Tag Archives: Humor

by Russ Nickel | January 3, 2012 · 4:50 am

Food of Dubious Origins

Food is my one true love, and I am accepting of all its forms, whether it be moldy, partially consumed by a stranger, or, as the title suggests, of dubious origins. My friends have referred to me as ‘the garbage disposal’; ‘trash compactor’; and ‘a relentless, insatiable, gaping maw that demands constant sacrifice’. When I go out to dinner in a group, I don’t order anything; instead, I salivate as my friends scarf their foodstuffs in hurried discomfort. But they are weak and their portions large, and they always end up leaving their delicious (and completely free) scraps as offerings for my all-controlling stomach of steel.

Nothing fazes my mithril-lined esophagus. I rip the mold off cheese with my teeth, then swallow it; I put brown bananas into my smoothies, then drink them; and if meat smells rotten, I just wash it off until the offending odor is masked, and if that’s not enough, I simply stop inhaling through my nose.

I inherited these traits from my father, whose circus-strength stomach allows him to digest anything soluble in stomach acid, no matter how expired. As a bargain hunter, nothing brings him more joy than the reduced-for-quick-sale section at the supermarket. The fewer hours of shelf life a store item has left, the cheaper it is, so he treks to the grocery store minutes before closing time, scoring discolored meat and wilted spinach for a fraction of the original price.

As his offspring, I was constantly subjected to these expired triumphs, and rarely experienced a dinner untouched by the twin seasonings of freezer burn and decomposition. I think my father was trying to forge my stomach into a food chamber as impervious as his, and for the most part, it worked.

Even if I do sometimes come down with a case of excruciating stomach pain, my mind remains steadfast, addicted to the rush that comes with avoiding waste, no matter the consequences. Nothing parallels the taste of environmentalism that comes with every bite you take to save an abandoned morsel from the dumpster.

At restaurants, I am so disgusted at the wanton squandering of perfectly good food that I sometimes sneak scraps off the tables of strangers before the waiter can throw away that last bite of steak or half-glass of wine. I revel in my delicious, planet-saving ways, always to the horror of my dates, who, for a reason I can’t quite put my finger on, never return my calls.

While this example is of course eminently reasonable, sometimes my attempts to save food go just a little bit too far. I know, I know, you’d think there’s no such thing as too far when it comes to this, but believe me when I say it’s happened.

Like last summer, when half a burrito appeared in our fridge following a week of drunken revelry. Thanks to the haze of our collective memory, no one could pinpoint where it had come from, and despite our Holmesian powers of deduction, further inspection gave us little insight. We were unable to determine even the ingredients, for they’d all faded to a uniform shade of grey. Naturally, the only option left was for me to use the tried and true Taste Test. I heated up the sucker and took a bite—

SON OF AN UNDEAD SKUNK it was terrible! I’d never tasted such disgusting meat, if it could still be called ‘meat’.

But I’m a glutton for attention as well as food, so I announced my findings loudly to the group, complaining with what I considered entertaining zeal…and then took another bite—HOLY MOTHER OF MOLD it was just as bad as I remembered. And yet I took another bite…and another, loudly lamenting my fate the entire time, until finally the whole thing was gone.

I was had just enough time to lift my arms into a celebratory first pump before my stomach contracted in violent spasms. That night was spent mostly moaning and rolling around on the floor.

——–

Better was that time I woke up and walked into the backyard to observe the glory of the morning, where much to my surprise I happened upon a giant vat of chili sitting on the porch. That was the most glorious morning of all. There was no telling how long it had been sitting there beneath the beating sun, and the manner of its arrival was similarly mysterious. Was it perhaps left by an assassin who was aware of my inability to resist unexplained food?

And how long had it been baking in the heat, turning from delicious bean-meat to disgusting heat-rot?

These were the thoughts that didn’t once cross my mind as I began to devour it with abandon. It was as delicious as any unexplained porch chili I’d ever tasted. Whatever poisons the recipe had called for obviously didn’t affect the flavor or consistency.

