STATELY, PLUMP GUY FIERI CAME TO THE STAIRHEAD, BEARING A BOWL OF PEPPER JACK - ilxors knee deep in guy fieri nanowrimo project

a clockwork orange bbq duck or
a clockwork orange spraytan?

for a long time, i ate lunch early

Choose Guy's. Choose a Brown Derby Cobb. Choose a Guy's Famous Big Bite Caesar. Choose a family-size portion. Choose a fucking big Huli-Huli Roasted Chicken. Choose Skyy Vodka, orange puree, Heartland Orange Cream Soda, and Haagen Dazs Vanilla Ice Cream. Choose poor health, high cholesterol and insurance claims. Choose Awesome Pretzel Chicken Tenders. Choose Bacon Chicken Mac & Cheese. Choose Motley Que Ribs. Choose Guy-talian Nachos and matching Sashimi Tacos. Choose a three part burger on garlic brioche drowned in fucking Donkey Sauce. Choose Rice-a-munee and wondering what the fuck it actually is. Choose sitting on that woven chair watching mind-numbing spirit-crushing disgraces to humanity, stuffing fucking junk food into their mouths. Choose your guts rotting away at the end of it all, shitting your dignity out back in your miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment that the shellfish and fucked-up pasta you have shat now has improved flavour. Choose your future. Choose life . . . But why would I want to do a thing like that? I chose not to choose Guy's: I chose something else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when his food's this shit?

In NYC did Guy Fier'
A starchy Gastro-Dome decree,
His art, the sacred frosted hair
His cooking to thy guts unfair
The French fries taste like pee.

LOOK UPON MY DONKEY SAUCE, YE MIGHTY AND DESPAIR

omg jjj i love u

aujourd’hui, maman est morte. ou peut-être fieri, je ne sais pas.

An asshole with a Fender shirt
In a vision once I saw:
The food was so abyssmally made,
by men with awful bleach-dyed fade
Unhinging their massive jaw.
Could I revive within me
The sense of right and wrong,
To such deep distaste ‘twould win me
That with music loud and long,
I would smash that dome within the air!
That starchy dome, those drinks of loss,
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry: “Beware! Beware!
His fattened gut, his floating hair!
Greens are made of food not moss,
And close your eyes in holy dread:
For he on bacon grease hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Donkey Sauce!”

got the beginning and the end, now just need to work out the middle and my work here is done

This thing is coming together nicely. Anyone know an agent?

http://content9.flixster.com/movie/26/10/261011_det.jpg

hahahaaa