Posted by: Andy | August 12, 2009

Food Fetish: the Dark Side of Fruit

One of the ongoing themes you’ll find on Eatzilla! is food.

Partially because I am in love with it. Over the years and in different stages of my life I’m fairly certain I would have tried to marry specific dishes if I was in Vegas and it was legal (vote Yes on Prop 9!!). On the other hand I am positive I have been close to placing calls to the Catholic Church in hopes they would perform an exorcism on my stomach after others.

Perhaps many that know me would easily label me obsessed when it comes to any new food product, reviews, restaurant openings etc. that happen my way. It doesn’t take much. I mean I admittedly get disturbingly excited by both the thought of chili pepper laced dark chocolate accompanied with a nice glass of Shiraz or when Hostess announces a new flavor of Twinkies.

It doesn’t take much for me to devote attention to all things culinary. I’d proudly buy a ticket to the Amy Adams / Glenn Close foodie chick flick Julie & Julia before I stepped foot into a theatre to see Transformers 2: My Ass Fell Asleep. I’d be first in line. I’m not afraid to admit I probably had my baking badge in Beavers as a kid before anything atheletic. Again, not a large shock to many of you.

I’m not particularly picky when it comes to food consumption. I was raised in a small fishing village where peanut butter on raw cabbage was a staple pre-school snack. I’ll partake in just about anything once so I don’t have any Dr. Suess related regrets. (I’ve had actual green eggs & ham in Disney World for cryin’ out loud)

Even as a child I played against type and was not a hold out or stern opposition towards veggies. I always tried to keep true to John Lennons classic song “Give Peas a Chance”

Ahem, cough cough (sorry, thought I heard crickets)

The same thing can be said for fruit. I can remember a McDonalds in Sackville in the early 80’s where I first experienced Kiwi fruit albeit in heavy syrup and atop a soft serve sundae. I think I was scrambling to get rid of the taste of  a McRib in my mouth. I made my first of many poached pear in Home Economic Class in Jr. High and was hooked (listen the room smelled like cake and there was no heavy lifting unlike Industrial Arts) I put sliced apples on tuna sandwiches, limes in my beer and consume fresh strawberries with fresh ground pepper sprinkled all over.

There are however two fruits I label as off limits in my home. If these two items were to appear together in some freakish hodge podge put together by a crazed lunch lady I am positive that the  Earth would implode from grossness. Not many people share my views and will probably be dumbfounded at the passion I have alotted in hating this dynamic duo of fruity evil.

Ladies and gentlemen I give you Raisins and Bananas.

Yeah that’s fine, you can go ahead and start looking for a good vegan shrink to suggest. No I don’t have an allergy to these items either.  Unless you count dry heaving a valid allergy symptom.

Let me break it down for you. (sorry I will not be rapping this out)

Raisins are for all good reasoning lazy grapes. Shrivelled slackers who couldn’t cut it as wine. Laze abouts sunning themselves without any proper SPF lotion with not a worry in the world. That’s because they know eventually they’ll be harvested and set upon the world to torment poor bastards like me.

In elementary school I attended a swank Halloween Party at a class-mates. I’ll always remember it because it pre-dated Martha Stewart but not Stepford Wives for which the lavishly elaborate kid shin-dig had been created by. You by now will probably be familiar with the staple Haunted House ritual laid out in any home during this time of year. That being a darkened room or blindfolded guest being asked to put their hand in various bowls and then being told in imaginative detail what they are rummaging through. Cold Spaghetti was witches hair. Hot Dogs were of course severed fingers (at that age you went with that assumption) Of course peeled grapes were eyeballs. For a kid already five Pixie Stix in, the brain fuelled by refined sugar took all this in and usually went through their own suburban Vietnam for days to follow.

I hope you’re following along and have some inkling or literary understanding of foreshadowing. You see not only did this kids Mom pride herself in outdoing the tried and true Haunted  fondling fest tradition she took it one step further. She made us do a taste version. That’s right – she was Joe Rogan and I was on Fear Factor:  Mommie Dearest Edition. Sure enough I was fed something plump and sweet. The texture was firm at first but upon chewing it burst in my mouth (settle down ). All of this was ok up until when she cackled (pretty sure it wasn’t method acting) that I was feasting upon fat juicy maggots. (indeed these were Sultan raisins – those huge golden plump bitches).  Cue gag reflex  and soon I’m a Jawa wearing two pudding cups, a slice of pizza and many handfuls of Twizzlers the hard way.

That pretty much sealed my deep seeded hatred toward “Natures Candy” What a crock. You know what Natures Candy is? A Caramel Apple my friends. Not a handful of Natures rabbit turds. I can’t deal with raisins on any level. Not littered in bread or coated in chocolate. You could wrap raisins in bacon and I still would steer clear. There’d have to be alot of Rum in that ice-cream flavor in order for me to get through more than one spoonful. There’s a reason giving a box of raisins at Halloween will result in your house getting owned.