——–

Probably my family’s crowning achievement in the world of questionable food preservation was our pilfering of what became known to all our friends as the “trash burgers.” You see, at the end of my high school baseball season, one of my rich teammates’ families threw a party. It was an extravagant affair, riddled with a lavish assortment of buns, condiments, and chips, and they spared no expense on the mostly-beef hot dogs and the Costco burger patties. They grilled literally hundreds of burgers, an unmanageable number by anyone’s standards. The 14 of us and our assorted family members did what we could to dent the meatacopia, but we were no match for the half-cow of beef that lay before us.

As the party drew to a close, it became clear that at least 70 burgers would go uneaten, but before clan Nickel could react, the party-thrower dumped them all in the trash in an act of pure apathy! By god, man! What were you thinking?! There will be starving children at the Nickel household in oh, 8 or 10 hours!

Seeing those perfectly good patties tumble with finality into that unforgiving germ canister was one of the worst moments of my life, or was at least slightly disheartening.

I was younger then, and less resolute, so I merely mourned the loss, trading hope for less effective tears. But my dad, he’s a man of action. He called me to his side, and together we analyzed the physics of the trash can. It quickly became clear that with such a quantity of burgers, it was impossible for all of them to touch actual trash. We rejoiced, seeing to our delight that a good 40% of the burgers were protected on all sides by a buffer layer of more burgers!

Not caring who judged us, we proceeded to pluck every unsoiled patty from its doom and stack them onto a series of plates. We feasted on those burgers for weeks and weeks, tasting joy in every rescued bite.

We’re humanitarians of the highest degree—that’s what I say.

Man, all this talk of food is making me hungry. If only I had something to eat. Wait a second! I’m pretty sure I have some sushi leftover from last week! Excuse me, would you?

41 Comments

Filed under Stories

Tagged as burgers, burritos, Food, gross, Humor, Ninja, restaurant, shrimp, superman, trash, waste

by Russ Nickel | December 27, 2011 · 5:18 am

It’s Time for a Bullet Post • Jokes, Rapid-Fire

I was going to write an amusing intro to this post explaining that it’s short because it’s the holidays and I’m lazy, but it’s the holidays and I’m lazy.

So without further, or in fact any, explanation, behold our very first Bullet Post!

••••

The other day I saw this huge, geared-out truck and thought, “Wow. A huge truck.” But then a fluffy toy poodle stuck its head out the window. I didn’t know what to think after that.

Maybe something like “Wow. A huge truck. And a poodle.”

••••

My girlfriend and I were talking on our cell phones when she said she wasn’t feeling the connection anymore. I said it was probably because she was going through a tunnel of love.

••••

I think about the Donner Party a lot.

Like, they probably invited their friends to travel west with them, and I bet some of them had bad hearing. “Want to come to the Donner party?” And the friend says, “A dinner party, you say?” How would they respond? Like, “Well, not yet, but check back when it starts snowing and I’ll see what I can do for you.”
And then when it finally comes to cannibalism, nobody would want to take the first bite. You’d have to be heartless. I’m tellin’ you, the guy who did it must’ve been seriously cold.
I wonder how the Donner Party would solve problems in modern day. Like, what if three of them are trying to get to a movie, but their car’s only a two-seater? I can imagine that being real problematic. Maybe they’d just decide to go to a showing that’s after lunch.

••••

I keep this notepad by my bed so if my mind’s racing and I can’t sleep, at least I can write down my ideas. The problem is, I never remember to check it. So one night, in a flash of brilliance, I wrote, “check notepad.”

At least, I think I did.

••••

I created a document with all my post ideas. I wrote down about 70, then accidentally deleted it. But that’s ok, cause now I can write about that time I deleted my list of ideas.

••••

I wanted to figure out how important self-reliance was, so I took a poll.

••••

If I were Neil Armstrong and I fell on hard times, I’d just go around selling rocks. When people asked me why I was selling rocks, I’d say “They’re moon rocks!” and tell them I hid them in my pants. We’d laugh and laugh, and maybe they’d buy one, cause people will buy anything from Neil Armstrong.

••••

And finally, a proverb:

A chain is only as strong as its weakest link. But once it breaks, you have two really strong chains, which, in some ways, is more useful.

