BLUEBALLS PHO REAL

So you all may have noticed that I took a break from brogging. I know a few of you have written tearful e-mails to me begging for an update & been pissed when I asked you to read "He's Just Not That Into You" so consider today's post my penance. Also, not to encourage your borderline psycho stalking behavior of the grandeur that is my e-diary and what surely characterizes your love life, but all the electronics in my life are infested with the viral STDs that are transmitted when you surf the net bareback on an old Dell affectionately named "Collossus." Be wise and use protection, guys (I hear McAfee is the Trojan of the interwebs).

I digress. The past 39ish days have been bleak, save for a shining weekend in my city by the Bay, due to my own self-inflicted torture method that is giving up fried foods & refined sugar for Lent. As a non-Catholic & person of questionable moral and spiritual character, one may ask: "why the fuck would you put yourself through such pain and your loins through such inactivity?" My reasoning defies rhyme, reason, and most laws of physics. I am a masochist in the worst way.

Anyway it has been a rollercoaster ride of emotion, full of being denounced by my friends for being a sellout, and dismissed of my credibility in the fat boy world. I promised all my fans/haytaz that I would more than make up for my lack of sugar & frieds consumption - and here are some of the San Franciscan gems I am going to put in my muffintop tomorrow, the items that my dick misses throbbing for and will have in my mouf once again.

Quickly boba milk tea (preferably with mango jelly stars). Yeah, I'm pretty fresh off the boat and like having balls in my mouth, wanna fight about it?


Passionfruit macaroon from La Boulange, then maybe topped off with hosing Miette's buttercream in my mouf. I am like the Frank the Tank of frosting.


Can you say HURTIN' FOR A SQUIRTIN'? HANDS DOWN the thing I missed most. I love wangs of all shapes/sizes/seasonings (that's what she said). I'll be hanging around San Tung sexual predatoring a plate of these delicate, sweet and salty hen limbs.

ALL HAIL EASTER SUNDAY. Update to follow tomorrow if my body doesn't go into shock from being overloaded with the substances with which it used to thrive upon.

Emo post that may or may not leave you in tears

Representative Patrick Kennedy left a note on his father's grave: "Dad, the unfinished business is done."

I love you, Kennedy family.

i hella love home

Three time zones, four airports, & numerous tears later...home where my heart belongs, where everyday is remarkable.

VIVA LA FAT BOYS

Ready your rapist eyes for some straight beast coast culinary & exotic Asian FIRE!

Warning: anytime my boss bitches & I get together, it is a certified shit show. Mostly a whirlwind of gluttony, unladylike dancing, & cackling. We have a mob mentality that magnifies our individual fat proclivities 6900%, and there is quite honestly nothing we do that is not somewhat related to the pursuit of food. Bar hopping, karoaking, and dancing are merely a means to pass the time until it's more socially acceptable/justifiable to eat again. It has been 10 years of comradery, pain, and an endless cycle of binge-eating and uncontrollable moaning. Through thick and thin...literally. But mostly thick.

Our most recent mancation was a reunion on the East Coast - some of my yellers met me up in D.C. to sightsee, harass my colleagues, but mostly nap. They did, however, make the "mixer" I hosted at Little Miss Whiskey's on H Street. Things we put in our body:


Like true sportsmen/seasoned drinkers, my dear friends poured Firefly vodka & lemonade into the sleek, wearable hydration pack that is a Camelbak. Somehow this resulted in us getting free shots from the bartender, as opposed to being punched in the face for such a flagrant, pre-planned party foul.


6 pounds of unidentified catfish (trout?) my idiot friend Melkwon hunter-gathered & then proceeded to cry over.


JUST KIDDING.

Then the Orient Express headed up to NYC to meet up our other bitches, who were doing all sorts of unspeakable hoodrat things at the MoMa. 48 hours were all my body needed to gain 12 more chins & officially put my plus-sizeness from the "husky" to "beefy" category.


Conquest: Lamb gyro
Position: A busy street corner in Midtown Manhattan

Immediately after jumping off the bus we yelled "BITCH, MAKE ME A GYRO" & a Middle-Eastern man with kind eyes immediately handed us extra white snauce for us to snort while he crafted slutty Greek lamb tacos for us. We inhaled these bad boys in front of a Foot Action while we perused the male meat market that was filling the sidewalks post Knicks-Lakers game. Verdict? CERTIFIED BANGABLE


Conquest: Yet another fucking gyro
Position: 53rd & 7th Halal Cart

After a long night (i.e. 2 hours) harassing bargoers in about five different venues in the Eastern Village, nearly falling off bartops dancing (& getting paid for it, might I add), my bitches & I decided it was high time to treat our bodies to something nice and smooth again. We headed to the mecca of NYC street meat carts to pick up impressionable men in line & it was magical, except my homie Jizzo got too excited (it's okay, we all have fat kid mentalities) & ran out of the taxi without her wallet, screaming "HALAL!!!" & foaming at the mouth the whole way. Her Kim Kardashian fan club membership card is the thing she misses the most.

