"This was supposed to be a super fancy (for college dorm eating) pear grilled cheese… I would have been better off going to the dining hall."
People often accuse me of being relentlessly negative and completely miserable, but I like to think that my ability to delude myself with blinkered positive thinking is just as well developed as anyone else.
With that in mind I’d like to try and put a more flattering spin on this submission.
It’s not a carbonised hunk of cheese, it’s a culinary tribute to the great Canadian pastime Ice Hockey.
You’ve painstakingly carried out a series of chemical processes on that piece of cheese and now it’s a semi-edible puck. All you need now is a mullet and a propensity for extreme violence and you’re golden.
There, it’s no longer bad student cooking- it’s bad molecular gastronomy with a tenuous hockey theme.
You’ve gone from failed collegiate cook to Heston Blumenthal in no time at all.

"This was supposed to be a super fancy (for college dorm eating) pear grilled cheese… I would have been better off going to the dining hall."

People often accuse me of being relentlessly negative and completely miserable, but I like to think that my ability to delude myself with blinkered positive thinking is just as well developed as anyone else.

With that in mind I’d like to try and put a more flattering spin on this submission.

It’s not a carbonised hunk of cheese, it’s a culinary tribute to the great Canadian pastime Ice Hockey.

You’ve painstakingly carried out a series of chemical processes on that piece of cheese and now it’s a semi-edible puck. All you need now is a mullet and a propensity for extreme violence and you’re golden.

There, it’s no longer bad student cooking- it’s bad molecular gastronomy with a tenuous hockey theme.

You’ve gone from failed collegiate cook to Heston Blumenthal in no time at all.

'Yum' says Joe, 'yum, yum, yum, yum, yum, yum, yum, yum, yum, yum.'
Joe has baked himself a pie to celebrate his three year anniversary with himself. 
It was way back in 2011 that Joe realised he’d been looking for love in all the wrong places. Going out, pretending to be interested in other people, talking about his hobbies less for the sake of ‘conversation’- none of these had brought him any joy, not compared to the pleasure of a sixteen hour Skyrim binge fueled by his favourite energy drink Pegasus Juice.
Joe reflects on these three years he’s spent with himself, they’re the happiest in his life. Joe doesn’t have to worry about saying something insensitive and upsetting himself, he never has to visit his in-laws (or mum and dad as he calls them) if he doesn’t feel up to it, and he’s never met a lover who knew him more completely.
One slight problem, though, Joe isn’t overly fond of pastry.
He tells himself he’ll try to remember this, but every year it’s the same pie for their special meal. It’s not a big thing, the filling is always tasty, but he is wondering if this could be the sign that there’s trouble in paradise…

'Yum' says Joe, 'yum, yum, yum, yum, yum, yum, yum, yum, yum, yum.'

Joe has baked himself a pie to celebrate his three year anniversary with himself. 

It was way back in 2011 that Joe realised he’d been looking for love in all the wrong places. Going out, pretending to be interested in other people, talking about his hobbies less for the sake of ‘conversation’- none of these had brought him any joy, not compared to the pleasure of a sixteen hour Skyrim binge fueled by his favourite energy drink Pegasus Juice.

Joe reflects on these three years he’s spent with himself, they’re the happiest in his life. Joe doesn’t have to worry about saying something insensitive and upsetting himself, he never has to visit his in-laws (or mum and dad as he calls them) if he doesn’t feel up to it, and he’s never met a lover who knew him more completely.

One slight problem, though, Joe isn’t overly fond of pastry.

He tells himself he’ll try to remember this, but every year it’s the same pie for their special meal. It’s not a big thing, the filling is always tasty, but he is wondering if this could be the sign that there’s trouble in paradise…

naughtywater
naughtywater:

dimlylitmealsforone

Hey, over there, by the television-is that a plum tomato you’ve chucked at the screen in a fit of rage whilst watching 16 and Pregnant ?
Come on now, you shouldn’t be angry at those girls, you should be angry at the system that’s exploiting them and stage managing banal contrivances for them to overcome all for the sake of a quick buck. 
In the ‘glory days’ of MTV I remember when, if you were lucky, you used to be able to catch a video by the Pixies or Throwing Muses somewhere in the midst of an hour long block of adverts.
Now it’s wall to wall repeats of Bodybuilding Misogynists on Spring Break or Your online girlfriend is really a bro, brah. 
It’s enough to make you yearn for simpler pleasures, like a big slab of bacon wrapped around some cheese stuffed chicken and enjoyed vegetable free in the knowledge that there are always vitamin supplements you can take should the skin around your fingers begin to peel off again.

naughtywater:

dimlylitmealsforone

Hey, over there, by the television-is that a plum tomato you’ve chucked at the screen in a fit of rage whilst watching 16 and Pregnant ?

