Top 5 Gross Things They Sell at the Grocery Store

Gross Stuff at the Grocery Store

When I was a kid, I ate virtually nothing. I liked donuts, pancakes, French toast and pizza. That’s about it with the exception of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. My mother and I had many battles about my eating practices, with the proverbial, “there are starving people in Africa” line spoken on an almost daily basis. I would eventually win the majority of these battles as I’m she would eventually tire of looking at me sitting at the table alone with a cold plate of untouched food in front of me and acquiesce to my eating a PB&J sammich instead. I graduated high school at 5 foot 10, 129 pounds, an emaciated rail, and it was mainly because I hated food. I was not trying to be a dick about it and I appreciated her efforts but I simply didn’t like food. It wasn’t her fault, she was a good cook and I never blamed her, she was merely working with the disgusting tools nature provided her.

While my pallet has broadened a bit, there are still foods that no matter how old I get, I will not eat. Most of the foods I despise are you run of the mill variety but the subject at hand here are foods, and I hesitate to even use the word food when it comes to these treasures, that no one should be eating. I mean, somebody is buying these things and encouraging the store manager to continue stocking them.

Pigs Feet –

Surely you’ve seen this atrocity on the shelves of your local supermarket. It is exactly what I said, a jar of the feet of a pig.  What demon could possible possess someone enough to make them want to eat an animal’s foot? Especially the foot of a pig. Have you seen what pigs walk around in? They skulk around in mud inches deep comprised of their own shit and piss. What genius thought, those feet look delicious and should be bottled and made available at local stores? Mothers often use the phrase, “your room look like pig sty?” Why?  Because a pig sty is the epitome of filth.

Next time your grocery shopping, look for the pig’s feet, they’re always by the soup. If you hold the jar up to the light and thank God the Hormel people have opted for a clear glass for this epicurean delight, you can actually see the fine pig hairs still imbedded in the skin.

Feet are gross. They’re dirty. They take the brunt of most of the swill we delve into on a daily basis and I do not want to ingest them. A woman’s finely manicured feet in a pair of heels is an outstanding look but I have never been overcome with an uncontrollable urge to shove her foot in my mouth. I know there are people that get into that sort of thing but that is not my bag. I have way too many germ issues to indulge.

Forty years ago, I knew this little green looking kid named Bart, I’ve mentioned him in here before. Well Bart, in addition to having a weird fluorescent green color to him and pointed fingers, that made him look like Bat Boy, wore these brown plastic sandals that made an obnoxious farting noise when he walked. My sister and I used to get in trouble for calling him Bart the Fart. I think of Bart sometimes when I see the bottled pig’s feet while shopping. How can I be expected to eat something that makes me think of a green bat boy’s farting feet?

Tripe –

Tripe is defined as the culinary term for the stomach tissue of a cow, goat or sheep. Why in the hell is the stomach of a goat used as a culinary term anyway? Are you kidding me? I really don’t think there is much point in going any further here. My God, why? I venture that the first person to eat a farm animal’s stomach was probably starving and I get that. You’re going to die from hunger and all there is a cow stomach available, I guess you start eating but some idiot along the way ate this shit and enjoyed it enough that it now has a culinary term. I am disappointed in humanity.

Potted Meat –

Apparently those that enjoy the epicurean delights of this Potted Meat stuff colloquially refer to it as “pottage meat.” I’m not sure if this mispronunciation is due to there being a direct correlation in IQ points and an appreciating for this can of sadness but I’m pretty sure there has to be some mental deficiency responsible. We all know what hot dogs are made of but I have a pretty good feeling that I am right in assuming that this Potted Meat stuff is made from the stuff we wouldn’t dare make a hotdog out of. I thought about what sort of pieces of an animal would be left after the hot dogs fixins are taken out. I thought of things like cow utters, pig and goat utters would probably be included here as well. Utters would be something that I wouldn’t want in my hot dog but would expect in something called Potted Meat. That flap of skin thing that hangs down off of a chicken or turkeys neck would work well here too.

Organ Meet –

I don’t mean the liver sold in the meat section. Although that stuff is just awful. What I’m talking about here is that bloody sack of innards you find inside of a turkey.  It’s like somebody stowed their garbage inside of my Thanksgiving dinner bird. Why is this in here? Did I ask for this? Can I get a turkey without the guts? My mom used to boil this little bag of goodies and eat them like potato chips while she prepared dinner. The thought of watching her take a bite of the heart was and still is enough to make me never want to eat again.

