Who the Hell is maadjurguer?

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I like to ski, mountain bike, drink beer, cook and listen to any jam band I can get my hands on; all while making a complete ass of myself. Hopefully this catharsis is as interesting to others as it is to me.

Friday, January 30, 2009

Hold the Sour Cream please

Open letter (email) to my happy hour hero’s on Friday night:

Folks….do you want me to reserve us a fine table at Joe’s or Lou’s tonight. I’ll be getting there at exactly 4:17pm as to assure maximum visibility with bar and wait staff. I will also keep the ice cold, the seats warm (don’t ask) and the service saucy (Mrs. MaadJurguer…..don’t ask). The chef’s will be alerted to our presence and will be washing their finest for both vegan and pagan-meat eaters alike.

Mr. Futball Coach and Mrs. MaadJurguer’s beer will be specially tapped via an undersea cable running under the Atlantic, directly from Bavaria where a young, blonde virginal hand-maiden will be diligently pumping the tap. She will do this while playing the glockenspiel and yodeling. The flow of beer will be chilled as it runs several thousand kilometers under the Atlantic and over the Mid-Atlantic sea ridge before being coming ashore on a frozen and ice-storm ravaged North Carolina before making its way directly to our eatery.

My rum will be freshly milled out of crispy sugar-cane from the sweltering bajadas of Puerto Rico, harvested by direct descendents of Meso-American indigenous tribesmen, woman and children who have interbred (read: forced into sex slavery) with the Spanish conquistadores, Columbus’ crew and countless other Latin American dictators who have otherwise left this beautiful country impoverished, without a vote in our glorious congress, but with a famous spokesperson: Sammy Sosa…thanks be to Jesus and his glory forever….kiss, kiss, throw it up in the sky.

The vodka that Mrs. Futball Coach will be drinking with her cranberry will be distilled from blight free potatoes wretched from the rocky grounds of an industrialized farm on the steppes of Russia by hoards of migrant 83 year old, arthritic Polish, Latvian, Slovakian and Estonian woman whose hips are wider than the oxen in front of the potato cart they rode in on and who are no more bitter about their existence then they are of Frances most appalling invasion of Russian Territory since Napoleon’s 1812 march on Moscow…..yes, I’m talking about Grey Goose vodka….a slap in the face of Russian national pride given handily by the French.

As for food….

Our overpriced Nacho chips will be ground from an ever dwindling supply of real corn vs. genetically engineered corn grown in the heartland, not by a good ole’ small town Merican’, but a mega-industry farm spanning millions of acres which owes its existence to buying out the previously mentioned good ole’ small town Merican’ who is now left with no other outlet to earn money but to siphon off ammonia from the mega-industrial farm fertilizer tanks so that he may “cook-up” a batch of meth to both feed his habit, occasionally buy his babies mama a lava-taco from Taco Bell and drown his misery in the exhilarating but debilitating high which is white man’s crack. Meanwhile, the genetically engineered corn which is booming in bushel production value is being used to produce ethanol which is being touted as a save-all for the greening of America, but is responsible for driving up grain prices world-wide, shutting out impoverished peoples from an affordable staple, further contributing to famine across sub-Saharan Africa while giving us Merican’s worse gas mileage in our vehicles. Ohh….and did I mention this increase in grain prices in the form of animal feed has also led to a doubling of the wholesale price of chicken wings to fine eateries across Merica’……our bar tab will be a bit heavier.

Our jalapeño’s will be plucked by a migrant San Salvadorian outside of Monterey who has no concept of dysentery since he’s had it all his life, yet passes this wonderful weight-loss product along to us by defecating in the fields because Dole is too cheap to provide adequate sanitation for its workers (read indentured servants) who are desperately seeking a better way of life so that they may see their family prosper just a little better than their fathers family whose numbers were cut in half by the nationalist Contra death-squads who were funded by the CIA in the 80’s who in turn were secretly funded by arms being sold to Iran to battle Iraq whom we publically supported and turned a blind eye to while they mustard-gassed an ethnic minority in Northern Iraq. On a related note, the scientists at the USDA and FDA have banned all peppers because they are worried that us fat and bloated merican’s (because of the Nacho’s and Buffalo Wings listed above) can’t tell the difference between a jalapeño, a serrano, an anaheim pepper or a green bell pepper…..all things green and peppery are pulled from shelves to include anything containing green and peppery products leading to Campbells Soup (who owns Pace Picante) to declare bankruptcy due to no sales during the biggest Pace buying period of them all (Super Bowl weekend). Dole, through Pace, through Campbell’s, lay’s off said migrant workers and contributes to the swelling ranks of homeless migrant workers who have no other outlet but to mow our green lawns in the desert with very inefficient 2-stroke lawnmowers which in only 7 hours of operation, spew as much pollution as 100,000 modern cars do in the same amount of time. The green lawns in the desert are of course brought to you by a glorious canal, diverting water from the Colorado to the point of rendering it nothing more than a trickle by the time it gets to Mexico….further contributing to the poverty stricken nature of that region.

So, in Summary….eating and drinking at happy hour is bad because it makes us fat, gives us dysentery (which makes us skinny), impoverishes citizens of 3rd world countries (who are way too skinny), supports the oil and farm cartels (which make us fat)…..I’m forgetting something here…..oh yeah, helps keep professional athletes like Sammy Sosa rich (which make us fat while watching them).

So what I’ve realized is that the world’s problems can be viewed as a fat-skinny imbalance problem. Too fat = bad. Too skinny = bad. Not fat but not skinny = just right…..cool.

That’s why I will be ordering nacho’s WITHOUT the sour cream……the world is back in balance! See you tonight!!!!


Simon said...

Thanks for giving a shout-out to these windswept, ice-ravaged shores (the snow lasted OVER A DAY in some of the shadier parts). I would appreciate any info on how to tap into this beer. Or I could consult with some nigerians on pipeline siphoning.

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