Moaning, slurping, motorboating followed and we were all happy again.



Conquest: PETER LUGER
Position: BK BITCH

I have spoken very highly of the legendary turf n turf entree at Peter Luger's (otherwise known as Heaven on Earth, especially with the beefcake Italian waiters) and will spare you the juicy, greasy, succulent details this time around. Let's just say...9 Asian girls, 1 male, a whole herd of cattle...& creamed spinach. Amateur porn written all over it.


Conquest: Jacques Torres Chocolatier's Peanut Butter Hot Chocolate
Position: DUMBO

If somebody melted down a Costco-sized pack of Reese's Cups, this is what it'd taste like. SEXY, RICH, & LIGHT BROWNED...just the way I like my mens. I will be honest though, if you ever go - forgo the large size. I didn't even have more than 5 sips of this and felt like I was roofied off cocoa beans. Shit was mad thick son...like Star Jones pre-gastric bypass.

Conquest: Cafe Habana
Position: Nolita

OH MY GOD. Everything here melted in my mouth, danced my tongue, n then gave my taste buds a 5-star brow job. I was drunk off one Moscow Mule when I ingested all of this but whatevs, it was a good time.



This elote is the shit dreams are made of. Sexy cojita cheese slathered in paprika with a squirt of lime n thicky thick mayo with a light dusting of crack on tizzop. CRACK ON THE COB. Really put my stiffy over the edge..in fact, I am suffering from blueballs right now not having that in my mouth. For $2 you can get some hot Cuban action in your mouth & have your friends pick the kernels out of your teeth after so..WIN WIN.

Conquest: Cubano sammich

The breast cubano sammich I have ever lain tongue on. The roast pork was tender, juicy, & probably cooked atop expensive, smoldering Cuban cigars. The ham wasn't too salty, the swiss cheese didn't overpower the bun's integrity, & the SPICY MAYO & pickles were sexy accent pieces. I don't know what they do down there in SoHo to send my nether regions into doing involuntary Kegels everytime I took a bite of this artfully constructed sandwich, but I applaud their ability to give my vag a good workout.

Conquest: Camarones al Ajillo

For all you gringos, these were SCRIMPS slathered in a creamy yet spicy sauce. I am pretty sure sour cream was in this chile-based mixture and thus, it has earned my respect. Unfortunately, there are no photos because my camera broke. Not cause my ladies and I annihilated it before we could whip out the old food porn cam.


Conquest: Ensalada de Mango ~ Fresh diced mango and jicama over mixed greens with a light dusting of FETA.

I figured we should get some fresh produce/unprocessed nutrients in our weekend somehow so I tacked this onto our order for a family of 6. HOLY JESUS this made me praise Fidel Castro up and down for unknowingly cultivating so much greatness. The crunchiness of the jicama & surprisingly ripe & sweet mango were a winning textural/lustful combination, much like the Snuggie. I was jocking this salad so hard my girls got mad at me for neglecting the roast pork..MY B


Conquest: Said roast pork.

This was majestically seasoned BUT dare I say, a tad dry. No worries, I just slathered it in those delectable black beans & yellow rice and my palate was none the wiser.




Conquest: Caribbean poached eggs
Position: Arcane

My friends & I are 1000x nicer to eat other around food & sweet liquids. For $10 at Arcane you got coffee, orange juice, a sexy tropical-fruit based alcoholic beverage of your choice, AND a breakfast entree. We are recessionistas so we obvi took full advantage of all 60 drinks and then even got a pitcher of white wine sangria cause it was 2pm and we wanted to bark at each other one last time before we all left for our respective cities.

I was feeling exotic & rebellious against the ugly rain outside so got the Caribbean poached eggs (also what I call my boobs in the summertime when they're more bronzed from being attended to by the sun). GIRL let me TELL you, this was the shit. Sexy eggs benedict with caramelized pineapple = mouthful of tropical carby meats. The home fries weren't as on point, & the greens were whatevs - as my partner in crime put it, "I can't finish my salad anymore, I ran out of dressing." PROPS.


