000 man points if someone was killed.

But, alas, we lost a few points on the way home. As we were careening through the streets of Baltimore, drunk and with visions of strippers named Sugarplum dancing through our heads, someone tuned the radio to Tiny Dancer by Elton John (-200 man points).

And we all sang along. (-300 man points)

At the top of our lungs. (-500 man points)

I guess it could have been worse. We could have been singing it quietly, holding each other and weeping (forfeiture of penis).

All in all it was an awesome night, even if the man points were all lost in a wash at the end.

This year’s haul

Published
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Anonymous Coworker
on April 25, 2008 @ 1:52 pm
in atheism!, awesome, food, jesus is fo' shizzle, meta blogging, ocd, travel and work
. 9 Comments

Hotel Swag

Items of note:

The Book of Mormon (score!)
Popcorn
1 “Do Not Disturb” sign (a record low)

Last year’s stuff.

Answers to your questions on Monday, and maybe Tuesday too. And also possibly Wednesday.

For a title, see May 26, 2005. Yes, this is the second time I’ve done this.

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Anonymous Coworker
on April 15, 2008 @ 9:02 am
in Glen Burnie, Mrs. ACW, food, movies, people are idiots, potty humor, school and suhmuhmuh bitch
. 21 Comments

Let’s see, what else did I do this weekend? Oh yeah, I threw out some of my clothes. Sounds boring, right? Not the way I tell it.

Mrs. ACW and I live the life many people dream about. We get home at about 5pm on Friday, cook turkey burgers and asparagus, eat them, and then do homework. Yes, many people are out, spending heaps of disposable income on drinks, food, drugs, and whatever genitalia makes their upper lip sweat and quiver (hey, I’m not here to judge; whatever tickles your pickle or frosts your cookie is fine by me), but none of them have the wrist-slitting joy of staying home and doing homework for four hours at the start of the weekend while not drinking or seeing any genitalia or putting any coke up our noses.

And the cherry on top of all of it? Mrs. ACW is on a diet, so she’s not eating any sugar, and since we don’t have any sugar free candy in the house, we had to go out the grocery store to insert ourselves amongst the other social superstars that can be found wandering the grocery aisles at 9pm on a Friday; frozen pizza in one hand, pint of ice cream in the other, bunny slippers on the feet and a loosely tied robe that leaves so little to the imagination that I may as well have his lumpy, asymmetrical baby-maker tattooed on the inside of my eyelids.

Less than thirty minutes later we’re home, have given up on homework, and are each a few pieces of sugar free candy deep into Hot Fuzz. An amusing hour and thirty minutes passes with nary to mar the occasion except a sudden onset of gas on my part that’s so violently offensive that I think I can feel hairs being singed off of my dangerous but exquisite backside.

After one particularly boisterous expulsion Mrs. ACW remarked that it sounded “hearty” or something along those lines. I had to agree. It was if I’d been grabbed around the torso and squeezed by the hand of a giant. It was as if I was completely out of control of my own body and it was venting pressure of its own accord. I learned a few seconds later what little control I actually had.

After a mad dash to the bathroom to learn that yes, I had in fact shat myself, I realized I was a twenty-seven year old man with no apparent control of his bowels. I immediately threw away my underwear and shorts, much to the bewilderment of everyone who has already heard this story.

“Why didn’t you just wash the clothes?” they ask, puzzlement clouding their faces.

Look, if I ever become so cavalier and casual with shit that I can look upon a beshatted object and think, “Hey, it’s just poop I guess,” please kill me, because I don’t want to live a life so well acquainted with the substance that our bodies forcibly eject on a daily basis.

I also jumped in the shower and gave the entire lower half of my body a complete surgical scrub down, because, once again, shit is gross.

Then I spent the rest of the weekend completely gun-shy because I didn’t want to fart and have to check and make sure my socks were still dry, so every time I felt a little pressure I had to get up, go to the bathroom, and make sure that the “football” didn’t make it into the “end zone” on a “quarterback sneak”, if you may allow me a football metaphor.

Lesson learned: not only does beef wreck me, but so does sugar free candy.

