Who Ate the Last Chicken Wing?

Guys and gals, it’s time that we sit down and have a little interrogation chat about something that’s even more important than world peace – a little matter of who the hell ate the last chicken wing?! 

Eating a man’s last chicken wing is like asking a woman about her age or weight.  You just don’t frikkin do it unless you’re trying to get your ass kicked!  It ranks up there with carjacking, lying and retail false advertisement.  Sure, a guilty culprit may lick the grease off their finger tips or wipe them clean on the fabric of their shirt or jeans, but the evidence lies in the pores of their skin and the aroma of their breath.  And a true chicken fanatic can sniff out the guilty like dogs sniff each other’s butts.

Evidence is eminent.  There is the trail of chicken crumbs; hot sauce stains; and grease-flavored belches.  There is the tummy rub; the heavy eyelids; and the smile of cured hunger satisfaction.  But the one thing that every last-chicken-wing-eating-thief fails to remember is that the last chicken wing usually has someone else’s name written all over it.  And when chicken lovers come back to the table to find that the last wing has been polished off, all hell breaks loose and no one is safe!  Especially if that last wing belongs to ME!

Women love diamonds.  Men love football.  Children love candy.  Old people love prunes.  Young people love booze.  But what about all those folks who scrape up their last dime for a single fix of a box of wings?  Popeyes, KFC, Golden Skillet, Wings & Things, House of Wings, New York Fried Chicken, Church’s Fried Chicken, and even Bojangles makes a killing off of people who are ashamed to enter a 12-step wing anonymous program, and you mean to tell me that there is someone in the world who thinks it’s okay for a greedy mofo to come along and snatch the last wing like a scavenger?  Even pigeons have more couth.

Now if you really want to piss someone off, don’t call them out of their name; don’t insult their intelligence; don’t even miscalculate their change.  Eat their last piece of chicken.  Just be prepared to run for the border because an ass whooping is on its way like a bill collector coming to collect a debt!

Actually, let me paint a more specific picture.

If you or anyone from your entourage decide to sit down for a meal with Hottywood, you can be sure there will be some deep fried chicken wings on the menu.  You can also be sure that when it comes down to the last piece, your fingers better be bound inside your pockets, ‘cause Hotty don’t play that!  Now I may have posed the question of who ate the last wing from the previous meal I shared with a few compulsive wing eaters, but trust me, that question was asked merely to warn the guilty perpetrator.  Because if there’s one thing that never lies, it’s my nose!  I can sniff out some bullsh*t and I can sniff out some chicken wings.  And I will find you!

“Watch your back ’cause I’m coming for you, sucka!”

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Quote of the week:   “A greedy father has thieves for children.”

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Dear Mrs. Cafeteria Lady, “Watch Your Back!”

Mrs. Cafeteria Lady, I’ve got a bone to pick with you.  I’ve taken your messy laziness for far too long!

On Monday you burned my toast, leaving with me with only the buttery middle of the bread, probably the size of a U.S. silver quarter.  As much as I wanted to punch you in your titty ball, I forgave you.  It was, after all, Monday.

When Tuesday rolled around, you completely said screw the toast all together.  Though your intentions were in the right place, replacing the toast with stale bagels only landed you in the number one spot on my sh!t list.  I wasn’t sure if I’d acknowledge you as a sh!t list offender or not, but after sitting in the dentist’s office for three hours waiting to have my broken tooth fixed, coming to that decision was easier than I thought.

By the time I accepted that I didn’t have anyone to hump on Wednesday, I realized my forgiving attitude would shift swiftly if you didn’t get your act together.  I’m not sure if you were pissed off with Mr. Cafeteria Lady for not putting it down the night before or if the kitchen was too hot for you to slave over a stove, but serving peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on Tuesday’s stale ass bagels was not only ghetto, but warranted me to steal one of your hairnets to give to my neighbor’s pet pit bull to sniff so he’d have your scent when I released his viciousness on you for not satisfying my hunger.  If the problem however was Mr. Cafeteria Lady, I figured it would be okay if I whooped his ass myself and told him to handle his business so you don’t have to receive any more hate mail from me or any other employee in the building.  I haven’t gotten around to fighting him yet because the dentist told me I needed seven days of rest so the antibiotics he gave me can take effect on my tooth.  Because my mouth is still sore, even if Mr. Cafeteria Lady isn’t the problem, I might kick his butt just for the hell of it.  I need to take out my frustrations some kind of way.