Conquest: CANNOLI
Position: Ferrera Bakery/Cafe in Little Italy

The shell of this cannoli was where this bad boy earned all its player points. Crispy, legitimate, to the point. This filling was creamy, not too rich, but super well-blended. I think Jesus's jizz was the main component in it, but apparently it's a centuries-old family recipe that our waiter, sick of us talking about our bowel movements, refused to share with us so I cannot confirm. But I still strongly suspect I am correct.


THE SLEEPER HIT - the CHEESECAKE. I wasn't really listening to my colleagues when they suggested we order this, as I am not usually one for cheesecake (surprising, because I am also fat and fluffy). One bite into this slice of certified heaven though and I had creamed my pants so thoroughly a change of underwear was in order. We took turns savoring, grunting, and nodding shame-faced in approval as we all realized we had just pretty much willingly participated in a gangbang together. There were certainly enough bodily fluids emitted (from mouth, nose, and crotch) to warrant one, anyway. I guess what I'm really trying to say is that I hope my bed in heaven is a giant Ferrera's cheesecake so I can make out with it whenever I want. Honestly..who needs men when you have dairy?

Wow...that was lightweight Liz Lemon.



Conquest: Moules marinieres a la creme
Position: Le Bateau Ivre

CAN YOU SAY WET & CREAMY?! I went to first-base, French-steez, with these mussels. As expected, they were rich enough in dairy to scare the living shits out of the lactose-intolerant/immature, but luckily my digestive system has no patience for that sort of nonsense.


Praise the French for raising the cholesterol levels on the burger to a whole other level with brie, and with a sturdy brioche bun nonetheless. They know how to keep their oral pleasures legitimate and easy to execute.

In closing, I love my fat boy friends.

DO I LIVE IN NARNIA?

Call me Prince Caspian. This is the view from my kitchen (a.k.a. the park where I snack/stain myself/read pantsless in the sun come summer).


Lots of mixed feelings when it comes to white powder, but wanted to share that although I emitted yellow snow in the photo for the sake of capturing the Mid-Atlantic winter's charm, I actually quite appreciate it. It holds dogs, trained cats, & bums accountable for where they piss. AND it melts some of it away, so if you had a borderline obese pet with a 2-gallon capacity bladder, you would have to shovel less. That is probably the real reason why the savior of Narnia is a lion and not a mere mortal. Less projectile ability to piss = less political power. WORD UP.

My plan for this weekend's snowpocalypse is to get one of these bad boys in lieu of my own lion & make him piss in the general direction I intend to walk.


I will name him/her/it? Aslan. Or Lord Breaver.

BONER JAMS '09

I felt it would only be fitting to start this Pudge Life endeavor of mine with an inaugural salute to the greatest hits of the past year and attempt to close out any lingering feelings of yearning and desperation. This way I can properly cheer to the new year and beginning of what promises to be another 365 days of non-stop gluttony. In order to pare down this tribute, I had to refrain from compiling culinary classics that are tried and true (i.e. Guadalajara’s carne asada super burrito, my brother Jonathan’s flat-iron steaks, Wonderful Foods’ boba milk tea, & Wendy’s chicken nuggets in hanch) and only select dishes whose virginity I took for the first time in 2009.

Without further ado, a collection of the sexiest, most intriguing things to enter my mouth in 2009:

Conquest: Handmade pan-fried dumplings

Position: Pudge Life Headquarters in Millbrae, California

For as long as I can remember, my Homer Simpson of a patriarch has always complained that store-bought dumplings were too “stingy on the meat,” and regularly engaged our entire family in day-long dumpling assembling sessions mixing, rolling, folding and boiling these Oriental pockets of tender excellence. This already quite delightful and alarmingly sweat-shop resembling repertoire was modified this year with a shrimp addition to the meat, scallion, cilantro, egg, & MSG mixture. My fat father has always possessed a sort of magic about him that has come in handy when creating glory (especially that of the little Asian dumpling variety - case in point: his four spawn), but I really have to respect his ability to gracefully incorporate more than one animal into his decades-old recipe and lengthy dumpling history. So with that being said, PROPS to my old man.

Conquest: Porterhouse steak

Positon: Peter Luger Steak House in Brooklyn, New York

I have to preface this outstanding review to the cow carcasses that come in & out of this Brooklyn steak house’s bustling kitchen with a confession: I went to U.C. Berkeley, have granola hippie-like proclivities and ideals, but got DAMN I LOVE MEATS. Contrary to popular belief, my most frequent method of polluting the planet isn’t with my foul mouth, but from my rampant consumption of emissions-producing animals and monthly flights home across the country. My carbon footprint from ingesting red meat probably rivals that of a small regional airline. As one might subsequently expect then, I am a well-versed steak connoisseur and have a really fucking refined palate when it comes to beefs.