I’m certainly not fucking him, but I am his biggest fan

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Anonymous Coworker
on April 14, 2008 @ 10:27 am
in Mrs. ACW, beer, food, movies, music, people are idiots, potty humor and school
. 9 Comments

1) This Sunday morning Mrs. ACW and I woke up not quite hung-over, but not quite able to fully function with the rest of society. Though actually, now that I think about it, we were still superior mentally to the majority of the unwashed masses in our area. That’s funny, I never realized that for me to live as a normal, layabout, fast-food-eating, Norbit-watching, lottery-ticket-buying, Thomas-Kinkade-loving, Creed-listening mental-midget, I have to get completely shit-tanked out of my gourd to the point where my functional mental abilities are less than 50%. Jesus that’s depressing.

Anyway, yeah, because we were feeling a little bit stupid and completely lazy, we decided to meet our bodies halfway and give them exactly what they needed. For Mrs. ACW that was a double-cheeseburger from McDonalds (or as I like to call it, the master key to my personal flume ride of feces), and for me that was a McFlurry from McDonalds… coupled with two brainless movies from the old Redbox.

I was really hoping to watch Transformers, because I couldn’t think of anything dumber that might also be entertaining, but for the first time ever, they didn’t have it. So I scrolled through the dreck to see what else was available, trying to figure out if I wanted to rot my brain with an action movie or with a comedy, and also trying to figure out if I wanted to pay a dollar to rent any of these movies. Further, I had to pick movies that I knew Mrs. ACW didn’t want to see, because there’s no way she would let me lay on the couch watching movies she also wanted to watch while she was upstairs doing a mountain of homework. That would have pretty much been an instant crotch-punching, and I was in no mood to sustain a trouser-bashing to the old beanbag, so I went through the movies again.

I finally settled on The Bourne Ultimatum and Ocean’s 13, and those of you who are cleverer than I was that afternoon will figure out quickly how Mrs. ACW chose to make fun of me for the rest of the day.

Figure it out yet? No? Okay, let’s go to the conversation in the car a few moments after I got both movies.

“Yeah, I rented The Bourne Ultimatum and Ocean’s 13.”
“Isn’t Matt Damon in both of those?”
“Uh, yeah, I guess he is.”
“And?”
“And I guess I’m gay for Matt Damon.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t leave you alone while you’re watching those movies.”
“Why, because I apparently have a totally unconscious gay boner for Matt Damon’s chiseled features and sexy body?”
“Exactly.”

And so for the rest of the evening Mrs. ACW would wander downstairs to get something, check on me, and with a knowing look say, “Uh-huh. Just what I thought” and then walk away.

Semi-related video: I’m Fucking Matt Damon

Steak and Cheese Lean Pockets, is there anything you can’t do?

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Anonymous Coworker
on April 2, 2008 @ 9:25 am
in bitches, food, jokes, money, music, people are idiots and potty humor
. 9 Comments

First of all, I’m surprised I fooled so many of you yesterday. I’m a huge liar. You know this. I’m almost constantly lying. How can you tell if I’m lying? Well, you can’t. It’s because I’m sometimes telling the truth that I’m an even more effective liar. But really, you should have known.

That said, here’s a relatively truthful story about what happened to me yesterday.

I mentioned a while back that I’d be sampling beef and cheese lean pockets. And as a quick summary, beef is to me as a shotgun is to Kurt Cobain. Too soon?

Anyway, I quickly realized that the most punishing aspect of the focus group would not be the lean pockets, but would instead be my fellow focus group attendees. Their brain powers combined would barely qualify them to watch Dora the Explorer. I can see the group of them now, sitting in front of a television, three of them wetting their pants out of fear of the talking picture box.

We were given four whole lean pockets, one at a time, and told to eat as much as we could to get an accurate sample. As usual, I was doing my damnedest to mess with the results.

I was right in the middle of the group, so whenever the group leader would ask for opinions, I would listen carefully to what the other folks had to say (which I learned quickly was a pointless endeavor) before saying something completely opposite, and bringing up something out of left field.

For example, after tasting the first lean pocket, the comments went like this. See if you can guess which one is mine:

“The meat is too hard? Like, I think it should be softer? Like, not as hard? But more soft?”

“I like this one because it doesn’t taste like pizza.”

“Need more meat. More meat.”