When I woke up Thursday morning, I prayed for a change of heart.  I asked the Lord for patience and understanding in the event I found another strand of your wig hair in my runny scrambled eggs or another one of your IDGAF (I don’t give a f—k) mystery meats.  But when I actually bit into the furry burger [or whatever the hell it was you served on the menu that day] and in fact almost choked to death like my cat does when he has a fur ball lodged in his throat, I drew the conclusion that I either didn’t pray hard enough or should have left out the curse words in my request for understanding.  My throat is still itching and I still want to punch you in your titty ball.

Well today is Friday.  I am completely fed up from the lousy week I’ve had, the poor breakfast and lunch you’ve dished out all week, and am tired and hung over from the party I crashed last night, not to mention sick as a dog for mixing alcohol with antibiotics.  Learning there is no damn coffee in the coffee pot this morning is the last straw!  You have had ample time to get it right and you still haven’t complied.  Enough is enough!  I would like to officially warn you to email your ass home today before you get off work, because if you don’t there will be a gang of girls waiting for you in the parking lot to beat the crap out of you, unless you have a large pizza delivered to my office with extra cheese, pepperoni AND sausage…and no hair!

I will not accept any apologies, sob stories, or any forms of bribery that does not involve mozzarella cheese or vegetable oil.

I will give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you just had a bad week, however that is not my problem and giving you the benefit of the doubt will not protect you from getting drop-kicked in the parking lot.  I am a firm believer that you must learn from your mistakes so that you won’t make them again.  And after those girls run your wig up a flag pole, perhaps then you will take your job a little more seriously and realize that employees that deal with a whole bunch of mess eight hours a day, five days a week, will not tolerate any excuses from you or anyone from the kitchen staff.  Food is our salvation and cooking is your job.  Get with the program or get lost!

P.S.,

Have a blessed day!

Thank you,

Anonymous


 Quote of the week:  “Avoid fruits and nuts. You are what you eat.”

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Happy Thanksgiving from Hottywood Helps!

Twas the night of Thanksgiving,
I could not sleep.
I tried counting backwards,
I tried counting sheep.

The leftovers beckoned –
the dark meat and white
I fought the temptation
with all of my might.

Tossing and turning with anticipation,
the thought of a snack became infatuation.
I raced to the kitchen, flung open the door,
and gazed at the fridge, full of goodies galore!
Gobbled up turkey and buttered potatoes,
pickles and carrots, beans and tomatoes.

I felt myself swelling so plump and so round,
’til all of a sudden, I rose off the ground.
I crashed through the ceiling, floating into the sky,
with a mouthful of pudding and a handful of pie.
I managed to yell as I soared pass the trees….
Happy eating to all – pass the cranberries, please.

May your stuffing be tasty.
May your turkey be plump.
May your potatoes ‘n gravy have nary a lump.
May your yams be delicious.
May your pies take the prize.
May your Thanksgiving dinner stay off of your thighs!!

HAPPY THANKSGIVING FROM HOTTYWOOD HELPS!


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I’m waiting to hear from you!


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The Rules of Bacon

Guys and Gals, this week will be a crazy week for me as work has once again interfered with my ‘actual’ life – the [perfect] life of my inhuman consumption of potato chips and grape soda while blatantly and selfishly slacking off and vegging out in front of the boob tube.

Since it’s imperative that I go rub elbows with Uncle Sam (to stand over his shoulder as he puts his John Hancock on my paycheck), I’m going to leave with you food for thought for my second favorite thing on this planet (my first favorite thing should only be discussed late at night with someone special after a few drinks in private; PS, my first favorite thing is none of your business if you haven’t figured it out by now, so stop trying to be nosy).

Meanwhile, enjoy! And if I haven’t said this to you in the last 24-48 hours, EAT MORE BACON.

Go now. And prosper.

Rules of Bacon


I’ll be out of the building for the rest of the week so I’ll catch you on the rebound. Meanwhile if you need to reach me or have any questions, click on the box below.

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Duck Sauce Bandits

Guys and gals, it’s been a short while since the last time we’ve griped about anything, so today we will join forces to take a stand against carryout associates who are stingy with their duck sauce.

What is it with these carryout places that prohibit them from giving up more than one packet of duck sauce for all those blasted noodles and rice?  Mingh Lee, Hwong Sai, Zhang Lo, and Kwei Lau Woo all have the same attitude problem when you ask them for extra duck sauce.  First, they look at you as if you’re asking for too much, and then they form their thin lips to tell you that you’re going to have to cough up an extra $.25 for an additional packet.