I digress. This year I discovered my holy grail of succulent porterhouse and have gone back twice since to convert fellow steak fans/provide a suitable explanation for the inappropriate thrusting gestures that inevitably follow any mention of Peter Luger (like very pleasant but still uncontrollable Post Tantric Stress Disorder flashbacks). On my own maiden voyage to this unassuming steakhouse in Jay-Z’s old hood, I was initially skeptical of the fanfare surrounding this joint, mildly annoyed by the cash-only policy, and pissed that the butter wasn’t easily spreadable. However, I warmed up once the onion roll and thick-cut bacon hit my mouth, and fell in complete love once that sizzling platter of pre-cut slab of medium rare sexy was set down in front of me. Add in the holy trinity of creamed spinach and onion rings atop a bite of steak, jizzle that special red snauce atop your fork, and you’ve got multiple orgasms in your mouth. I am proudly a Peter Luger groupie and you should be too. His no-nonsense approach to cows serves as an inspiration to us all.

Conquest: A dingleberry of some sort

Position: Farmer’s market in the motherland – Taipei, Taiwan

I’m unsure what sort of tropical fruit this was and have no idea how to translate it into the white man’s tongue. I would say it’s like a peach, lychee, and dragonfruit had a drunken night fueled by Alize, tried to abort but failed miserably, and then birthed a premature infant in a tub of fresh berry juices. Either way, it is sweet, slightly sour, and confusingly delicious. UNLIKE most bastard children.

Conquest: Rack of lamb chops glazed in greatness

Position: Backyard grill of Pudge Life Headquarters in Millbrae, California

I love being home because my brother, Jonathan, is a culinary master who has a swagger around basil, honey, and most edibles that cannot be matched by anybody - including Soulja Boy and Alice Waters. It is also the one place where I am continuously showered in succulent meats and simultaneously called fat and uncool, and I really like the exciting dichotomy between the two. Anyway, my dad’s horrible Costco shopping habits rendered us with some lamb, which are traditionally discriminated against in our household for being too game-y, tough, and mostly prized for its shearling on our Uggs. However, Jonathan worked his marinating magic on this rack (that’s what she said), grilled that bad boy up, and ended up winning us all over with this certified dimepiece of red meat that was prime for penetration. Congratulations to my brother to ending this streak of discrimination in our household and making such a solid contribution to the lamb-related Civil Rights Movement.

Conquest: Steamed catfish with chili peppers

Position: Chongqing near the Gozu Grottos

There are little things I love more than sea creatures swathed in spicy mixtures (fuck flowers, I’d rather get a bouquet of hamachi sashimi and fresh wasabi anyday) so it came as little surprise to my immediate family when I repeatedly ranched my pants motorboating the shit out of this dish during a low-key dinner on our most recent vacation. There were maybe six different types of chile peppers boiled for hours in an equally spicy vinegar, sesame oil, and soupy mixture and then mated with fresh filets of boneless catfish for optimum flavor poaching in the hot oil. Moist, dancy on your tongue, delicious – safe to say it got a brother on SWOLL.

Conquest: Pho Bo

Position: Turtle Tower, Tenderloin District in San Francisco, California

A wise, sexually-challenged and frustrated Jewfro-ed bootleg of Jonah Hill once told me that “even when sex is bad, it’s good cause…it’s sex.” I didn’t want to break it to him that he was probably fornicating wrongfully and hurtfully, and instead focused my attention on the phenomena in my life that that philosophy did ring true for: PHO. Anybody who has ever held any sort of conversation with me will know that 1) my love for the anti-drug of pho knows no bounds and 2) I guzzle, snort, & make intimidating oral love to bottles of sriracha sauce on the reg. Like my love for steak then, I am well-versed in the ways of the pho and rarely like to single out one broth in favor of another – the pimp in me likes to keep all my bitches feeling appreciated, feel?

However, on my most recent trip to my lovely city by the Bay and its most charming and feces/used needle/crackhead-infested neighborhood of the Tenderloin, I visited Turtle Tower with my partner in crime Melkwon and inhaled the most hit rendition of this crowning glory of the Vietnamese culture (besides my homie Mimi-blud). The soft chewy noodlage and tenderized beef, swathed in the epitome of Vietnamese holy water and sriracha, were the equivalent of a warm spooning session on a cold winter day. Not really the sexually charged, lustful kind – more like the comfortable, I’m nuzzly and soft kind. Excuse my sonnetry, I’m just really deep.

Conquest: Bartlet White House Deputy Chief of Staff Josh Lyman

Position(s): Mostly Kama Sutric, mildly consensual

Okay fine I didn’t really, but a boy can dream. The things I would do to take this baby for a taste test.