Vegetables –

For my 49th birthday last year as a gift to myself, I gave up vegetables and specifically the guilt associated with not eating them. I despise them. I love fruit but vegetables are like their evil twin. Socrates was a firm believer in opposites. Like you can’t define light without experiencing dark, life without knowing death and so on. I believe the same idea applies to fruits and vegetables. You cannot understand just how good God given fruit is until you sink your teeth into an artichoke and witness first-hand the work of Satan.

If the entire vegetable section at the grocery store were suddenly eliminated I would be elated. I hate vegetables. They taste awful. I do like corn and potatoes which I am told are not really a vegetable but a starch which easily explains why I like them, they aren’t vegetables.

When I tell people that I don’t like vegetables, and I do feel the need to interject my opinion on them regularly and usually unsolicited, they always say something like, “well, you just don’t know how to prepare them.” This is a frequent response to my distaste for Brussel sprouts and broccoli as I think they are reaped from the pit of hell. “You have to sauté them in olive oil and butter then once they’re done cover them in cheese.” What? The fact that Brussel sprouts and broccoli have to be slathered in butter and coated with cheese is a testament to just how disgusting they truly are.

Case in point, everybody love to eat kale and spinach now, it’s the thing to do. However, I don’t see people walking around with a bag of greens. What they do is shove them into a smoothie covered in fruit and yogurt so they don’t have to encounter the acrid and rancid taste of these vile weeds. Consider this, if salads are so good, why does a multi-billion dollar salad dressing consortium exist? Vegetables are so awful that we will spend five dollars on a jar of dressing just so we can bury the taste.

What’s the deal with balsamic vinegar? I don’t remember this stuff when I was a kid. But I have a theory that without it, literally no one would be eating Brussel sprouts. The balsamic people really have saved the sprout people and I don’t think enough credit is given.

The question has to be asked, “If vegetables are so effing good why are there so many ways to prepare them with the intent of covering up the taste?”

I have tried for years to force myself to like tomatoes to no avail. I have one in an occasional cheeseburger and the foul taste is so overridingly powerful that the bitterness sullies my fine meal. People say, “Oh tomatoes are so delicious and sweet.” Wrong. You know what’s sweet? Ho-ho’s. Ho-ho’s are sweet. I like everything made from tomatoes, like pizza sauce, salsa and ketchup but the thought of eating them solo is nauseating.

Once you put a tomato on something there is no going back either. Those slimy seeds start spilling out all over your food like a monster from a 50’s sci-fi movie and you are not getting them off at any cost. And, trust me, I can taste every last one of them.

Don’t even get me started on mushrooms. I think they taste just like the dirt they are picked from and continue at the age of 49, like a five year old, to pick every last one of them out of anything I’m eating. I looked up the definition of “fungus” and this is what I found:

A spongy, abnormal growth, as granulation tissue formed in a wound.

And people eat this?!?!

When we were kids my mother used to make us imbibe this foul drink for breakfast every morning. It consisted of, what I surmised to be, unsweetened cocoa powder and sawdust swirled together in a cool glass of water. My mother hated us eating anything sweet. I delivered the Cleveland Press when I was in elementary school and I would do my collections on Saturdays. I would always plan my route to end up at Bordonaro’s , a local grocery store, so I could buy a box of Ho-ho’s and binge eat them all before I got home. To this day I cannot eat anything for breakfast but sweets. My mother and sawdust drink did some serious damage.

My favorite meal of all time, as I have discussed here before, is a gas station tuna sandwich, a bag of Munchos, a 3 pack of Ho-ho’s and a thick chocolate milk. If it were societally acceptable, I would eat this for Thanksgiving dinner and if I was on death row, I would chose it as my last meal. Why do we provide death row inmates with a last meal anyway? It’s not that I’m pissed about them getting preferential treatment, they’re going to be put down the next day and the least we can do to alleviate our collective guilt is to offer them a nice meal. What I wonder about is that when someone dies, don’t their bowels release? Really, if I have to clean that mess up, I’d be more inclined to give them a glass of water and wish them well.

“Hope you had a hell of a piss, Arnold!!!”


Top 5 Things You Can’t Say Anymore

Things You Can’t Say Anymore

Apparently, there are words that you can’t say anymore. Words that were, just a few years ago, perfectly acceptable and mainstream. I don’t mean obviously horrible words like N bombs and other slurs, I just mean words that were pretty conventional not long ago and now when I innocently drop one of them make me sound like a full-on purveyor of genocide. Mind you, some of this hoo-ha is a bit out of control and part of the problem are the overly sensitive, politically correct, hipster douche bags who won’t even watch a football game because the violence makes their beard hair curl and their skinny jeans cinch up around infantile penises. So, I guess, take this with a grain of salt.

