Apparently, the name of the new Pakistani ambassador has rubbed the Saudis the wrong way. The ambassador’s name, Akbar Zeb, in arabic means “Biggest Dick”.Â Similar attempts to penetrate the diplomatic corps of the UAE and Bahrain were also cockblocked.
While the Pakistanis had a huge swell of confidence that their man would be able to erect new bridges with their middle-eastern friends, it turns out that a major case of penis envy has given diplomacy the blue balls, and the Pakistani government a throbbing headache.
I, for one, am proud to live in a country where men whose name is also a euphamism for the male genitalia can be elected to high office and serve as members of our diplomatic corps anywhere in the world. All they need is a stiff adherence to our American principles and the peoples’ mushroom stamp of approval.
I just couldn’t resist to bring this back to the front of the line, there has been some new comments that make me laugh balls;
I made the snap decision to have lunch at Senor Wiener earlier this week. I would have written my review earlier, but the chili dog I had left me with a case of the lingering trots.
Let’s start with the obvious. Penis jokes are funny for about the first 2 minutes you are there, and then it becomes apparent that this tired entendre is all that this place has going for it. I will admit that the service was prompt and enthusiastic, but only 6 seats were filled with butts when we walked in, so no shocker there. Â I should also note that I had to wipe my table off before we sat down, since it still hadn’t been cleaned since the last pseudo rush they had experienced. Lazy.
Not wanting to task the Wiener Staffers too greatly, I ordered the beef chili cheese dog on a wheat bun. The dog itself was MAYBE 10 degrees above room temp, despite sitting in the warming tray for god knows how long. The bun had been sitting around long enough to take on a strange rubber-like quality that resisted the flimsy plastic utensils. The paper sheet on the bottom of the basket, once soaked with the copious amounts of Hormel-esque chili and â€˜Not-So-Nacho’ cheese, conveniently shredded into small bite size fragments to supplement my fiber intake for the day. The Waffle fries had also taken on the same â€˜warming tray qualities’ as the wheat bun. Not a huge surprise, but would it kill them to make the fries to order once the lunch rush has died down? Seriously.
Here are a few pointers that will help keep your doors open an extra few months while you look for jobs next year:
- If your food isn’t at the required temperature, you’re going to FAIL FAIL FAIL! Get it right!
- Make your own chili. It might cost a little more, but a decent chili dog might up your street â€˜cred’. Â You need all the help you can get.
- Get a better Nacho cheese. Your SISCO brand cheese sauce is disgusting.
- Lose the paper liner in your baskets. Seriously gross.
- Don’t use the word â€œChicagoâ€ ANYWHERE on your menu. Too many people have had a real one, which yours ain’t. (so I’ve heard)
- Cook your fries to order after the rush, and toss your old ones more frequently. Nobody minds waiting 3 minutes for hot fries, especially if they are going to slather them with your second-rate chili.
- Wipe your tables down! I shouldn’t have to do it myself. BIG F on that one.
- Store your bread products in a manner that makes them more edible than bouncy.
- Get a real garbage can, and then change it when it needs to be. Your tiny Wal-Mart kitchen can is weak and is a sign of how much time and effort you put into this inevitably failed venture.
- Before you think about opening a second location over by the new Target, maybe you should get this one right first.
I’m going to end this with a prediction. Senor Wiener won’t be in business for another year. If it is we’ll have a South Dacola New Year’s Sausage Fest 2010 there, my treat.
King Douchenozzle von Krunk
Looks like Glenn Beck dodged another bullet today.
Unfortunately, the victim of this fatal car accident was not him.
I can’t remember there being a point to any of it, but I thought it might be fun to run through the highlights.
For some reason I was at work on a Sunday and couldn’t check my voicemail. GoD stops by to use the shitter, and brought a ‘Post-Feminism-Lesbian-MAXIM-Assault-Weapon-Weekly’ magazine with him to read, but ends up leaving it on my desk. Inside the mag, instead of samples of perfume, there is a single prosthetic labia attached to an advertisement for vaginal reconstruction. For some reason I tear it outÂ and start pretending it is a fake moustache, walking around and putting it up to peoples faces to see what they look like with ‘labia-lip’.Â One of these people is my mom, who starts to freak out about the idea of fake mommy parts touching her face, when I reassure her that in reality I am holding a 4 foot long plastic iguana, and the very end of the tail was what I was pretending was the moustache. That is about the time that I notice that my voicemail light isn’t on anymore, and I start feeling like I’m choking and can’t breath. So I rush off to the bathroom, which is hard to find because for some reason I work in a giant building that is a cross between the YMCA, John Morrell, and the Old Courthouse. When I look in the mirror, there is a hair sticking out of my mouth. For the remainder of my dream, I am pulling huge hairballs out of my throat, stomach, sinuses and inner ear. Great big gobs of bathroom sink and tub drain type hairballs. They look like they’ve been steeped in soap scum and mold and they smell and tasteÂ about the same.
Someone walks in the bathroom and reminds me that it’s time to go bowling. It is at THAT POINT that I realize I’m dreaming… I don’t ever go bowling.. and that is what’s weird enough to wake me up.
See more goofy headlines here;binder1
Hope they catch that Chicken Pot Pie