LANGHORNE PRESENTS...

Hey Thinkers,
Welcome to my hilarious blog. Here you will meet a bunch of crazy folks that live inside my head. Mostly hateful, nasty critters, but they do make a decent point here and there.
I have one major rule (followed by an ever-expanding pantheon of minor ones): NO PERSONAL ATTACKS.
Think, disagree, argue. Don't be an asshole. My characters will take care of that. Cuss all you want but speak coherently and please proofread your comments.
These things will help you not only look smarter but help you to be taken seriously.
I welcome everyone to choose a side and rebut, refute, bandy, and bicker. Have fun with it.
Enjoy the show.

Posts Tagged ‘OMG’

FB STUFF #4: HOT SAUCE and PEARLS

More vitriol and optimism for your reading pleasure. Like it? Don’t? Let me know in the comments.

Langhorne’s Rogues Gallery
ENEMY #57: Taco Bell Hot Sauce Packets

Let’s get a couple things square right up front. First of all, I’m a hot sauce guy. I’ve been told several times that it seems I think of food as just a vehicle to get hot sauce into my mouth. This is true…in public. One does not drink hot sauce straight from the container…in public. In private though, oh, in private I suckle on a bottle of Sriracha like a baby on the teat. I go down on Tabasco like Asia Carrera goes down on Peter North…Second, I haven’t eaten Taco Bell food sober since 1989. I assume it has some kind of flavor but I couldn’t tell you what exactly that flavor is. All I know is that it hits the spot at three in the morning and hurts like dying at eleven in the morning. Lastly, there are solutions here. I know this. Oh, this shit drives me crazy, don’t doubt that, but I could do things (I shouldn’t have to of course) like bring my own hot sauce or carry a knife. We square? Good.

Taco Bell, Taco Bell, Taco Bell. What am I going to do with you? Avoid you? Wish I could. Can’t. You call to me in the dead of night. ‘Come to me Langhorne. You know you want an enchirito’. And you know what? I do.

So I heed the call of faux Mexican food. I go knowing full well what awaits me. The frustration, the flavor(?), the joy at paying almost nothing to fill my belly. You see, that’s the thing. The food is so fucking cheap and- Well, that brings me to the point, right? Why is there no sauce in the hot sauce packets? I realize they are free and the food is dirt cheap but…okay, charge me an extra nickel and put sauce in the packets. But until that happens, I’m forced to see them sitting at the bottom of my sack looking smug. Yet when I grab one, I notice its lack of weight, and when I examine it closer, I find that, from certain angles, it appears to be two-dimensional. It literally (not literally. Quit getting hung up on semantics and try to enjoy yourself. You know what I mean. Jeez.) disappears when I try to look at it from the side. There is no way there could be anything in it right from the start. That’s not quite true. There are four maybe five drops that I can work out if I slide my thumb and index finger from the bottom to the top. You know, like getting that last bit of toothpaste out of the tube.

See, the problem is, I love hot sauce. But the amount of effort I am forced to put into this project just to get what I consider a minimal helping of red ambrosia makes the whole endeavor a nightmare. If it weren’t for the fact that I’m drunk off my ass, I would probably end up hurting an innocent Taco Bellite. It’s not their fault. I know this. But shouldn’t someone have to pay for this unexpected half-hour finger dexterity marathon? Just before the carpal tunnel becomes too severe, I’m confronted with a packet that refuses to open. You see, it’s not just my fingers that suffer, my teeth take a beating too. So half the time the packets refuse to open and I’m forced to use my teeth, and half the time that doesn’t work either. Sometimes the packets slip and find their may into the gaps between my teeth and slice my gums to shreds. This is why I should carry a knife. Just cut and done.

Now I’m winded, bleeding and have to figure out how to dispose of the saliva pile and the mountain of empty packets. I could save the spit-covered, stretched out monstrosities for a later date or throw them in the trash. As for the Kilimanjaro of empty packets, I’m forced to travel around town searching for empty trashcans. It’s a good thing I keep a shovel in the truck; otherwise, carrying a handful at a time would give me shin splints.

