Is Goldberg already running the place? How else to explain why this story is here?
Is Goldberg already running the place? How else to explain why this story is here?
Wife: “That was when he was just Little Pussy.”
Server. Servant.
I found them very enjoyable - this was my first time after reading about it this week in The Takeout. Turned out it was as convenient as it was tasty.
Yo, no soy.
BLASPHEMER!
::: cough cough :::
Birthday Cake-flavored anything is one of those dated, seems-like-fun-but-actually-is-revolting novelties from the wayback machine. Like Crocs, the Suzuki Samurai and Kevin Spacey.
I don’t mind the work. Stuffed Italian artichokes are a joy forever. It’s just that in relative terms - avocado versus artichoke - I just want to eat, man. Avocado gets me there faster. Also, I’m a big fan of fat on toast. Avocados have a ton. Artichokes, almost none.
Compared to peeling and de-pitting an avocado? Pain in the ass.
Do you have to? Do you have to?
While having amazing flavor, artichokes are the equivalent of the roommate who always asks you to help them move to another apartment. And not a first-floor/first-floor move. It’s always a three-story walk-up with the artichokes. Wonderful to eat, complete pain in the ass to cook and consume.
What a time to ihoB alive!
Not to be confused with apl.de.ap.
It was a light, “approachable” aesthetic that was eminently appealing to women in the era of “women can have it all,” and to offer the absolute darkest perspective on it, it is bitter serendipity that Spade’s vision, in its icing pinks and canary yellows, came to a devastating, abrupt halt as our basest aspirations…