I went to a barbecue restaurant this weekend. It was called “Bar-B-Cutie.” No, for real – look.

…

Yeah, so anyway, as soon as I was walking up to the door, I saw two dead praying mantises on the ground, as if they were making sweet love and were suddenly trampled by some crazed Christian soccer mom who was offended by their public copulating.

This is not the real mantis. There were two of them. This is only for dramatic effect.

When I got inside, I was greeted by a foul odor that penetrated into my taste buds. It smelled like rotten hotdog milkshake poured onto a dead man’s armpit, slurped up by a donkey, and then shit onto my face two days later.

Three very large men stood at the counter. I make fun of big people a lot, but if there’s any time I feel like it’s justified, it’s when I see a large person at a greasy food joint. The monster on the right is in a wheelchair. He farts. The man in the middle, scratching his chest while flaky psoriasis falls onto his jersey, orders his food. The far left fellow – short and very squat looking with an enormous ass – pulls up his gunt temporarily to scratch his balls. No. He doesn’t scratch them, exactly. He performs the “pinch and roll” technique – pinching a finger-full of scrotum skin and rolling it between your fingers to relieve a sack itch. All men do this.

You fuckers think I’m making this up, don’t you? I took this photo with my phone, put some captions on it, and uploaded it to fail-blog.org.

Between my anger about the mantis mid-fuck massacre, and the smell of hot dogs and donkey shit, I sort of lost my appetite. I settled for banana pudding. Nothing can stop my love for banana pudding. That sounds kind of gay. I’m gonna go watch some football and do manly things now.