“Please pause with me for a moment has I clench my heart and gasp at the preposterousness of a quarter of a dollar for something you’re only going to taste once with a mouthful of spit!”

Are you friggin’ kidding me?  Are these packets of sweet heavenly goodness coming out of their paychecks?  Why the hell should the general public have to pay for extra duck sauce?  That’s like paying for the white on rice.

There can only be one of two reasons why carryout associates are ready to pull out their nunchucks at the request of any additional condiments: either (1) they are cheap as hell or (2) the price of duck sauce over in China is as steep as the price of gas is here in the states.

Well, just like Americans and illegal aliens alike have come up with innovative ways to paste pigeon feathers onto their walking shoes to avoid ridiculously scathing gas prices, greedy people who share the same carryout-consumer gripe have become more creative in getting their extra duck sauce, soy sauce and even hot mustard.  Those innovations all ironically include the use of collected fire wood, aerosol spray paint and a book of matches.  That’s right; the greedy and hungry have finally revolted against the cheap and stingy.  “Enough is enough.”

“Whatever happened to the saying, “The customer is always right.”?  Where’s the love?”

For the sake of all things fried and dipped in sesame seeds, loosen up the grip on the duck sauce, carryout associate-son!  How do you expect to come to ‘the hood,’ open up a chicken wing joint that conveniently serves all the lo mein a brutha can eat and then put a cap on the amount of condiments to be given away with each order?  Haven’t your business plans taught you that hood rats overdo everything?  We buy clothes, cars and people that are too far out of our budgets, so it’s only obvious that we’re going to want to overdo it on the fried rice and chow mein.  For you to be smart enough to fry chicken wings the way you do to the point where everyone in the neighborhood is willing to pack on a few extra summer-time pounds, you sure are stupid!  Charging us for the extra “must haves” will only lead to the undoing of your fine grease-filled establishment.

After asking, pleading, and complaining, these warnings have now turned into threats.  Give us some more damn duck sauce or else we’ll have to pull out our stun guns and candle lighters and show you that we mean business.  When it comes to food, drinks and booty calls, we don’t play!  If you think seeing a pissed off Bruce Lee is something, wait until you see a pissed off hungry hood rat!

For your sake, you should be glad we’re talking about duck sauce and not chicken wings.  Otherwise there would be all kinds of hell to pay and guess who would be the leader of that pack.  I won’t call any names, but let’s just say it rhymes with Pottywood.  And I know you wouldn’t want to piss him off.  He’d get you if it was the last thing he’d do.  If but for no other reason and declaration that 90% of any effort is getting started.

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Quote of the Week:  “It’s not holding on that makes you strong; it’s letting go.”  

Why Sunglasses are as Important as Underwear

Over a period of history, dating back even to the 12th century (so I’ve been told. The 12th century is just a wee bit before my time), sunglasses have undergone quite a few changes in terms of functionality and appearance.

A MOMENT IN HISTORY

  • In the beginning, China witnessed the first occurrence of sunglasses, which were most commonly worn by the wealthy.
  • Later in the 18th century, sunglasses with vision correction were conceived by James Ayscough.
  • Sunglasses really took off in the 1920s, which was contributed by the prevalence of the film industry.
  • During the decades after the 1930s, sunglasses were widely accepted and has since maintained its popularity.

Traditional sunglasses were only expected to offer proper protection against UV rays and HEV radiation. Then came the innovation in sunwear style ( various shapes, sizes and colors).  Today, sunglasses have become more than just a popular accessory. They are in fact quite as important as underwear. You’re probably wondering where I’m going with this. It’s simple actually. We all wear underwear to cover our asses. That’s about the only reason I can come up with right now for wearing underwear, but when you think about it, the only reason we wear sunglasses is to cover our eyes, right? WRONG. There are actually a few more functionalities of sunglasses. They not only come in handy to protect eyes from UV rays, but they also come in handy when:


sleepy dog glassesYou’re sleepy.
Far be it from me to judge anyone that wears sunglasses indoors. Well actually not far be it from me. I’ll judge. People look crazy wearing sunglasses indoors but I never stopped to consider that maybe those crazy folks are wearing their sunglasses indoors because they were up all night doing sinful things and woke up the next morning looking like a zombie from an episode of the Walking Dead. Hell, if I looked like that I’d hide behind a pair of dark specs too. Shit. Maybe I need to put my sunglasses on because I feel like my forehead will formally and intimately introduce itself to this keyboard any minute now.