32 Comments

Filed under Bullet Posts

Tagged as Bullet Post, Cannibalism, Comedy, Donner Party, Humor, Moon Rocks, Neil Armstrong, Tunnel of Love

by Russ Nickel | December 20, 2011 · 9:25 am

The 8 Types of Annoying Relative (And Tips to Help You Avoid Them)

Disclaimer: Let it be known that this has nothing to do with my relatives. Those guys are awesome! (Oh, and if you don’t enjoy reading words, click here to skip ahead to the pictorial guide)

It’s that time of year again, when bundles of joy are placed beneath the tree, then later remembered and transferred to their cribs, when mice stop stirring throughout the house in adherence to the laws of Christmas, and when breaking and entering becomes an offense not punishable by jail time, but by milk and cookies.

But when Christmas rolls around, so too do the requisite family gatherings, events which unfortunately involve your family. Most relatives are as pleasant as you are, but if you’ve taken Biology, then you know that genes sometimes do stuff, and in their constant mutation, bad seeds take root, growing eventually into bad apples that fall far from the tree and are very much not of my eye.

To help you navigate the dangers of the family-infested holidays, we here at Reasonably Ludicrous have created a list of the 8 types of annoying relative, accompanied by battle-tested tips guaranteed to help you avoid them. Never go into another mandatory holiday gathering blind!

Attack: Bestowing Wisdom

Usually retired, The Advisor spends most of his time enjoying his many hobbies, which range from fly-fishing in the frigid rapids of Yosemite to memorizing trivia so that he can more effectively play along to reruns of Jeopardy. Having led a full life of success and happiness, he worries that you’re skittering down a dangerous slope, and that he may be the only belaying rope left to keep you from crashing to the ground in a heap of debt and drug use. The Advisor will lure you in with a question about your current state of affairs, though he is already well aware, and upon explaining that you’re trying to be a writer, he’ll give you a pat on the back, saying he’s happy that you’re trying something unconventional, but it’s time you found a career and a good woman. To soften the blow, he’ll tell you not to worry, adding that you haven’t made any mistakes thus far, because mistakes are just “lessons in disguise!”

Defense: Wear a Suit

The Advisor knows the truth about the world, and your personal—and thus wrong—opinions mean little to him. Defending your liberal arts degree and pursuits of passion will only make him pity you further, and his kind heart will never allow him to let such a sorry case back into the world without being properly spoon-fed the rehabilitating mush of hard-earned wisdom. The most effective way to parry his assaults is by donning fine attire. Like the humans of the future in the Skynet timestream, The Advisor is easily deceived by appearances, and a simple suit will prevent him from seeing you for the synthetic-skinned failure-machine you truly are. In his eyes, anyone who has outgrown his flip flop stage is clearly on the right track, and The Advisor will quickly commend you for finally becoming a man, then move on to other targets.

Attack: Putrid Flesh, Uncomfortable Hugs, & Expired Candy

Madame Wrinkles is the oldest member of the family, and despite having lost most of her faculties, she’s still going strong, and, unfortunately, shows no signs of letting up. She never washes, and the smell of old person exudes in a five foot radius. Avoid eye contact at all costs, for the moment your eyes lock, she will surge forward with uncanny speed, crushing you in an overly lengthy hug that forces you into the heart of her stench. She will pinch your cheek with the icy fingers of death, and the second you open your mouth to protest, she will force a ten-year-expired butterscotch candy into it. Once free from her grasp, back away slowly, nodding as if you are still listening to her unintelligible ramblings. Because of her bad vision, she will be unable to notice the increasing distance between you as she suggests for the nth time that you hook up with the hottie in the corner, having long forgotten that the two of you are first cousins.

Defense: Fake a Disease

Madame Wrinkles is about one germ away from turning to dust, so another relative will have been appointed as her personal guard for this event, making sure she interacts with no one who shows even the most minor signs of sickness. Spend the party coughing and you won’t be allowed to come anywhere near her! Or, if you dislike throat pain and accidentally causing cool relatives to avoid you, as a more subtle alternative, you can joke about the fun ways you hope the huge quantities of alcohol you’re consuming will interact with your antibiotics!