“The cheese is too stringy. I like cheese to be stringy, but not really stringy, just a little stringy. But it was good. I loved it.”

“This doesn’t taste like a Philly Cheesesteak. I did not like it.”

“Did you put mayonnaise in these things somehow? I think I caught some mayonnaise in there. Oh god, I hope it was mayonnaise.”

“The beef is too pink.”

And finally, “This tastes like rubber.”

To which the group leader responded, “Tastes like rubber, or has the texture of rubber.”

“Oh, the texture. … And the taste.” I don’t think that participant knew what the word “texture” meant.

And so the taste test went on like that, my brain cells throwing themselves against the insides of my skull in a desperate attempt to escape the rampant, unbridled stupidity. I swear, if they could bottle stupidity like that, it would become a dangerous, dangerous weapon. Can you imagine all that concentrated stupid being used to wipe out the intellect of an entire country? They could probably call it American Idol or Dancing with the Stars. But I digress.

The one thing that kept me sane the whole time was the near constant supply of hilarious “that’s what she said” jokes running through my head. Almost anytime anyone said anything, it was funny. Just try it with the samples from above. I’ll wait.

But I don’t care what they say
I’m in love with you
They try to pull me away
But they don’t know the truth
My heart’s crippled by the vein
That I keep on closing
You cut me open and I
Keep bleeding
Keep, keep bleeding love

Oh good, you’re back. What a terrible song. Anyway, you can see the potential for hilarity was high, and I was almost fooled into thinking the funniness would outweigh the bone-shattering, mind-crippling dumbness, but every time I would think the dumbness was over, one of the participants would say something like this:

“My favorite cheese is gouda, but I can’t ever find in anywhere.”

I wanted to smack her and say, “Really? Really? You can’t find gouda? That’s funny because I’ve seen gouda in every grocery store I’ve ever been to in my life. Ever. It’s not a fancy cheese. You get it in those shitty fucking Christmas meat and cheese gift baskets that are nice enough to say, ‘I was thinking of you’ but not nice enough to say ‘for more than twelve seconds’. I hate you. You’re an idiot.”

Eventually the session ended, we headed back out to the lobby at the front of the building, and we were given our compensation in the form of a check. Ten seconds later, my ass turned into a Howitzer and I pretended their toilet was the Luftwaffe as I launched a mighty blitzkrieg- hellbent on porcelain annihilation.

Wow. That was a lot of confusing war/feces/Nazi metaphors at the end there.

It just kind of spirals into insanity

Published
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Anonymous Coworker
on March 14, 2008 @ 9:57 am
in beer, food, house, jokes, meta blogging, nerd stuff, people are idiots and the worldwide information super-tubeterwebs
. 5 Comments

Because I hadn’t done it for a while, I thought I’d take a spin through the old stats page to see how the mental deficients, drifting like flotsam on the currents of the intertubes, were washing up on the sparkling golden shores of my website. Here’s a smattering of dumb people using the internet, and some insight as to how their tiny walnut sized brains work:

“18 year old” “parents responsibility” “michigan”

I can see this one going one of two ways. Either it’s a kid trying to figure out how soon they can get away from their shitty parents, or it’s a shitty parent trying to figure out how long they can oppress the life of their child. Or maybe their trying to find out just how little work they need to do to not get charged for neglect by the state. Whichever way you slice it, they wound up on my blog, and probably got terrible advice.


rehomo beach

This one is a little astonishing, because I’ve never even typed “rehomo beach”, but Angy Hangy did in my comments, and her willy-nilly use of a neologism for a gay beach in Delaware landed me this search.


how to stop cats shitting in your yard

I wish I could help you dude. I really do.

he s looking at her boobs game online

Ah, Romania. Is there nothing you can’t do? What’s that? You can’t teach your citizens how to create a legitimate web search? Oh, well, no country is perfect. Except America. Seriously. Don’t fuck with us or we will bring you our democracy. We invented ass whoopin’ for the sake of ass whoopin’.

house

And what country could possibly have worse searches than Romania? America! Home of the mouth breathing idiot that has more time and money than taste or sense. Really, you just typed “house” into a search engine and immediately got what you were looking for? Do you go into the bread aisle of the store and pass out from shock when you see more than one kind? Also, why are you using MSN Live Search? You must be some sort of post-lobotomy lab-experiment in a competition with rats to see who has a better mastery of the internet, and too bad for you, the rats just identity thefted your mouth-breathing ass.

this is relevant to my interests origin

Another newcomer to the internet, this time from Australia. Bonzer, mate! I’m grinning like a shot fox that you found my website. Ace! We should hit the turps with heaps of Foster’s and a Bloomin’ Onion at the boozer! Well, I’ve got a cane toad in my clacker, so donger the cleanskin and sleepout the yabby and we’ll pozzy the spunk for a corker dingo’s breakfast!