You’re hungover. You can’t tell me that you’ve never gone to work with a hangover. The lights are too loud. The fax machine is too loud. Your head is pounding too loudly. The color of your blood shot eyes are too loud. What better way to hide your disheveled face than behind a pair of your darkest lenses? Sure, everyone may still be able to smell the alcohol seeping out of your pores, but smelly pores never looked so good behind an obscure pair of specs.

You’re having a bad hair day. You have to admit that sometimes even your best outfit can’t hide those straggly strands. Your clothes are too far away from your head. It’s not enough of a distraction. And if you think your outfit won’t distract from your head, then you can forget about your shoes. Don’t waste your time on sky high heels or the whitest pair of kicks money can buy. Instead throw on the coolest shades you can find. They’re right on your face and everyone looking into your dome will be fascinated that you owned your messy look. No matter what you wear; no matter how bushy, nappy, curly or bald your hair is…whether your braids are too tight or half of your baby hair has fallen out on the bus, a nice pair of sunglasses ALWAYS looks good and pulls a look together. They make whatever style you’re rocking, good or bad, look as if you meant to do it. Your bad hair day, coupled with a nice pair of sunglasses instantly transforms your style into BAMA CHIC. Problem solved!

You’re covertly checking out someone’s boobs. Men do it. Women even do it. Everyone checks out boobs. In an attempt not to single out any one group [boob lovers], sunglasses are also used to check out someone’s pecs, butt, and pants prints. Checking out these body parts is usually inappropriate, no matter what situation you’re in. Sunglasses are necessary to hide your roaming eyes so someone doesn’t accidentally roam their fist into your face.

In the end, the aesthetical progression in the sunwear industry does not conflict with sunglasses’ functional dimensions. They marry quite well, actually. In today’s world you can get a great pair of sunglasses in all shapes, sizes, and colors. And no matter how ugly the glasses are, how bad your hair is, how wrinkled your clothes are, or how disheveled your face appears, if you throw on a pair of sunglasses you instantly look cool. Sunglasses aren’t just a fashion thing. They are a necessity and should be a staple in everyone’s wardrobe.

To me, sunglasses are like potato chips – I can’t have just one!  In fact, I have a pair for each voice in my head.

 

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Quote of the Week:  “With my sunglasses on, I’m Jack Nicholson. Without them, I’m fat and 60.” –Jack Nicholson

PSA: How to Appropriately Dispose of Someone’s Bad Cooking

Bad CookRaise your hand if you’ve ever gone over to someone’s house where they offered you some of their horrific cooking. What was your response? Did you lie and tell them it was good? Did you not exactly lie and tell them it was like nothing you’ve ever tasted before? Did you stick your finger down your throat until you threw up all over the plate to return the food to them? Did your taste buds start popping off one bud at a time? Did your tongue and throat swell until your head imploded? Did you think I was ever going to stop asking you questions?

Bad Cook_2The truth is we’ve all experienced the best of someone’s worst cooking, whether it was mom, dad, granny, a sister, brother, lover, spouse, neighbor, church affiliate, coworker or cafeteria crewman. The real question is how to deal with it. If you’re like me, you’d rather point a loaded B.B. gun at your head and hope the impact of the pellet kills you rather than tell someone they should make a living out of ordering take-out. Well then again, I’m lying. That isn’t me. I would tell a bad cook the truth – that since they can’t cook, they shouldn’t be allowed to eat. Some would argue my candidness is a little drastic – even dramatic – while others would/could/does appreciate my honesty. Those people that would/could/does appreciate my honesty are all cool. Everybody else are wanna-be’s with slouchy socks but that’s a different story.

The next time you go to someone’s house to sample their inedible cuisine, after you’ve apprehensively inhaled the food (preferably without chewing), the appropriate thing to do is smile as they watch you put it in your mouth, and when they aren’t looking, quickly spit the food into a napkin and hide the evidence around their house in places like an unsealed package of a loaf of bread, a toaster or microwave, inside their medicine cabinet, a fish tank, a sock drawer, or an air and heating vent.

Bad Dinner PartyBy the time they realize what it is they’re seeing or smelling, you’ll be long gone and there’d be no way they can pin the shenanigan on you! By that time you will have purchased yourself enough time to warn everyone that you know (anonymously of course) to never never ever eat at that person’s house unless they know for sure that whatever meal they serve has been purchased from a frozen food section of any grocery store or fast food joint that deep fries their chicken wings inside a microwave oven.

This public service announcement has been brought to by the makers of HottywoodHelps.com. 

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Quote of the Week:  “Give a man a fish and he has food for a day; teach him how to fish and you can get rid of him for the entire weekend.”