Have I mentioned I love hot sauce? So it’s a joke. It’s square bread and round meat. It’s just a joke. But…

It’s not a fucking joke. It’s not. This is my fucking life we’re talking about here you sick fuck. I will find the bastard that designs Taco Bell hot sauce packets someday, and when I do…I’m going to grab him by the collar, tell him to give me my hot sauce and no matter what he says I’m going to fucking F him in his A with a D or a V and shove my C in his PH while ripping out his T. Fuck him. I mean, just, fuck. I love hot sauce.

***
Langhorne’s Daily Pearls 3/6/13 thru 4/2/13

Sock sock, shoe shoe; is the only way. Trying anything else somehow kills babies. -LJT

I am consistently, spontaneously, and positively; but unfortunately not currently or locally, in love. -LJT

I want to punch my car stereo in the face. I can’t stand the way it sits there and mocks me with its poorly labeled buttons every time we spring forward and fall back. -LJT

Nothing meets my expectations…surpasses them, yeah, constantly. -LJT

I highly recommend eating fast food every once in awhile, if for no other reason than collecting napkins and sporks. -LJT

Keep your butthole clean, someone might want to put their tongue on it. -LJT

Nope. I didn’t learn a thing over my four-year kidney ordeal. I already knew life is a painful obnoxious ordeal. I knew that every morning we wake up is a precious and valuable gift. If you don’t know these things by now, it’s likely you never will.-LJT

Art should never be defined to the point it can be taught. -LJT

Future Headline: COURTS ‘COMMON SENSE’ RULING WILL ELIMINATE AN ESTIMATED 10,000 LAWS -LJT

Never envy the poor. -LJT

 

 

 

 

 

 

Langhorne’s Rogues Gallery
ENEMY #57: Taco Bell Hot Sauce Packets

Let’s get a couple things square right up front. First of all, I’m a hot sauce guy. I’ve been told several times that it seems I think of food as just a vehicle to get hot sauce into my mouth. This is true…in public. One does not drink hot sauce straight from the container…in public. In private though, oh, in private I suckle on a bottle of Sriracha like a baby on the teat. I go down on Tabasco like Asia Carrera goes down on Peter North…Second, I haven’t eaten Taco Bell food sober since 1989. I assume it has some kind of flavor but I couldn’t tell you what exactly that flavor is. All I know is that it hits the spot at three in the morning and hurts like dying at eleven in the morning. Lastly, there are solutions here. I know this. Oh, this shit drives me crazy, don’t doubt that, but I could do things (I shouldn’t have to of course) like bring my own hot sauce or carry a knife. We square? Good.

Taco Bell, Taco Bell, Taco Bell. What am I going to do with you? Avoid you? Wish I could. Can’t. You call to me in the dead of night. ‘Come to me Langhorne. You know you want an enchirito’. And you know what? I do.

So I heed the call of faux Mexican food. I go knowing full well what awaits me. The frustration, the flavor(?), the joy at paying almost nothing to fill my belly. You see, that’s the thing. The food is so fucking cheap and- Well, that brings me to the point, right? Why is there no sauce in the hot sauce packets? I realize they are free and the food is dirt cheap but…okay, charge me an extra nickel and put sauce in the packets. But until that happens, I’m forced to see them sitting at the bottom of my sack looking smug. Yet when I grab one, I notice its lack of weight, and when I examine it closer, I find that, from certain angles, it appears to be two-dimensional. It literally (not literally. Quit getting hung up on semantics and try to enjoy yourself. You know what I mean. Jeez.) disappears when I try to look at it from the side. There is no way there could be anything in it right from the start. That’s not quite true. There are four maybe five drops that I can work out if I slide my thumb and index finger from the bottom to the top. You know, like getting that last bit of toothpaste out of the tube.

See, the problem is, I love hot sauce. But the amount of effort I am forced to put into this project just to get what I consider a minimal helping of red ambrosia makes the whole endeavor a nightmare. If it weren’t for the fact that I’m drunk off my ass, I would probably end up hurting an innocent Taco Bellite. It’s not their fault. I know this. But shouldn’t someone have to pay for this unexpected half-hour finger dexterity marathon? Just before the carpal tunnel becomes too severe, I’m confronted with a packet that refuses to open. You see, it’s not just my fingers that suffer, my teeth take a beating too. So half the time the packets refuse to open and I’m forced to use my teeth, and half the time that doesn’t work either. Sometimes the packets slip and find their may into the gaps between my teeth and slice my gums to shreds. This is why I should carry a knife. Just cut and done.

