Tag Archives: kimchi

Beware the Kaustic Kimchi!!!

     Fractured Foodies and Cabbage Commandoes, we at CFYSA have to ask…why do you eat this stuff?  On Monday, we went to market and found nova lox on sale and so we grabbed some, as we always do when the price drops after the holidays.  When we arrived home the precious salmon was not to be found so, upon calling Weis Market, were told to just come in and get another package.  Somebody must have found them at the register.

     Returning to the store days later, a trip to the produce section was necessary, since sliced blue onion is a must with the lox.  A pause in the ‘organic’ section brought us face to face with the jars of kimchi.  On a recent trip to the whole foods market, a visitor was surprised to see kimchi on the shelf.  This was a part of a large market chain. Kimchi is really taking over.

     Remembering the ‘kimchi devil sex’ post that we ran and how people still end up on the page due to a search for kimchi devil or devil sex or kimchi whore, we had a laugh and picked up a bottle for examination.  The first thing to be noticed was a warning on the label to wear some type of rain gear when eating the stuff.  It said that kimchi is still in the fermenting state and is apt to ‘pop’ or ‘burst’ while eating it, showering the person dining with a misty sheen of cabbage juice which has just fermented. Yum!!!

     My friend, who spent time in Korea and warned me off the kimchi, told us how the whole counntry smelled of fermented cabbage and we took it to be a slight exaggeration.  After seeing the warning on the label, we found it prudent to warn all our Gentle Readers of the consequences of dining on such a roiling and tempestuous bit of cabbagery.

     It is always fun to see what people eat in other parts of the world, like stink bugs and kimchi.  In ten years, we all may be eating stink bugs and kimchi.  Then it will not be funny.

     By the way, the lox had rolled underneath the rollers on the checkout counter and had been clogging things up in a fishy way for a day or two until discovered.  That part was funny.

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Sunday Funny. A Bible Story For The Hip, Beat and Just Plain Cool

     Kind Readers,

     I keep promising Lord Buckley and have been caught up in writing other stuff for the new issue of Beatdom, that is number Eight, the SEX Issue. Since it is Sunday, a day of rest and a time for some to worship, let us take a look at the worshippers and the Worshipped, as seen by and told through the words of our hero, Lord Buckley!

This is about the Sermon on the Mount and is called, The Nazz (a word stolen by David Bowie in Ziggy Stardust) and an old rock group by that name…

 
Now look at all you cats and kitties out there whippin’ and wailin’ and jumpin’ up and down and suckin’ up all that juice and pattin’ each other on the back and hippin’ each other who the greatest cat in the world is: Mr. Malenkov, Mr. Talenkov, Mr. Eisenhower, Mr. Wozenweezer, Mr. Wisenwoser, Mr. Woodhill, Mr. Beachill an’ Mr. Churchill and all them hills gonna’ get you straight. If they can’t get you straight, they know a cat that knows a cat who’ll straighten you. But I’m gonna put a cat on you, was the coolest, grooviest, sweetest, wailinest, strongest, swinginest cat that ever stomped on this  jumpin’ green sphere and they called this here cat the Naz.

He was a carpenter kitty. Now the Nazz was the kind of a cat that come on so cool and so groovy and so with it that when he laid it down, whabam! It stayed there! Naturally all the rest of the cats said, “Man, look at that cat wail! He’s wailin’ up a storm up there. Hey, eh, ain’t it down right? Hey, get off my back Jack! What’s the matter with you? I’m tryin’ to dig what the cat’s puttin’ down!”  They’re pushin’ the Nazz to dig his miracle lick, and the Nazz say, “Cool, babies. Tell ya’ what I’m gonna do. I ain’t gonna take two, four six, eight of you cats, but I’m gonna take all twelve of you studs and straighten you all at the same time. Say, you cats look like you pretty hip.” He say, “You buddy with me.”

So The Nazz and his buddies was goofin’ off down the boulevard one day and they run into a little cat with the bent frame. So The Nazz look at this little cat with the bent frame and he say, “What’s a matter wit’ you, baby?”
Little cat with the bent frame he said, “My frame is bent Nazz, it’s been bent from in front.” 
So The Nazz look at the little cat with a bent frame and he put the golden eyes of love on this here little kitty and he look right down into the window of the little cat’s soul and he say to the little cat, he say, “Straighten!” Vrooom – Boom! Up went that cat like an arrow and everybody jumpin’ up and down say “Look what The Nazz put on that boy! Hah-hah. You dug him before,” said “re-dig him now!”