Things have changed a lot over the years. I remember watching programs like Leave it to Beaver and they couldn’t even show that Ward and June slept in the same bed. They had these little twin beds. As if they showed a queen sized mattress in their bedroom we would suddenly be filled with thoughts of Ward sticking it to June good and hard. Hell, you couldn’t even show a toilet on TV. Where did the Brady kids pee? Like seeing a toilet would make me think of Marcia taking a shit and result in a need for martial law? However, it was societally acceptable to call a black guy, “boy.” Bob Hope gets fined by the FCC for saying “hormone” and the police use water cannons on people protesting for civil rights. Seems odd.

Today, though, on TV, you can show two people hammering the shit out of each other on the freaking toilet but I offend when I say “retard?” I’m lost.

I guess in hindsight they aren’t the kindest of words and I’m not really sure how “retard” ever became societally acceptable but I grew up using them and never thought of them as offensive, they were just descriptive words.

When I was in elementary school they had a classroom in the basement where they educated the “slower” kids. Back then we called them retards. The word makes me wince now but back then even the teachers called them the retarded class. There was always a rumor served with a stern warning that these kids liked to bite and if they broke your skin with their green pointed teeth that you would be doing time in the basement class right along with them. Like being mentally challenged, I think that’s what we say now, is caused by some mutant virus.

My mother used to be a piano teacher and every Wednesday night we had to go to Bart’s house so she could teach him and the rest of his creepy family how to play. Bart was this pale green color and he had pointed fingers. He and his siblings would hide in the walls and jump out at you if you happened to walk by. Certainly this kid was green from hiding in the walls and was clearly deprived of sunlight but how does one get pointed fingers? And why were they in the walls in the first place? Meanwhile, my school has a room full of “retarded” people and this green little bat-fingered mutant is in the “normal” class? WTF?

bat boy

Writer’s note:

My favorite joke of all time relies heavily on the use of the word retard and I am going to have a hard time giving this up. In fact, it’s the only joke I can remember. It goes like this, what’s better than winning a gold medal in the Special Olympics? Not being retarded.

I can’t help it. It’s funny to me and I know it’s horrifying.

Oriental is bad to say anymore, too. Apparently it is a general racist term given to the Asians by the British who colonialized the region to rape and pillage resources until they were all used up. They treated the Asian people like garbage in addition to this name change and now I guess I shouldn’t be wondering why they find it offensive. I suppose if some snotty assed British d-bag came into my country and announced that they were in charge and decided to start calling me a cracker, I would be offended too. I am working on getting rid of this word but the progress is slow. I mean no harm though.

I have become accustomed to labeling something that I don’t like as “gay.” I don’t mean anything derogatory to gay people, in fact, I don’t even think of a gay person when I say it. It really makes no sense to use the word “gay” in this context as I’ve never heard anyone say, “that’s so fucking heterosexual,” when they are upset. My friend Brad, who happens to be flamingly gay, in a personal, vainglorious crusade against the word “gay” being used in this manner, does, in fact, use the phrase, “that’s so heterosexual.” He sounds like an idiot.

Webster’s defines the word “crippled” as lame, lamed, disabled and/or impeded. It goes on to offer some synonyms as if the damage done wasn’t enough:

Bad, castrated, damaged, debilitated, disabled, disarmed, disqualified, emasculated, game, halt, halting, hamstrung, handicapped, hobbling, hog-tied, incapacitated, inoperative, invalidated, lame, limping, maimed, paralyzed, prostrate, spavined, weak, weakened

How was this word ever adopted to describe a person on crutches or in a wheelchair? No wonder people get pissed when you use it. I don’t even know what “spavined” means but it sounds shitty.

The last word on my list is Columbus as in Christopher Columbus. Every October 12th Facebook and Twitter erupt in protest to the celebration of the anniversary of this guys “discovering” of America. First of all, he didn’t discover shit. People were here already and he and his merry band of sailors managed to infect the majority of them with smallpox to the point of nearly driving them to extinction. It seems odd, in the United States to have a holiday to celebrate some Italian dude’s inadvertent viral genocide against an entire continent of indigenous people but I don’t complain because this major d-bag usually gets me the day off.

Things You Can’t Say Anymore