Attack: Being Holier Than Thou

The Ascetic just recently gave up drugs and alcohol after the most fun and irresponsible thirty-five years of his life. In fact, he has given up all sins, instead turning to Bikram Yoga, tea, and meditation. He has most likely become religious, though more often than not this will manifest itself in the form of a nudist cult praising the unknowable energy of a certain species of fern rather than any of the more recognizable theologies. One tenet of this cult is recruiting as many followers as possible, and The Ascetic will spend this holiday party convincing you of the error of your ways. As a high-functioning alcoholic, you will find this particularly grating, and The Ascetic’s honest good intentions will only infuriate you further.

Defense: Join a Cult

As you find yourself becoming convinced by The Ascetic’s charm, zeal, and genuine happiness (how can anyone be happy without alcohol?), you’ll know it’s time to enact your plan. Before the main holiday event, you must join some sort of strange cult, especially one that provides members with proof of entry, by say, giving you a laminated name badge or perhaps burning their holy symbol into your flesh with a red-hot branding iron. When The Ascetic corners you, smile pleasantly, and the moment he takes a breath, launch into a spiel about the benefits of your cult. Use every trick the cult leader taught you to persuade him to join, from pleading to threats to offers of free brandings, and within moments he’ll go running, sure that Flurhhooven, the spirit of photosynthesis, growth, and personal change is testing his devotion.

Attack: BABIES!

The Baby Pusher has given birth very recently, and her world now revolves around the squirming hazard-in-waiting strapped to her chest. Immersed in the throes of pure love and the miracle of life, The Baby Pusher will want to share her most profound emotional experience with everyone she knows. It doesn’t matter that you have no idea how to care for children, and the fact that frankly, they scare you, is of little relevance. The Baby Pusher will force you to hold the creature, and more fighteningly, to love it. Though on the outside she appears unrelentingly happy, you can’t help but wonder if it’s a façade, that, if after months of constant exhaustion, she’s simply trying to pawn off the fleshy creature in the hopes of a brief respite in which she can longingly imagine life before “the child.”

Defense: A Sling

No. Not for firing pebbles at the tiny human in a reverse David and Goliath scenario. Remember when you snapped your forearm that one time you tried skateboarding before swearing it off as the devil’s sport? Time to break out that sling. When The Baby Pusher asks you what happened, say it’s nothing—you’re involved in accidents all the time! In fact, you joke, the most ridiculous one of all was when were holding your family friend’s small child and accidentally dropped it. Ruminate, seemingly to yourself, about whether or not that’s related to the fact that poor Johnny’s had a lisp ever since. The Baby Pusher will recoil in fear and keep her child as far away from you as possible.

Attack: Tales of Recent Accomplishments

Often gainfully employed, usually as a doctor or lawyer, The Blowhard will one-up you with stories both trite and extravagant, from tales of his wife’s recent appointment as head of the PTA to his journeys to exotic countries where he rode dolphins whilst eating caviar. His children have either finished or are currently attending University. The older one is likely to have completed a tour with the Peace Corps, and though The Blowhard is somewhat disapproving of humanitarianism, he appreciates his eldest child’s go-get-em attitude, and is reassured by the fact that said child will be attending law or medical school in the upcoming fall. “What is it you’re doing again?” he asks, only half interested, and upon hearing that your blog is enjoying moderate success, you see in his eyes his negative assessment of you, for you’re neither changing the world nor exploiting it, the only two endeavors of any worth. He advises you to consider a career change, then launches into a bombastic recounting of his fulfilling life.

Defense: Puff his Ego to Blimpish Proportions

When trapped in conversation with The Blowhard, you must endure at least one quick story before any effective action can be taken. As he spins a not-so-charming tale of his resourcefulness, like how he outwitted an IQ test or used his medical knowledge to save an unconscious victim on a plane, you must ooh and ahh appropriately, expressing fear and delight at all the right moments. The Blowhard will be lulled into a false sense of security, and once the story has ended, he will look for some sort of praise. And that’s exactly what you’ll give him. More than he’s ever gotten before! You must act as if you have in fact had a revelation, that his bragging has opened up a new world of possibility to you, that this very conversation has Changed. Your. Life! You must immediately proclaim that you wish to someday be as great as The Blowhard, and that you need to write down your new resolution before it leaves you. Flee.

Attack: Magnificence!