Also, this is a personal note to the person who is still using Netscape 5.0 to access my site:

Who the hell are you!? Is Netscape Navigator 5.0 some sort of magical web browser that no one ever used but is capable of time-travelling 10 years into the future to read a shitty blog?! That’s awesome, but also kind of really lame. Oh, and by the way, September 2001 is really going to suck for you guys, so be ready for that. Also, you might want to stop buying any products from China, unless you’re really into lead. Um, I think that’s it. Keep it dopey double-fresh on the rewind, and hook-up your blingety for me. Yes, that’s how we talk in 2008.

I’d call this a “beef-tease” but you’d take it the wrong way.

Published
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Anonymous Coworker
on March 13, 2008 @ 10:09 am
in food, music, people are idiots and potty humor
. 11 Comments

I’ve mentioned before that I’m a frequent participant in focus groups. The short version- I see my role in focus groups as two-fold: my primary goal is to prevent the further dumbening of our country by people who want to eat more food that tastes like the food we already have and listen to new music that sounds exactly like the music on the top 40. Essentially, I want to prevent America from turning into one giant strip mall of TGI Friday’s and record stores filled with CDs by American Idol participants. My second goal is to completely fuck up the results. I hope the company takes a look at the compiled data and says, “Well, all these other results look pretty normal, but this one guy said his favorite TV shows are ‘The Wire’ and ‘Dora the Explorer’ and that the new potato chip flavors he’d like to see are ‘Radish’, ‘Volcano’, and ‘Richard Nixon’.” If the people looking at the results aren’t completely fucking baffled, I have failed.

I’ve also mentioned before that I have a bad reaction when I eat beef. The short version- Feeding me beef is like making another Hindenburg, but making it completely out of feces. The question is not if it is going to explode. The question is: how many people are going to be blast-painted with blimp-shit? The answer? All of them. I’m like the Chuck fucking Norris of beef giving someone diarrhea. I don’t know what that means either.

Given these two pieces of information (Focus groups and beef! Jesus. Try to keep up.) it should come as no surprise to you that I eagerly and enthusiastically signed up to be a member of a focus group to taste-test some Steak and Cheese Lean Pockets. All I have to do now is figure out the etiquette for shitting oneself in public. I mean, do I wear I diaper or something, or is that to presumptuous of me? If I do wear a diaper, should I try to conceal it, or do I wear it on the outside of my pants? Should I ask for the location of the bathroom before I eat anything, or should I wait until a tidal wave of feces is trying to shoulder its way out the back door? Is it appropriate to wear those pajamas with the “emergency hatch” on the back? Is it rude to dominate their toilet with extreme prejudice? Should I try to wait until I get home to launch a blitzkrieg on my own toilet?

I’m not sure exactly what will happen, but I’m pretty sure you’ll get to read about it.

Whimsy 3

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Anonymous Coworker
on March 6, 2008 @ 9:27 am
in Mrs. ACW, beer, food, jokes, people are idiots and travel
. 8 Comments

Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’m really phoning it in this week. You wanna fight about it? Anyway, before all this craziness with my family, my brother and our respective wives took a trip along the Mason Dixon Wine Trail and found, surprisingly, that all wine made in this area isn’t complete and utter cat piss, and is, sometimes, in fact, preferable to standard “drinkin’ wine on a Tuesday night” wines like Yellow Tail, for example. Wow, that last sentence looks like it just got tea-bagged by the comma monster. Whatever, if we weren’t supposed to use them they never would have been invented. Here’s a transitional sentence!