Bananas proved less traumatic in my very early childhood memories. You couldn’t go wrong on a Peanut Butter and Banana sandwich on two slices of bleachy white goodness compliments of  Bens Holsum Bread Hey if they were ok for Elvis they were good enough for us!

Cut to 5th grade at Hammonds Plains Consolidated. I’m getting ready for lunch and my sweet Jabber Jaw thermos is full of Chef-Boy-R-Dee Beefaroni. To a 10 year old, the Chef may as well been Gordon Ramsey and canned pasta in red sauce was the food of the Gods.

Technology in that day (please no Little House on the Prairie jabs) meant that in order to keep meals hot in a thermos it had to be comprised of an outer shell of plastic (with sweet sweet Hannah Barbera cartoon characters) and an inner tube of delicate glass. Yeah, we kids lived it hard core back in the 70’s. As I grabbed for my plastic spoon, my elbow launched that precious cylinder of pasta and pre-formed beef into the air only to remind itself of the Law of Gravity and quickly plummet onto the floor. The sound would be similar to you throwing stew and a mirror into a Bingo ball sorter and spinning it relentlessly. The end  result? A new product the good chef would never lend his name to unless he started an S&M line of frozen entrees. Broken shards of thermos glass littered my lunch and dashed my dreams of a square meal.

Of course already devouring the brownie Mom had made for me at recess and pawning a pudding cup for a comic, I had but one thing left to sustain me through the afternoon. (If you can’t see what’s coming next – welcome to paragraph 12 skimmer).

Anyone who grew up going through the public school system knows the trade value on a banana in a cafeteria will net you maybe a half eaten bologna sandwich from that sickly kid who may or may not have scurvy or a swift kick to the nuts.

So content to eat my sole lunch item I was disturbed to see it speckled with brown and black spots in varying stages of splotchiness. Had my Mom mistakenly sent me a banana that should have been destined for the freezer, to later be offered to the Bread Gods? The horror escalated quickly as I unwrapped my mystery meal which was met with mounting terror as it’s jellied and bruised flesh was exposed to the fluorescent lights above.

I can and will always recall vividly that fucking banana as I tried to devise a plan of action as to what angle I could approach parts of it to actually avoid the damaged drippy goods. As my stomach and brain battled it out for what seemed like forever I think I gathered onlookers like I was some type of free lunch room freak show.

I ate that damn banana, my fingers sticky from trying to pick off large deposits of goo in varying shades of blech. I choked that bastard down and haven’t touched another one again, with the odd sliced exception (which is always inspected with Rain Manish detail) on top of cereal. Even then –  the smell still gets me.

Most people understand my issues with these two foods. All I can say to you is that some people can’t do Oysters, some avoid sushi, others are lactose intolerant, many are put off by rare steak. Some have been scarred by food poisoning while handfuls can’t even look at a peanut without doing an impression of a puffer fish.

Some have choices, other don’t. I choose to detest that ass-hat happy Sun who cheerfully dispenses raisins into that cereal with his two big scoops or continually debate just how smart monkeys are since their food of choice stereotypically seems to be the banana.

So I really can’t blame you that after reading all this you’ll probably agree with Gwen Stefani and I’ll readily admit it.

This shit is bananas.


Jeremy Pivens smarm is addictive.

I’ve been a  J-Piv junkie since he appeared in a brief stint on the “the Larry Sanders Show” I’ve loyally followed his career as he’s parlayed his laid back, sarcastic demeanor into the Emmy Award winning run on “Entourage”. There is no known cure for the Piven charisma hook. If you’re down with the  slacker-esque, unshaven, vest sporting, non-leading man quality type then he’ll always be  your go to man.

Piven and Jesse on Big Brother - I hear the camera adds 10lbs of defeat.

Piven and Jesse on Big Brother - I hear the camera adds 10lbs of defeat.

Think Clooney (charm) and Ashton Kutcher (smarm) mixed together with a spot of John Cusack (chops)

While he’s made it big on HBO and the small screen, the golden ticket to the Box Office has to this point been very elusive. I’m in the opinion that Jeremy Piven will never open a film. That, being firmly placed on his own shoulders alone,  a film featuring him as the main marquee draw will unfortunately never rip the opening weekend tallies a new one.

Part of me wants everything  for the little engine that should. But an industry built on looks, only allows a few unexplained phenomenons every so often when it comes to an odd looking, non cookie cutter handsome  bankable leading man. (I’m talking to you Nicolas Cage.. WTF?) I would love it if Paul Giamatti or Phillip Seymour Hoffman could bring it as leading man with box office potential, but the other part of me is selfish and satisfied knowing as long as that good looking glass window is still air tight, the realm of reasonably paid character actors who are more than pleased in picking script over money will go on and continue to reward substance over flash.

That’s where Piven should exist and be happy. His second fiddle turns in Smokin’ Aces, Serendipity, Rock N Rolla and Old School resulted in scene stealing turns. There’s no shame in being a Robin, Tonto , Watson or Tonic.

