Respect Authority

The fact of the matter is, we’re not all cyborgs yet (unfortunately), so the periodic intake of nourishment is kind of a must in order to, you know, continue living. There are people who dedicate their entire lives to the pursuit of food — they’re known as food bloggers… and also the morbidly obese. So, whether you were sampling the Crème brûlée wherever all the rich assbags are having their meals lately, scraping cold SpaghettiOs out of the can, or shamelessly polishing off an entire tin of chocolate frosting before throwing it back up, here’s what had us licking our chops in two thousand and eight.

NYC mandated calorie counts in restaurants
Listen, I know Chipotle is bad for me. But I don’t need to be reminded that a burrito and a soda is 4,000 calories. That is all. — lou

New York Pizza
It’s a classic, but who could deny the timeless perfection of Brooklyn style pizza? I’m not talking about the pizza you order from Dominos.com at 2 in the morning when you’re stoned claiming to be “Brooklyn style” — I’m talking about the baseball-pennant-sized slice of grease and early-death you pick up from the poorly lit health code violation on the corner of Church and Coney Island Avenue. Moving to Chicago, where everybody is under the impression that “pizza” actually means “a circular loaf of bread with sauce smeared on top of it” has only solidified that when it comes to pizza, New York City has all the fixings (Ed. note: That “zinger” is the STUPIDEST FUCKING THING I have ever written). — aaron

Sparks
In a fitting tribute to the end of the period in my life where it’s really and truly okay to party until 6 a.m., Miller agreed this year to end the six-year run of Sparks, an alcoholic energy drink that gave me massive headaches and tasted like condensed Sweet Tarts. Now young adults devoted enough to mix caffeine with Friday-night rabblerousing will have to go the old fashioned route: cocaine. — kira

I am so psyched to be old.

Seriously. I think there’s a very under-addressed misconception among people my age, our age, that being old is awful. That entering one’s 60s or 70s or 80s means wearing adult diapers and living in nursing homes, and most importantly means moving ever-closer to certain death.

Well I say fuck all that. Being old is going to be great. Think of it like a great big delicious dinner. You spend the first part of your life buying ingredients, then you cook the dinner and you start to smell how awesome it’s going to be and you taste some and its fly as hell and then the dinner is ready and you eat it — if you’re smart you eat it slowly and enjoy every moment, but maybe you also stop to take a hit and then wolf down the rest with heightened senses — and then you’re done and full and content. (By the way I’m selling this entire paragraph to Chicken Soup For The Age-Aphobic Soul).

See, being old is the content part. It’s the part where you’ve had a great many servings and it was so good but you’re full and sated and totally ready to sit on the couch and watch some TV and eventually, not now but eventually, nod off to sleep. Read More ›