At some point during our trip through the Pennsylvanian hinterlands we started getting hungry and decided to stop in a tiny town comprised of a grocery store, Rite Aid, Italian restaurant, and tattoo parlor. Having consumed something on the order of all the wine in Pennsylvania, we opted for a modest 42″ pizza and two baskets of fried bric-a-brac. We’re still not exactly sure what we ate, but we think we might have had fried zucchini, fried cauliflower, and deep fried chicken fried steak fries, all slathered in a healthy coating of ranch dressing, of course.

The service was nice and prompt, and our waitress was nothing if not extremely friendly and attentive, but the menus left a little something to be desired.

You can see them below, but you really need to click through to flickr to see them full-sized in all their majesty. I imagine the restaurant owner, having spent a few hours working on the menus, sent for one of the town elders to review his work and instead got a barely literate sixth grade dropout. I’ve only looked at the menus twice, and each time I’ve found new stuff to laugh at, so I’m sure there are still some gems in there that I’m overlooking. Lemme know what you find that I missed.

menu

drinkmenu

Voting, Schmoes, and Outback

Published
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on February 12, 2008 @ 9:32 am
in Glen Burnie, Mrs. ACW, awesome, bitches, driving, food, people are idiots and suhmuhmuh bitch
. 21 Comments

1) So I voted this morning, and the whole time I’m feeling like I’m throwing my vote away because a) my candidate has already dropped out of the race, and b) I’m not so wild about these Diebold voting machines that we’re forced to use. I feel like I have just as much luck having my vote counted by writing it on a napkin and tossing it into the wind, crossing my fingers, and hoping it makes it to Annapolis. It’s kind of fucked up when I’m this cynical about the primary, ostensibly the only time when your vote actually counts.

2) I was so giddy about the back of this truck that I detoured from my normal commute home just to get a picture of it:

schmo

In case you can’t see it so clearly (I used my camera phone), the license plate reads “SCHMO” and he has a “W ‘04″ on the left, and a Jesus fish on the right (which is really hard to see in the picture). But yes, I agree with him, he is a schmo.

schmo or schmoe also shmo (shm)
n. pl. schmoes also shmoes Slang
A stupid or obnoxious person.
[From Yiddish shmok, penis, fool; see schmuck.]

Do you think he’s so dumb that he thinks “schmo” is a good thing? Or is he a subversive leftist performance artist? I can’t figure it out.

3) On Saturday Mrs. ACW and I were going out to eat before we had to head out to a party, so we opted to use one of the gift certificates we had gotten for Christmas. The particular certificate we had chosen was good for a number of restaurants, including Bonefish, Carrabas, Cheeseburger in Paradise, and Outback. So we opted for Cheeseburger having recently eaten at Bonefish, and having no interest in eating at a clone of the Olive Garden. However, when we got to Cheeseburger the line was so long that it was spilling out the door. So we instead opted to go to Outback, figuring that at 6:30 on a Saturday night the wait wouldn’t be too long. As we drove from Cheeseburger to Outback I made an attempt to call ahead, and upon speaking to the hostess found out that the wait was two hours.

Fuck you, Glen Burnie. Fuck you right in your stupid, lazy asshole. For chrissakes, it’s just Outback! The steaks are frozen! Everything they serve is over-salted! The food is terrible for you! And yet every time I’m inclined to punish my body there you people are lined up, ready to be slopped, like zombie pigs at the world’s least Australian restaurant. And you’re really going to wait two hours to eat at that stupid restaurant? Really? Are you just so enamored with the shitty food that you can’t tear yourself away, or are you too idiotic to realize that other restaurants exist? I hate you. I hope you fucking choke and die on your Bloomin’ fuckin’ Onion.

You’d think the food was deep fried in crack the way people start salivating just by driving by the place. I’m honestly shocked anytime I’m in there to find people NOT rubbing one out while stuffing their faces. I just don’t understand why people would wait that long for the food. And the curbside pickup! That’s even worse! A line of cars, 30 or 40 deep, waiting for two hours to pick up this shitty food to take home and eat it, as if gas didn’t cost 3 dollars per gallon, as if they couldn’t drive to an Outback in Pennsylvania or Virgina in that time. People are fucking idiots.

So Mrs. ACW and I ate at El Salto instead. It was awesome.

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