Come on now, you shouldn’t be angry at those girls, you should be angry at the system that’s exploiting them and stage managing banal contrivances for them to overcome all for the sake of a quick buck. 

In the ‘glory days’ of MTV I remember when, if you were lucky, you used to be able to catch a video by the Pixies or Throwing Muses somewhere in the midst of an hour long block of adverts.

Now it’s wall to wall repeats of Bodybuilding Misogynists on Spring Break or Your online girlfriend is really a bro, brah

It’s enough to make you yearn for simpler pleasures, like a big slab of bacon wrapped around some cheese stuffed chicken and enjoyed vegetable free in the knowledge that there are always vitamin supplements you can take should the skin around your fingers begin to peel off again.

There are over 50 reviews for this product on Amazon and not a *single one of them* is even attempting to make a joke about it being the perfect receptacle for milking one’s nuts into, well proportioned nutsacks, or how regular nut draining is an essential part of a healthy lifestyle.
I don’t know if I’m impressed by the levels of maturity displayed by the nut milking community or saddened by my own predictably juvenile behaviour.

There are over 50 reviews for this product on Amazon and not a *single one of them* is even attempting to make a joke about it being the perfect receptacle for milking one’s nuts into, well proportioned nutsacks, or how regular nut draining is an essential part of a healthy lifestyle.


I don’t know if I’m impressed by the levels of maturity displayed by the nut milking community or saddened by my own predictably juvenile behaviour.

So, every couple of months I like to have a big payday blow out.
I buy a new shirt, beg and plead to get on the guest list at the club and hire a limo with a couple of the guys from the gym.
All night we’re like VIPs, people see us and they think we’re reality stars or cagefighters or something. It’s unreal.
Everyone gets a drink, or a tip, a pat on the back, or they want us to pose with them for a selfie.
Like I said, we’re like celebrities. It’s insane.
Anyway, we have this big night out and we must spend every penny we have, because I started doing this maybe five years ago and that’s around the time I had to move back to my friend Dominic’s parents.
I moved in with them after my own folks left the country, they don’t cook for me like Mom and Dad did, but I don’t pay them any rent and they don’t seem to mind.
I’m a big deal that one night, the center of attention, the main event.
Then I’m back to eating hotdogs without a bun for the next six to eight weeks. 
Sometimes I can steal some ramen from Dominic’s folks, usually they keep it locked up.
I got real sick a while back, I thought I’d never be able to go near a goddamn hotdog again, I could taste them all day, smell them coming out of me all day like I was using one as a suppository.
I had a week or two on protein bars, and then I was back on the hotdogs.
 I was salivating like crazy when I opened the tin, drool was literally flooding out my mouth like a burst riverbank. I ate the dogs and everything was okay, my tolerance was way up.
So, whatever, I thought you’d like to see what a big shot eats when he’s not jumping to the front of the queue or doing shots with internet models.
Write some stupid shit about that.

A letter from Frank, direct from Dominic’s parents’ basement. 

So, every couple of months I like to have a big payday blow out.

I buy a new shirt, beg and plead to get on the guest list at the club and hire a limo with a couple of the guys from the gym.

All night we’re like VIPs, people see us and they think we’re reality stars or cagefighters or something. It’s unreal.

Everyone gets a drink, or a tip, a pat on the back, or they want us to pose with them for a selfie.

Like I said, we’re like celebrities. It’s insane.

Anyway, we have this big night out and we must spend every penny we have, because I started doing this maybe five years ago and that’s around the time I had to move back to my friend Dominic’s parents.

I moved in with them after my own folks left the country, they don’t cook for me like Mom and Dad did, but I don’t pay them any rent and they don’t seem to mind.

I’m a big deal that one night, the center of attention, the main event.

Then I’m back to eating hotdogs without a bun for the next six to eight weeks. 

Sometimes I can steal some ramen from Dominic’s folks, usually they keep it locked up.

I got real sick a while back, I thought I’d never be able to go near a goddamn hotdog again, I could taste them all day, smell them coming out of me all day like I was using one as a suppository.

I had a week or two on protein bars, and then I was back on the hotdogs.