Now I’m winded, bleeding and have to figure out how to dispose of the saliva pile and the mountain of empty packets. I could save the spit-covered, stretched out monstrosities for a later date or throw them in the trash. As for the Kilimanjaro of empty packets, I’m forced to travel around town searching for empty trashcans. It’s a good thing I keep a shovel in the truck; otherwise, carrying a handful at a time would give me shin splints.

Have I mentioned I love hot sauce? So it’s a joke. It’s square bread and round meat. It’s just a joke. But…

It’s not a fucking joke. It’s not. This is my fucking life we’re talking about here you sick fuck. I will find the bastard that designs Taco Bell hot sauce packets someday, and when I do…I’m going to grab him by the collar, tell him to give me my hot sauce and no matter what he says I’m going to fucking F him in his A with a D or a V and shove my C in his PH while ripping out his T. Fuck him. I mean, just, fuck. I love hot sauce.

CHARLIE SHEEN

This post was incredibly funny a couple months ago. I think it still has merit. See if you can guess where these characters names come from. I’ll give you a hint: The song in the background is from the same thing.

Podcast – Charlie Sheen

I recommend opening the podcast in a new window and reading along.

Facebook Link

CHARLIE

Look, sometimes the people in my head aren’t that bright. Like these two twits, babbling on and on about inane bullshit. Thanks in advance for tolerating their idiotic spoutings.

JULIE R. and RANDY are wasting time digging through the bargain racks at Target. Well, the are mostly hoping to catch the eye of the cute stock boy. Conversation between them flows freely like vomit in a Chinaski story.

Julie: I love Charlie Sheen like so much right now.

Randy: Eww. He’s all weird and freaky and old.

But that’s what I like. Not the old or whatever but he’s just like totally different from all those other Hollywood types.

But he’s crazy.

What makes you say that?

C’mon, seriously? He’s all waving machetes around and dating porn stars and stuff. Totally lost his shit.

No way. He’s just a guy going through like a total midlife crisis. What 45-year-old man doesn’t want to date 20-year-old porn stars? And like like machetes and stuff. He’s just like testing boundaries er whatever.

Whatever is right bitch. Have you heard him talk? He’s all “winning” and “tiger’s blood” and all “warlock of Malibu” and junk. Totally whacked. I like can you know barely even kinda understand or whatever…

It’s not literal. He’s like using metaphor and stuff.

I don’t know. I think the coke rotted his brain.

No way.

Yes way. He’s got a real problem. I kind of feel sorry for him.

OMG. He’s super rich, with a nice house and stuff.

But the drugs–

Enough with the drugs already. If this were like the sixties or something, he wouldn’t even be in the top fifty of drug addict celebrities. We’ve totally gotten out of control with the Nancying.

But drugs are bad. We should like totally say no.

Why? You know it’s not like everybody that does drugs is automatically an addict or whatever. Some times, people just want to party. I see nothing wrong with that. It’s so bad now that celebrities can’t even like fuck without having to like go to rehab.

But that’s because it’s unhealthy. Tiger totally needed to reform and get treatment ‘cause he was like totally out of control.

As if. He needed treatment for what, being rich and handsome and horny? I wish I was in that situation.

But he was married. Cheating’s so totally wrong.

But like ninety percent of couples cheat at some point or another. It’s not that big of a deal.

Gross. You have totally misplaced your moral compass. Like dig it out of your panty drawer.

Don’t get douchey. Things aren’t all like black and white and all good and evil or whatever. It’s all gray and–

Like, uh, like–

What? I totally caught you blowing a guy in that bathroom that time. Where do you get all these like moral high ground things?

Oh my god. You whore. How can you bring that up?

You get all high horse and shit about these people but you have no right.

Of course I do. They are in the public eye. They like have a duty to be all valiant and noble and stuff.

Where the H does that come from? Have you lost your puny mind?

I will totally slap you.

Go for it bitch.

The brawl is short lived and ends as soon as the stock boy comes back into sight. The two morons fix themselves quickly and attempt to look casual. Eventually he leaves again without noticing their furtive glances.

I kinda think Randy Quaid is hot.

—————————————————————–

DRIVING TIP #8 Sometimes the road curves. I assure you, the road continues on the other side of the curve. Yes, even if you can’t see it. Keep off the brakes, ass hair.


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