Everybody talkin’ about The Nazz, what a great cat he was, how he swung with the glory of love, how he straighten out all the squares, how he stomp into the money changin’ cart and kicked the short change all over the place and knockin’ the corners off the squares. How he put it down to the one cat, dug it, didn’t dig it. Put it down twice, dug it, didn’t dig it. Put it down the third time, dug it, boom, walked away with his eyes buggin’ out to here bumpin’ into everybody. And they’re pullin’ on The Nazz’s coat tail, they want him to sign the autograph. They want him to do a gig here, do a gig there, play the radio, play the video; He can’t make all that jazz! Like I ‘splained to you he’s a carpenter kitty, got his own lick. But when he know he should go and show and blow, and cannot go, cause he got too much strain on him, straightenin’ out the squares…he sends a coupla’ these cats that he’s hippin’. So came a little sixty-cent gig one day and the Nazz was in a bind, and he put it on a coupla’ boys. He said, “Boys, take care of that for me, would ya?”
“Take it off your wig Nazz, we’ll cool it.” And they started out to straightin’ it out for the Nazz. And they got about half way to where they were goin’ and they came to a little old twenty-cent pool of water and they got right in the pool of water with the boat and all of a sudden, BLAM, the lightnin’ flashin’ and the thunder roarin’ and the boat is goin’ up and down and these poor cats figurin’ every minute gonna’ be their last and one cat look up and…here come the Nazz…cool as anyone you see, right across the water STOMPIN’! And there was a little cat on board, I think his name was Jude.
He said, “Hey, Nazz, can I make it out there with’ya?”
And The Nazz say, “Make it, Jude!” 
Ol’ Jude went stompin’ off that boat took four steps, dropped his whole cart. Phhhhhiiiiittt, Nazz had to stash him back on board. 
So The Nazz say, “Say, what seems to be troublin’ you boys? Heh heh. Say, you hittin’ on that SOS’in’ bell pretty hard. You gonna’ bend that bell knockin’ on it like that.”
One of the cats say, “What’s eatin’ ya? Oh, can’t ya see the storm’s goin’ and the lightnin’ flashin’ and the thunder roarin’!”
And The Nazz say, “I told you stay cool didn’t I babies?”
To the people who don’t know, that means to believe, to stay cool is to be, to have the sweet fragrance of serenity rock your wig. See. So now everybody’s talkin’ about the Nazz. Ooh, this beautiful, swingin’ man. How he’s settin’ the country on fire with great sparks of great love like a swingin’ non-stop satellites goin’ through all the lanes and valleys and puttin’ down the scene with such beauty and such power and such charm that there are now sparks seventy-five feet long shootin’ out of the grapevine and they now got five thousand of these little cats and kitties in the Nazz’s home town where the cat live, lookin’ to get straight. Well he knows he can’t straighten’em there. It’s too small a place to want to hang everybody up. So the Nazz backed away a little bit and he look at these cats and these kitties and he say, “Come on, babies. Let’s cut on out down the pike.” And there went the Nazz, with these five thousand cats and kitties a stompin’ up a storm. Behind them there’s a great love river joy, it’s goin’ like a great chain through these gorgeous cats and kitties as they’re swingin’ along in the beat of the Nazz and the birds are flyin’ on one side and singin’ love songs to these cats and kitties and there’s a great jubilee of love. And the Nazz talkin’ about how pretty the hour, how pretty the flower, how pretty you, how pretty me, how pretty the tree. Nazz had them pretty eyes. He wanted everybody to see with his eyes and see how pretty it was. And they’re havin’ such a glorious swingin’ time that before you know it they were forty-two miles out of town and ain’t nobody got the first biscuit. 
So the Nazz look at them cats and kitties and he say “You hungry ain’t ya babies?” 
And the cat say, “Yea Nazz, say we’s diggin’ so hard what you puttin’ down, heh-heh, we didn’t prepare, say we goofed.”
So the Nazz say, “Well, we gotta take it easy here We wouldn’t want to go ahead and order up something you might not like, would we.”
And they said “Sweet double hipness, you put it down and we’ll pick it up.”
And the Nazz step away a little bit and he put a glorious sound of love on.
He said “Oh, sweet swingin’ flowers of the field.”
And they said “Oh, great non-stop singular sound of beauty.”
And he said “Stomp upon the terra.”
They did.
He said, “Lift your miracle of the body.”
The body went up.
He said “Lift your arms.”
The arms went up.
He said “Higher and higher.”
He said “Dig infinity!”
And they dug it!
And when they did that, there was a flash of thunder, and in one hand was a great big stuffed sweet, swingin’, smoked fish and in the other a long gone crazy loaf of that southern home-made, honey-tastin’, sweet bread. Why, these poor cats flipped!
Nazz never did nothin’ simple, when he laid it, he laid it.

