HERE, MY STATE — Alright first things first idiots, Iiiiiiii’m drunk. That’s not all. I’m pissed. Can, can we just, can you all just let me just rant for a fucking second. Cause it’s gonna happen whether you like it or not. So you can all either just glance over what the fuck I’m gonna say, or settle your dicks down and listen to what I’m about to preach. And I’ll have you know, it’ll awaken your mind to a problem that is not getting addressed by the lame-stream media. So here I am, part of the blame-stream media to let you all know, and to let the world know, Instant Ramen cups are full of lies. I put in a solid 10 hours at work today. Five on the clock, 5 spent drinking and socializing with my cohorts. You have to make sure you’re all friends after that bullshit, you know what I mean. I might not, but hopefully you do. So here I am, a certain amount of sheets to the wind, on my way home, pretending I don’t smell like booze and cigarettes so maybe the Uber driver won’t notice; just seriously considering my options. What Instant Ramen cup am I going to ultimately fail, but try to sober myself up with? A question that has racked the brains of the mightiest of our times. Aristotle, Einstein, Bezos, and Burnham, all the greats of our time. So there I am, scrolling through the galleries of Ramen pictures I have in my phone as the ultimate foreplay to a late night snack; drooling like a sorority girl over Marshmallow Fluff, smelling my own breath, and wishing I didn’t have to work in the morning. Fully expecting Top Ramen to have my back, but knowing that Chef’s Table is going to be the only inspiration for my late night cuisine. Mustard in pasta: “Fuck it! What do you have to lose?” Only about 98 cents. You have another one, try buffalo sauce next time; and pretend you’re the offspring of Gordon Ramsey and Guy Fieri’s wet dream. It’s a dream of a cream. Wink Wink. But now the problem is: you have to wait 3 minutes. What the literal fuck? I thought it said “instant”. Last time I read it, it said “instant”. So here I am now, 3 in the fucking morning, digging my hands through the kitchen trash, trying to excavate this fucking empty styrofoam cup that I threw away like a goddam idiot. You can literally cook the pasta in the cup, you don’t need to pour it into a bowl. What the fuck was I thinking? I sure as shit wasn’t going to pre-boil the water and pour it into the Cup like some kind of pervert. The only people that do that exclusively watch incest porn. I guarantee it. So you know what I did? I ate that shit raw. That’s right, I said to myself: “Fuck it, we’re doing it live,” and just dug into that motherfucker. Ya it was crunchy, and it cut the fuck out of my mouth, and it reminded me of the time I tried to eat a spoonful of cinnamon in 2nd grade and I threw up at lunch. True story. That actually happened. I have no idea where the fuck the cinnamon came from but I grew up upper middle class so we had excess money for shit like extra cinnamon. Call this a latent cry for help, a commentary on childhood nutrition, a good old time; I don’t care. Just know that: square pizza is best pizza.I don’t know where I’ve gone with this article but goddammit I hope you do. p.s. I know news articles don’t have post-scripts but fuck it, here you go: If you ever really need a bump, or a snortski of adderral but nobody is providing, pro-tip: do a line of that chili ramen spice. It’ll get you to where you need to be.

Leave a Reply