The Magnificent is probably only a year or two older than you, proving that if you didn’t waste your life trying to be a writer, you might actually be able to make something of yourself. He’s most likely just completed another world tour, paying his way as a professional snowboarder. Whenever he’s not competing in the Olympics or being the lead singer in a band or enjoying his fame as the star of an obscure sports team, he’s climbing mountains, visiting the Taj Mahal, and boning his incredibly hot girlfriend. She’s a different one from last year—probably the hottest yet. She’s fun, too. And you can’t even hate him cause he’s such a nice guy!

Defense: There is No Defense Against Magnificence

You’ve tried paying a beautiful girl to pretend to be your girlfriend. You’ve photoshopped yourself onto mountaintops and in front of notable monuments. You’ve even tried to compete in the X-games, only to find that your bones were surprisingly crushable. Nothing works. The Magnificent is always genuinely supportive of your endeavors, from your blog to that one time you tried to open a falafel stand, not realizing that that particular street corner was run by the mob. Even his girlfriends have always been nice to you, and The Magnificent gets you free tickets to all sorts of cool sporting events. Why? Why can’t you be him?

Attack: Pointless Stories, Prying into Your Personal Life, and Rumor Mongering

The aunt everyone tries to avoid, The Gossip uses her bubbly joviality to pin down her prey, and once you’ve fallen into the trap, she’ll act as though the two of you are in on something together. Don’t be fooled! The Gossip has no allies. She will inquire about your love life, and when you report that it is pointedly non-existent, she will cluck knowingly, and the twinkle in her eye means word of your failure as a sexual specimen will spread to the farthest reaches of your circle of acquaintances. When she asks about your job and you explain that you don’t have one, per se, she will chide you with a half-hearted tsk that indicates the news will spread, inaccurately. Amidst friendly bouts of prying, she will attempt to tell you every detail imaginable about your other family members, unaware that you’ve spent the whole event trying to dodge those very people for fear they’ll tell you about themselves!

Defense: Profuse Winking

The Gossip is a fast talker, rendering words an ineffective strategy for escape. Instead, you must rely on body language, and there’s nothing The Gossip enjoys more than a conspiratorial wink. Lean in close, for this indicates the two of you share a profound secret. It is important that The Gossip think others in the room are filled with jealousy at seeing how connected the two of you are, so make it overt. Once you’re good and close, wink rapidly and without limit. The Gossip will laugh nervously at the inside joke she assumes you share and send you on a mission to gather juicy intelligence. Do not return.

Attack: Politics

The Politician never goes anywhere without an agenda. She firmly believes in every policy you think is ruining the world and strongly supports the candidate you want to murder with your bare hands. The fact that you don’t have a job makes you The Politician’s enemy, for it’s people like you who are destroying this country and helping the terrorists win. No matter The Politician’s beliefs, you distinctly do not want to get involved, for you actively attempt to learn as little as possible about the current state of the world. Death tolls and rampant hunger are less fun reruns of The Simpsons, but try as you might to avoid the trap, you will find yourself outmatched, for The Politician spends her life learning how best to bait people into unpleasant conversation and will deftly turn every topic to politics through subtle manipulation or loud yelling.

Defense: Inappropriate Laughter

The Politician’s powers are strong, and the only way to defeat her is to treat all of her heavy conversation topics as silly jokes. Whenever she mentions the dire state of the economy, chortle as though she’s made a clever quip. When she attempts to turn the conversation to the upcoming debate, guffaw as though she’s just spilled something on herself. Follow your laughter by repeating her comment, then adding, “Good one!” Before she has a chance to recover, launch into whatever story pops into your head no matter how irrelevant or embarrassing. Your inappropriate responses will undermine her fervor, making her arguments seem petty, and when you accidentally follow-up with a tale about your failed sexual exploits as a high-schooler, the pity and discomfort everyone feels is sure to lead to a change of topic.

———

There you have it! We hope you’ve found our handy-dandy Guide to the Holidays to be as handy-dandy as we intended. Next time you’re trapped at one of those nauseatingly innocuous Holiday Events, try out a few of these methods! If you’re feeling extra charitable, leave us a comment detailing how it went, because we certainly haven’t tried them! And for those of you non-readers or regular folks who are simply in a hurry, here’s a condensed pictorial guide for your relative-avoiding pleasure.

Click for Full Size: