Ranch

Who the fuck are you. I am a champion of the common man, but I will not fight for ranch. It tastes like dill and poverty. It has a creamy consistency food items should not have, and should make any sane person nervous. If you are putting it on a salad, why are you not using Caesar. They are the same price. The idea of putting that much ranch on anything is emotionally disturbing. It’s a dip at best. When I see a ranch salad, it is like seeing a God forsaken ketchup salad to me. I will concede to ranch on veggie platters, and possibly as a pizza crust accouterments, but when garlic, marinara, etc. are possibilities, I do not understand. People that put ranch on the actual pizza, fuck you. I won’t go halfway with this one, we are not friends.

Bacon

Bacon is the fruit leather of meat. I do not care for it, unless someone has wrapped it around a steak for maximum insulation. It’s dry, it’s got a somehow dense but unforgiving texture, and it tastes like something that is getting in the way of everything else. Nothing that thin should be considered meat.

 

Man On Wire

Man on Wire was okay, at best. The French guy seemed like a delusional asshole, which no one is willing to admit. For some reason we embrace people who are stubborn, arrogant lunatics as long as they unendingly profess to have a “dream.” If you’re insane and unmotivated, or maybe just pragmatic, you’re derided. Demand to walk a tightrope and you’re revered. Now that Joseph Gordon Levitt, adorable though he may be, has added a shitty French accent to the mix, this documentary exhibits even more about what I hate about life.

 

Salsa

Does nothing for me besides making plain tortilla chips slightly more edible, and frankly if it’s a great tortilla chip I’m going to leave it unsullied anyways.

 

Limp Bizkit’s cover of “Behind Blue Eyes.”

I don’t mind the Limp Bizkit cover of “Behind Blue Eyes.” I have no lengthy explanation. I don’t mind it. The Speak N Spell sample aged terribly, I don’t remember a lot of other nu metal bands, or bands in general sampling the Speak N Spell, but every time I hear this song it says early 2000s almost as much as the presence of Limp Bizkit. It’s novel (contradiction?) I like it. It’s creepy. I do think Fred Durst is probably tortured at this point, I think Buddyhead snatched away the last of his happiness by 2004 so if the song was meaningless in 2001 (or whatever) he’s probably feeling English level heaviness now.