Where Have I Been? UPDATE

Dear Diary UPDATE,

I am writing to you out of anger and confusion.  A few days ago I said unto thee how I loathed this fellow I never met and yet today I find out he might very well be the genius or sorta genius that he claims himself to be? Why come you always feel compelled to prove me wrong?   

Apparently, he created these beautiful treats I cannot wait to devour and yet never want to give in to:

Fried chilis for my burger and fried chilis standing alone, waiting to march down my sweet sweet gullet one by one or two by six I don't know exactly how it will happen but I want it and I don't.  I don't want to participate in his madness but I want to know every inch of this beautiful bastard of tastiness.  Why does it hurt so much to be so wrong and so right simultaneously diary?  Is he my serpent at the ready to show me the dark side?  What is happening to me diary?  Is this a gateway into chasing the dragon that is the mcgriddle? What have you done to me?

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Dear Diary,

I have so much and yet so little to tell you about this and that and nothing and all of it. Why haven't I written you in so long diary? Well, I got into a fight with my spiritual leader about my pork intake and well, one thing lead to another and I had to say goodnight, not goodbye to what was once my most favorite method of love making, placing the pork gently on mi lengua and writing about how it causes spontaneous orgasms. FYI that makes me want to barf? Why am I so super guhross diary? I will say this, secret diary that no one will ever read, I wanted to write to you when I fell in love with Steve's Snappin Dogs, and when I was offended times 1,000 by the incredibly absurd seating arrangements at Pinche Tacos, and how I Grey Gardensed the shit out of Jackson Hewl, Wyoming but I didn't. I felt creatively flaccid and maybe wasn't ready to tell you what it was like to push my wheelchaired mother into every bathroom stall of every gas station in all of the Wyoming and the Yellowstone and part of the Montana. PS diary, it humbled me greatly and absconded with what miniscule dignity I was hiding. I wondered as I wandered how many boner jokes could or should a lady incorporate into a conversation about food? I finally answered, not enough but I didn't hear myself because I was too busy obsessing over rugs and bedding and moving furniture to the here and from the there and making curtains and painting cabinets and making fake album covers for my fake 2 lady band, Space Cans with my bff and obsessively watching million dollar decorators and just doing shit ladies do and not shit foul mouthed eatersanonymousers do and sometimes the two do not go hand in hand, and sometimes I don't feel like spending 20 minutes of my work day ranting about nothing to no one in one breath of free association unedited nonsensical malarchy.

And Who THE FUCK IS THIS FUCKING GUY?

But today, I was reminded what drives me, my sweet delicious cherub of a diary, not my love for all things delicious but my contempt for the most fucking annoying people on the planet. Like this major tampon who prides himself on having invented the McGriddle and Stuffed Crust pizza. This may seem a tad harsh, but doesn't he totally look like a guy who watches himself in the mirror while he "ahem" does it and blurts out succesories quotes upon ejaculation? Well, he opened a restaurant that I both want to devour and destroy.

The food pics look fantastic - I don't know what it is but I want to motor boat it.

I want to glory hole you so hard

Unfortunately such loveliness is accompanied by people who say shit like this "Destined to become an iconic downtown Denver landmark", and "where you can get hand-crafted comfort food with an urban twist-whenever you want." What the fuck is an urban twist? Does that mean everything has been soaked in Dr. Pepper Red Fusion or comes with a Mountain Dew Code Red? Question to diary? Why are all urban drinks red? Because blood flows red in the streets of the city? Also, this pee pad of a restaurant says shit like "Behind the doors and in the dining rooms, one may find bachelorettes toasting former freedoms, important legislature being discussed, or pre-concert parties warming up for the night’s big event. So if you’re looking for downtown’s only place to be seen, look no further." Ugh this makes me not want to see you or be seen in you. I don't want to see freedom losing while I'm trying to eat that catastrophe pictured above. I just want to delicately break that yolk and watch the egg drool down the plate and catch it with my tongue as I swallow it all in one slurp. Nothing more and nothing less.

Maybe this Tom motherfucker is a genius or maybe he is the worlds worst but I won't know until I try it and I want to but I already hate it there because of this mixologist old timey bartender shit that bores me to tears as its popularity drifts in from the coasts. Make me a drink and make it good. Why weren't you all doing this before? Were you making me a shitty manhattan before but now that you are in fancy dress you are going to give it 100%? I hate your stupid face whatever this is.

And another thing Denver, please stop trying to make this speakeasy movement happen. I don't want to whisper a password or go through faux secret passageway. For some reason, when LA went with the mixology thing years ago, they didn't feel compelled to make every asshole walking through the door play charades before ordering a drink so why doth you Denver? I do not play along which is why I do not participate in the haunted house shenanigans around halloween. PS, If I really want to go to a speakeasy, I will go to the Cruise Room which is way awesomer and really was a speakeasy so eat a dick all people who are involved in this absurdity.

In conclusion. I don't know how I feel diary. Why does everything get ruined by its own desire to be considered pretentious? I prefer boughetto thankyouverymuch.