Eatin' Cock! with Tony and Kathy

So we had quite the evening last night in New York. Started it off at Les Halles, one of the restaurants owned by Chef Anthony Bourdain, he of the masterwork 'Kitchen Confidential'. Eat seafood on Monday if you want, but before you do it, read this book. It's hilarious, beautiful, ridiculously honest, and perhaps most importantly, sets more than a few bonfires under the tight asses of foodies and vegetarians everywhere. Chef Tony is the Hunter Thompson of food, the only guy you'll ever want to be with if you're ever in Vietnam, shooting automatic weapons and drinking grain alcohol while waiting for your meal of still-beating cobra heart to arrive.

The food was, of course, superb. Chef Tony doesn't cook there anymore, I'm told, and he's no longer even the executive chef. Fuckin' pussy. Hopefully, though, he just takes the money he gets from the joint and uses it to buy more ammo, liquor, and typewriter ribbon. I'd be happy with that.

So, the food. I have a hobby of always trying to order the weirdest shit on the menu that I can find, and if I'm lucky, it will come in the form of some brand of meat. If you're a vegetarian, stop reading this right now and go eat a giant chocolate chip cookie or something. Oh, and fuck off.

Anyway, I've eaten buffalo, ostrich, quail, shark, snake, and now rooster. That's right, rooster. Coq au vin, to be more precise. That's what it was listed as on the menu, anyway. Basically, it's about half a rooster cooked in this insanely delicious sauce made of red wine, bacon, pearl onions, various seasonings, and god knows what else. All I know is that it practically took a military intervention to get me to stop licking the stuff off of my fingers and the inside of the bowl. All it set me back was 20 bucks, and lo - I had vindicated every single person that has ever lived in the vicinity of a farm and longed to lean out the window at dawn and blow one of the feathery little fuckers off the top of the barn with a long-barreled hunting rifle. Bon appetit.

Oh, and here's the best part about it - afterwards, I got to walk around and say shit like "Man, I sure am full from all that cock I ate earlier" and "Jesus, my burps just WILL NOT stop tasting like cock." Heh. I'm gonna be milking that one for years. See? There I go again.

Ok, so next, it was a twelve-dollar cab ride to Midtown to catch the indomitable Kathy Griffin, live at Carnegie Hall. I used to hate Kathy after she pulled that bullshit with Dakota Fanning at the Oscars or whatever the hell it was. Just rubbed me the wrong way. However, I got to watching some of her specials on Bravo a while ago, and then her TV show "My Life on the D-List", and honey, it was over. The bitch is HILARIOUS. I'm not kidding or exaggerating in the slightest when I say that she is the modern version of Lucille Ball, and it's got nothing to do with hair color. Anyone who is so wrapped up in their pathetic little Hollywood fantasy that they begin to take her seriously and ACTUALLY get offended by some of the shit she says needs to just drop right the fuck off the face of the planet.

She told a story in which Howard Stern told her that "she was doing God's work", and to be honest, there's just no better way of explaining it. Kathy rips the skin off of every delusional, self-involved celebrity you can possibly name in her act, and by the time she's done, the only thing you can say is "Man, I wish I had the balls to say that." How she hasn't been sued back to the Stone Ages by now is completely beyond me, but there she is - living the good life in sunny California, making a damn fine penny by doing nothing but shooting her mouth off about every person that you can't help but hate. Lindsay Lohan. Star Jones. Barbara Walters. Britney Spears. Clay Aiken. Mother Theresa. They're all there, stripped to the skin and set ablaze. For chrissakes, she told a road story about Andy Dick that involved a college basketball stadium, a thousand freshmen, and simulated anal sex between Andy and some guy named Big Fat Paul that tore the roof off, and that was after she had been on for over two hours.

If you haven't gotten the chance to see her perform, or even watched her shows, do yourself a favor. Someday even you might become famous, and believe me - you want this crazy bitch on your side.

Anger in, calmness out.

Because I'm being told by people far cooler than I'll ever be that I NEED to have an opinion on that walking petri dish Lindsay Lohan checking herself into rehab, here it is -

DIE. Just drop fucking dead already. While you're at it, take your skank mother, Paris Hilton, Perez Hilton, Brandon Davis, Angelina Jolie, Britney Spears, Cameron Diaz, Donald Trump, Fergie, and every other braindead slag in Hollywood with you. I hope that after your liver explodes and your brain turns into cement from all the cocaine you don't sniff, you end up working the graveyard shift at Staples for some creepy asshole night manager named Ed who only keeps you on staff because he wants to pull another threesome with you and your mother someday.

I can't imagine another person on Earth that I look forward to seeing at the bottom of the barrel more than you, my dear, but in the meantime, I'll be sure to start saving all my Canadian quarters and video arcade tokens so that when I see you downtown, I'll have something to throw into the guitar case at your feet. Of course, that would mean you'd have to be doing something worthwhile, so um... maybe not.

Boy, everyone was right. I do feel better!

I had a dream. Two days ago.

You know, I love Martin Luther King Jr., but he seriously fucked with my game with his holiday this year. Not only did it prevent me from going to the post office and school on Monday to get some shit done, but it also screwed with the bank getting all my deposits in. As of last night, I had over $1400 worth of deposits that hadn't gone through because of it. I saw the $0.00 in my account and nearly had a goddamned heart attack.

Couldn't he have thought ahead 40 years ago and scheduled his holiday for a different time? I mean, come on - I realize that a radical change in the sociopolitical climate of the day was an absolute imperative, and that racism is a cancer that will probably end up destroying humankind as we know it, but I've got eBay auctions to pay for here, man! What, you think money that should probably have your face on it somewhere just grows on trees?



It's just disrespectful. That's what it is. Disrespectful.

Hey! A-hey hey! Baybeh ah gotcha monah!

Remember this guy?



That's Leroy Wells from American Idol a season or two back. He's in prison now for drug possession and attempted murder, but I'd rather sit in his cell and watch him get down for the next 3 to 5 years than any one of those dipshits that were on the Season 6 premiere tonight. What a bunch of douches. I've vomited into a dumpster with better breath control and rhythm than all of 'em put together.

Yo! Midwest! What's up? I thought you were supposed to be full of kids that are hella talented because they're all oppressed by the suburbs and shit. Where's the genius that sings and writes music in his basement by himself that comes out of nowhere and turns music on its head?

Only in the movies, eh? Thought so.