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Archive for August, 2009

Or, the American Bird and the Lust for Offal

Or, the Visceral Viscera of a Victual

  1. Wash gizzards.
  2. Boil gizzards. Stew in pot with salt, garlic and vegetables for 40 minutes.
  3. Remove gizzards from heat. Save gizzard stock.
  4. Heat vegetable oil in gigantic pot.
  5. Coat gizzards in mixture of flour, salt, bread crumbs, Old Bay and oregano.
  6. Add gizzards to boiling oil and fry, fry, fry till you can’t fry no more!
  7. Cover frying gizzards for 10 minutes.
  8. Feel guiltily omnivorous, but technically accomplished.
  9. Eat.

Here are some things that you, by learning from my negligence, ought do: Cut off the gristle before you boil, boil a bay leaf into the pot, beat an egg o’er the organs ‘fore you slather with flour, heat the oil to 350 degrees (how do you do that?), dry fried nasty bits on paper towels (aye, ‘twill be wasteful, but better not to collapse of oil overload. So… oily)

BON APPETIT, BON VIVANTS DE LA BOUE!

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Ladies and gentlemen, I’ve traveled over many neighborhood boundaries in 90 degree humidity to be here tonight. I couldn’t get away sooner because a new shipload of salivating, ballyragging he-men was docking on every corner I was walking with my day labor and I had to see about them. Ladies and gentlemen, if I say I’m a well-mannered man, you will agree. I don’t make kissy sounds or indecent assessments when ladies pass. I’m a civilized man. I live a civilized life. This is my credo and that by which I judge my fellows: So long as no one gets hurt. All is permissible so long as no one gets socked in the stomach, in any sense. Now, you have a great chance here to be a decent gentleperson. I have a string of barbarian-free manners and dignity-enhancing morals with which to imbue you that are ready to put to work. I assure you, ladies and gentlemen, no matter what the thugs promise to do to you, by the glow of their incandescent penises, when it comes to the showdown, they won’t be fucking you in any dark alleyway. A civilized man doesn’t blazon his manliness. A civilized man wins his paramours with greater art, or artlessness–really, whatever the situation calls for so long as it’s anything other than slimy, impersonal bullying I can’t on any level conceptualize as being attractive, though I am wont to find many things in this disgusting world attractive. A civilized man is not a baby crying out for mammary glands, nor an unwanted troll desperately hawking his dubious masculinity or even a well-intentioned knucklehead following the lead of his sociopathic, woman-hating friends. Like Ludacris, a civilized man is a lady in the street, but a freak in the bed. If a civilized man is denied his right to be left to his person while walking with his day labor in 90 degree humidity, minding his own business and daydreaming about no one who would have the low class stupidity to wolf whistle, there will be blood.

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