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How Not To Disguise Your Handwriting, Good One Slik Dick!

     Rummys and Readers, this is a special blog since yesterday I noted that the next blog would look at the wondrous Lord Buckley, possibly the spiritual father of all things Beat.

     Today we present an example of how the obese brain can cause people to do things that are not logical. Many recent studies have likened the affects of obesity to brain tissue to those of crack addiction on the same cranial areas. Sometimes it takes the actions of a dimwit to bear out the theory.

     First, we need to look at why abused people have the tendency to make assholes of themselves. It is not their fault. They are told from an early age that they are worthless, or made to feel that way, and so it dogs them through life. I share this problem with a friend of mine who is also plagued by an abuserino. He was nice to some idiot and helped the guy with his writing, often re-writing whole stories so the bumbling fool looked good. The numb-nut in question, in this case, reacted wrongly instead of being grateful for the help he was given. He carries on like a child (since the abused brain gets stuck at the age of abuse) and rants and stamps his feet and is still heard to be making a fuss to those who have not deleted him from their web accounts). He insults, chides, even created a website on which to do it, but the most stupid thing is that he does it all in a failed attempt to garnish the attention of my friend, Patrick, who he has turned into a perverse form of father-figure.

     Patrick and I have a lot in common. I am a father figure, too.

     When a teen, I fell in with a crowd of kids who were not too smart but had all the right materials to make things fun. We knew each other for about a year and a half until things started to wear thin. Punk rock had a lot to do with it. When I was 17, it was the cutting edge of rock and roll and I welcomed it. Disco had been a dominant force and my plan was to try to subvert the disco machine with country-swing music when Punk stuck it’s ugly head out of a manhole cover and let it rip! I still like both of these musical forms.

     This occurred in Pennsylvania which, with the exceptions of Philadelphia and Pittsburgh, is about as far away from being a hotbed of intellectual activity as you can get. By the times these guys liked Punk, it was almost over but there were a number of poseurs who claimed to be hip to it all along. Dumb people are not so bad, in fact they make nice housepets. The annoying bit about this State is the number of psuedo-intellectuals. They are a little smarter than the rest but they are still incapable of original thought. Still, they see themselves as superior but it is all psuedo.

     A good example is a guy named Slik Dick. Dick is, by the way, just that. Dick is one of those people you know for a year and a half and lose track of. Then he finds you on Facebook and it is all ‘buddy-buddy’ but in a matter of weeks, the reason why you have not chatted for some 38 odd years is quite apparent. Slik Dick, like a lot of crackheads and fatheads, has a big mouth and is always right. We were very good friends until my opinions on world trade upset his sexually-ambiguous sister and she insulted me, which opened the door to an onslaught of low insults.

     Hey, we should all get along but if you are going to insult me, expect a little something in return.

     So, because of a verbal dispute about a subject he has no working knowledge of, Dick got mad at me. When I become angry with somebody, I do not even want to look at them but since he became riled, the Big Dick has tried to annoy me via various means. He wants my attention. I am a father figure to the obstreperous obeser. He just cannot allow things to pass and spends time and money thinking of ways to ‘get to me’, all of which are laughable and childish but are the hallmarks of the classic victim of abuse. Still, I do not feel sorry for him.

     The latest example of the ‘little kid crying daddy at the top of his lungs in the empty market’ came yesterday, when Dick sent me an anonymous letter. It was so anonymous that I knew it was from him before I opened it, even though he went through the trouble of sending it from St Louis to Pennsylvania, where one of his intellectual equals put it in a local mailbox so I would think it came from nearby. At least the post office sold some stamps.

     What the fool did not realise is that I had handwriting samples. Another sign of the failing brain is inattention to details. While Big Dick barely changed the basic form of his printing by making it big and squared when he wrote my address (this is done by grasping the pen in closed fist and writing like a caveman, as opposed to holding the pen in the usual way), he was so damned stupid that he forgot to change his writing on the return address.

