The White Shrimp of Dover
When it comes down to it, this pasta is little more than self-indulgent virtuosic wankery, but it's still really fun.
Pictured here is The White Shrimp of Dover - before you look it up, it's Eric Johnson, not Eric Clapton. Yeah, I got them mixed up too.
Dirty White Bambino
Hey baby, if you're feeling down, I know what's good for you all day
Are you worried what your friends see
And will it ruin your waistline eating me?
Pictured here is Dirty White Bambino, which has the dubious honor of being the second-nastiest sausage ever associated with Foreigner.
Day 41
Feeling pretty good today! I spend a lot of time thinking about the future. What will life hold for me after the blog is completed, my belly is full, and my magical pass loses its powers and reverts to a hunk of useless plastic? There's a lot of things I haven't been able to do in the past month. Here are some of those things I haven't been able to do that I'm really looking forward to doing in eight days:
-Eat any kind of fruit
-Get drunk
-Have a date somewhere other than Olive Garden
-Feel that my life has meaning
-Consume fewer than four breadsticks
-Not dread a trip to the bathroom
Lunch was skipped.
Dinner was composed of three plates of pasta:
Spaghetti Western
Whole Hweat
Marinara Trench
Every day's a step closer!
A special thanks to my dining companion, Vinegar!
Spaghetti Western
I know what you're thinking. "Did he order that with a topping, or just the sauce?" Well, to tell you the truth, in all this excitement I kinda lost track myself. But being this is meat sauce, the most protein-packed sauce in the world and would blow you appetite clean off, you've gotta ask yourself one question: "Do I feel hungry?"
Pictured here is Spaghetti Western - well, do ya, punk?
Whole Hweat
Why are you saying it weird?
Pictured here is Whole Hweat - YOU'RE EATING HAIR!
Marinara Trench
Deep under the Pacific ocean lies the fabled Marinara Trench, a fissure of such incredible pressure and heat that the marinara that flows from it is the purest in the world. Careless shrimp that pass too close to the trench are instantly cooked to perfect temperature, and are a natural complement for the sauce.
Pictured here is Marinara Trench - 20,000 leagues beyond any other pasta!
Day 40
Happy Hell-oween, boils and ghouls!
Tonight's boo-log will creature four kill-licious pain-stas from everyone's favorite die-in restaur-haunt, Olive Gore-den! Axe yourself: is there anything more scare-ifying than italian sausage?!
These epi-gore-ean treats will definitely tick-kill your funny bone while they fill your stom-ache! Ehehehehehe!
Lunch was Night Of The Living Bread[ed Chicken].
Dinner was decomposed of three plates of pasta:
An Italian Sausage In London
I Know What You Ate Last Supper
Rosemary's Gravy
See you tomorrow, kiddies!
A special thanks to my dining companion, Nosferatu!
Night Of The Living Bread[ed Chicken]
![Night Of The Living Bread[ed Chicken]](/uploads/articles/2014/11/YS2H8LXYXD0P.jpg)
Topped with George Romano Cheese.
Pictured here is Night Of The Living Bread[ed Chicken].
An Italian Sausage In London
Of course, Italian Sausage. Why else would they have a severed cartoon pig's head as their symbol?
Pictured here is An Italian Sausage In London.
I Know What You Ate Last Supper
We could take this pasta from Fargo to New York if Jennifer Love Hewitt could carry it half as much as she carried that movie.
Pictured here is I Know What You Ate Last Supper.
Rosemary's Gravy
Gives a whole new meaning to the word "Prego".
Pictured here is Rosemary's Gravy.
Day 39
When I was fourteen years old, I saw a dying squirrel in my backyard. I don't know why she was dying. No obvious injuries, no predator animals nearby. Writing that out, now I wonder how I even knew she was dying. Maybe I'm just looking back and realizing she must have been dying, since she was dead a few minutes later. Or maybe dying is a state that anyone can recognize.
Anyway. She died and I wrapped her up in a t-shirt from my Mathlympics club that I paid $8 of my mom's money for and buried her in the backyard, next to a tree. I thought to myself that this was a very meaningful and poignant thing to do, and I was looking forward to sharing the anecdote with somebody, many years from then, in a private moment. It would foster a kind of intimacy, the kind that stories like this always seem to foster in movies and books.
Lunch was Roberta.
Dinner was composed of three plates of pasta:
I never did share that story with anyone, but I hope you all got something out of it, though what I'm not sure.
A special thanks to my dining companion, Nick!
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