Covering all of the major food groups is important, but the minor ones shouldn’t be pissed to the wind because they’re unfairly categorized by the FDA as a “minority” food group. It’s just fucking food racism.
While it seemed nearly impossible to top the disturbing display of competitive eating at D.Z. Akins, we will overcome – we will persevere. Because pickles and sandwiches are shits and giggles when compared to gorging on the purest forms of sugar, and still avoiding keeling over into an agonizing sugary seizure.
Nothing says Valentine’s Day quite like going to see Cattle Decapitation and Psyopus in the “barrio” of San Marcos, otherwise known as slums that surround one of the few legit North County venues, The Jumping Turtle.
But the only “I love you’s” on display weren’t from our devotion to spit baths paired with great groin-demolishing music, but rather the pre-gamed feast of gummy bears, washed down with chocolate liquor shots. Only Kindergartners dream of such indulgences – minus the “liquor shots,” we’re trying to keep it PC here, people.
Cracking open one of Michelle’s several enormous cases of Gummy Bears that she received for V-Day was like busting open a piñata at a non-Mexican friend’s birthday party – you know there’s a delicious reward waiting to be unleashed, so you ignore that fact that something isn’t right about the situation.
Three packets later, Michelle forgot we needed something to wash the multi-colored woodland creatures down.
Opening the liquor cabinet – or box in this case – revealed an alocholic’s taster’s choice of fine liquors. Jack Daniels, Jim Beam, Grand Mariner, Cointreau, at this moment, I broke “edge.”
Two-or-three shots later, we headed out to The Jumping Turtle, arriving just in time to park ourselves by the heater. You may be thinking, “what the fuck is so amazing about standing next to a heater?” Well, given that I’ve got more dye in my hair than Wavy Gravy’s t-shirt collection, it’s a pretty dangerous feat to stand next to a flame-spitting heater.
Still danger was somewhat expected at this place, especially after Michelle, some of the Cattle significant others and I had to dodge just about every whirl-wind, preschooler’s shoving match coming our way. Or maybe it was the crazy heckler, who was told where to shove it, and later waited outside for a knife fight – good job remembering dude that it’s 2009, not 1955, put your switchblade away and all hair grease purchases are discontinued.
Sheena Hamilton is publicity assistant for BMA and a cynic who doesn't discriminate against minority food groups.