I was salivating like crazy when I opened the tin, drool was literally flooding out my mouth like a burst riverbank. I ate the dogs and everything was okay, my tolerance was way up.

So, whatever, I thought you’d like to see what a big shot eats when he’s not jumping to the front of the queue or doing shots with internet models.

Write some stupid shit about that.

A letter from Frank, direct from Dominic’s parents’ basement. 

These biscuits were plucked straight from a child’s nightmare. 

I thought I recognised my friend Robin’s abductor amongst the leering grins, but it was just another chocolatey mirage.

Maybe one day he’ll return, holding two ice cream cones in hand for me and him, untouched by the passing of twenty long years.

Perhaps I’ll awake to a world where my youthful dreams and aspirations could still come true.

The world would not be so bleak, I’d not be so alone, and the clamouring voices of the rat demon cookies would not speak so loud into my fragile ears.

These biscuits were plucked straight from a child’s nightmare.

I thought I recognised my friend Robin’s abductor amongst the leering grins, but it was just another chocolatey mirage.

Maybe one day he’ll return, holding two ice cream cones in hand for me and him, untouched by the passing of twenty long years.

Perhaps I’ll awake to a world where my youthful dreams and aspirations could still come true.

The world would not be so bleak, I’d not be so alone, and the clamouring voices of the rat demon cookies would not speak so loud into my fragile ears.

Friday is traditionally the day where many of us seek oblivion through drugs and alcohol to numb the pain caused by  pointless jobs and the crushing conformity of consumerist culture.

Being exposed to so much sadness my body requires more booze and medication than most, so I celebrate Friday on Wednesdays and Thursdays too.

Friday is also a magical backwards day where I throw away the rule book and break with my own personal guidelines by posting a picture which includes a human face.

For an explanation of what we’re witnessing I’ll hand over to Whitni (who may or may not be from Houston, the chap in the pictures definitely not being famous bottom excavator Bobby Brown):

This, my friends, is why you don’t take one too many xanax.

This guy somehow mixed my leftover lasagna with some peas, eggs, pickles, and potatoes, and decided it was the best food that has ever been invented. 

Not only did he have this abomination to eat, but right next to him was a plate of fresh egg rolls and beef and broccoli I had made. He was alternating between trying to force feed me broccoli pea veggie pickles and falling asleep in his food.

This has been going on for an hour, and hasn’t stopped.

Don’t do drugs, kids

A sobering tale from Whitni there I’m sure you’ll agree, although I think with pictures of this passed out schlub you could end up taking this anti-drugs message a little far.

You don’t want to end up like this guy

Actually, he is rather cool. Bad example.

You don’t want to end up like this guy.

Hmmmm. I don’t know actually, he’s still pretty damn cool.

Actually, on second thoughts, scrap all that.

You don’t want to end up like any of these guys.

Happy Friday everyone, keep sending your sad photos and disturbing stories to dimlylitmealsforone@gmail.com or bother me over on twitter.

Searching in the back of the cupboard for something to go with your beans you stumble across the naan bread intended for an Indian feast you never ended up cooking, mainly because you decided to sit around your flat smoking Marlboro Lights, drinking Diet Coke, and continually pinching handfuls of your own body fat instead.
Pouring the piping hot bright orange beans onto the teardrop shaped bread with a worryingly long shelf-life you’re struck for a moment by the briefest recollection of something you read in The Guardian once.
Hurriedly you flip open your filthy old laptop and google ‘is putting cheesy beans on naan bread cultural appropriation’.
Several minutes of skim reading articles based on how attractive the author’s profile picture is and you’re still none the wiser. 
You are, however, now forced to microwave your insensitive dinner leaving you with a soggy mess of a meal.
I don’t know, honestly, get a bloody grip. 

Searching in the back of the cupboard for something to go with your beans you stumble across the naan bread intended for an Indian feast you never ended up cooking, mainly because you decided to sit around your flat smoking Marlboro Lights, drinking Diet Coke, and continually pinching handfuls of your own body fat instead.

Pouring the piping hot bright orange beans onto the teardrop shaped bread with a worryingly long shelf-life you’re struck for a moment by the briefest recollection of something you read in The Guardian once.

Hurriedly you flip open your filthy old laptop and google ‘is putting cheesy beans on naan bread cultural appropriation’.

Several minutes of skim reading articles based on how attractive the author’s profile picture is and you’re still none the wiser. 

You are, however, now forced to microwave your insensitive dinner leaving you with a soggy mess of a meal.

I don’t know, honestly, get a bloody grip.