     Details, details…

     When examining handwriting, there are certain things that are dead give-aways so let us review a few of them now, Gentle Readers. First, the way a person crosses the ‘t’ and dots the ‘i’ can be telling. Look how the ‘t’ is always crossed down near the center. See how the dot on the ‘i’ drifts to the right every time. The ‘r’ is much more significant, since it not only is always made with a straight line to the right at the top, but that top line most often drops at the end. Or how about those ‘m’s? They always look like a ‘v’ on stilts. This is the most pathetic coverup job since the Florida elections that Gore won but Bush was credited with winning. Even moreso, look at the address and how the ‘s’ on sutters always begins just below the cross on the ‘4’ in ‘904’…what a cowfaced maroon he is!!! And look how the word always goes downhill after the numbers…elementary, Dear Watson.

dick.jpg

     Ah, Slik Dick, does a secret love for me burn in your hungry heart of flabby flesh? Is it really so hard to get on without me, now that you have found me after 38 years?

      See, Dick is one of the few people I considered a friend who ended up stealing from me because I allowed him in my home. I may have stolen from schools, employers and done my childhood shoplifting but never once did I pinch anything from someone who trusted me. That is low. Stupid people do not know low from normal, so it is best to avoid them. I would not even be mentioning him now, if not for his silly attempts and the cash he wastes on stamps to get my attention. If you know him, count the silverware and snack cakes next time he is in town.

     On the back of the envelope is the ominous date of 11.12.10. This may be ominous because anyplace I go that day, I will carry a few rolls of quarters in my fist and if anything weird happens, somebody will be wearing his nose on his ear. OOOhhhh, sppoky 11.12.10…shall I sit inside and peer out the window in fear? Why bother? I have a security system and haven’t had to break a nose for a good many years. It may be fun to have a tape of it to post. I really am non-violent but provocation always leads to a bad end.

     Slik Dick, with your filthy, unflushed home and your alwats right fat brain…when will you ever learn?

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Hell Devil Sex In Kimchi Pots Makes Korea Cabbage Suck

     Gentle Readers, a horrible misunderstanding in culinary circles has brought kimchi to our attention today. Many people wonder why anyone would ever eat it, when they can have good german sauerkraut, laced with brown sugar and apples and topped with a juicy pork chop. Two strips of cured canine on a plate with a heap of fowl-smelling kimchi can gag a maggot.  Add some dried fish, found dead and floating on top of the Naktong River and it is twice as offensive. Why do people eat this stuff?

    Of course, we all know that America is Number One in cabbage with its sexy cole slaw! It is so good that people pay a lot for it, yet it does not lead to the social problems that are associated with ‘devil’s leaf” from Daegu. There, it leads to violence and kimchi rage, accompanied by the usual kimchi crack smokers and kimchi whores, who sell their bodies for the cabbage they must have.

     It is put in pots and buried deep in the ground so the devil can reach the pots more easily from his place in Hell! At night, the devil has big sex with the steamy pots, leaving them with the foul smell that predominates the Korean continent. There is nothing more scary than a crazed slut with kimchi breath propositioning you. They will offer ‘the tooth brush,’ an odd sex act performed with strings of shredded cabbage hanging from between rotted teeth. A visitor can only run to a safe place and wash off the smell…or try to.

     The devil in the kimchi soon gets into the brain, like a venereal disease, many of which are a standard ingredient in this evil foodstuff.

     I have a sauerkraut cask in my kitchen. It would hold 20 gallons but I do not invite the devil to my home. I will eat it in german homes and stay with the number one – american cole slaw! Yes, it is the best.

     Here is my recipe: take half a cabbage (a real one, not one of them tiny kimchi cabbages that are no good for people) and two carrots and grate them coarsely. Add mayo, a pinch of sugar and a dash of celery salt. mix. chill. taste. add more celery salt or sugar to taste. Add more mayo if it seems too dry.

     This is the way to eat cabbage. Do not eat cabbage from other countries if you fear the devil. Some places, like Korea, do not fear the devil and so they eat his spumy froth as it mixes into the precious kimchi. How wrong can they be? Are they devil people? I hope none of them read this. That could get scary!

     If you do not believe this, you can yell Dokdo at the Sea of Japan!!!

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