I’ve respected him up until this point of  his career as he’s seemed to pull off a successful one without outright pandering and peddling to the public. Sure all stars have to commit to some type of press junket  when it comes to supporting an upcoming film. Whether that be gritting your teeth through 10 minutes of mind numbing Jimmy Fallon or sitting down with Al Roker on NBC’s  the Today Show and wondering why you’re being grilled by the weather guy. It’s part of Hollywood. It’s part of the machine. Hawking your film  is a rite of passage in any movies lifespan.

Piven and/or his agents (which if his agent(s) would truly define ironic)has been testing me lately.

The ads for his new film “the Goods – Live Hard, Sell Hard” come off as genuinely funny. A comedy about a travelling band of car clear-out artists who go lot to lot – liquidating automobiles with lesser than ethical techniques.(Yes for those of you who have followed my short film project “the Lot” you will notice similarities – we’re not suing.. yet)  With Piven in the starring role, it appears it may be his last chance to open a film. However the latest wave of publicity stunts have come off as grasping for straws.. OK,  ticket buyers on the small screen leading up to its premiere. He was just on Conan the other night working the crowd into a frenzy with his staple depreciating, aloof shtick. It really want to give this film a shot in hopes that Piven can reach those brass rings.

But how much selling is too much? When does it cross the line from enthusiasm for a project to desperation? Perhaps for Piven the line is so fine he doesn’t even see it. When does attempting to placate the masses with your cinematic offering start to alienate your key fans.

Piven has been selling “the Goods” over the last two weeks to any demographic he can sell a ticket to and he has to.  Let’s be clear – this movie isn’t going to be another “Hangover” which is well over the 200 million dollar mark at the box office. (the planets only align every few years for an R rated comedy smash)  It will be lucky if it clears 50 million. Reasons? Well it’s distributed by Paramount Vantage, the smaller indie wing of the Paramount banner. This equates to less screens for the film. Paramount has just opened up G.I. Joe on over 4000 screens and still has Transformers 2 placed in additional theatres across North America. How much room is there for Pivens small budget car selling comedy?

Piven hasn’t opened a movie as the main star since 1994’s PCU. An Animal House, Revenge of the Nerds hybrid that plenty of critics lovingly renamed P.U. It grossed a paltry 5 million dollars in it’s run.

I want it all for Piven. I want him to succeed. But part of me died seeing him pimp it out with wrestlers and hostile, confused fans(so not his demo) when he guested hosted WWE’s Monday night RAW last week like a two bit street whore . Then this past Sunday night he saunters into the Big Brother House on CBS to meander and mingle with the confounded contestants pitching ‘the Goods” along the way. (CBS and Paramount are corporate siblings so synergy took affect)

Piven the Puppet is not the Piven I want to know.

Piven and Dr. Ken pimp "the Goods" and annoy the fans on WWE RAW avec John Cena.

Piven and Dr. Ken pimp "the Goods" and annoy the fans on WWE RAW avec John Cena.

If “the Goods” fails to perform, nobody can blame Jeremy Piven. He’s done everything but come to your house, pick you up in a taxi and drive you to the damn theatre. Deep down part of me wants it to so that he’ll never have to blatantly over sell his soul to the Hollywood machine again in what can be described as a TMZ wet dream. If he does please keep him away from Americas Got Talent, Dancing with the Stars or Antiques Roadshow.

Remember J-Piv, there’s no shame and more awards from appearing on HBO and if you wait long enough they’ll reward you with Entourage: the Movie.

All good things my friend, all good things…

Ok Ok as I am currently on a sugar high thanks to the newest Ice Cream Babylon in the Halifax Municipality. That being Cold Stone Creamery. The only site East of Quebec is up and scooping at the  Tim Hortons Donut Shop in Bedford (across from the Sobeys.) I`d thought I`d ensure you are heading there the next time you have a hankerin`for some over the top flavors like The Pie Who Loved Me, Cookie Mintster and Our Strawberry Blonde.

For those South of the Border, I’m sure you are much more well versed in all things Cold Stone – but for the uneducated here is a brief blurb from their site… which I am positive will result in your sweet tooth forcibly ousting itself from your mouth and hailing a taxi in order to get to this destination immediately.

Since opening our first store in 1988, Cold Stone has reinvented what people expect from their ice cream experience. By using only the finest ingredients to make our ice cream and mixing in your choice of fruit, nuts, chocolate or fresh cake (to name just a few!) on a frozen granite stone, Cold Stone delivers the best tasting ice cream, customized for you every time. And to make your perfect Creation complete, add a freshly made waffle cone or bowl the smell alone is pure nirvana.

I`m not much into the whole busker-esque presentation of someone preparing my food  in front of me. I don`t get any kicks from a Subway Artist layering my 6 inch cold cut so why should this be any different. However I was briefly transfixed like a deer in headlights while my requested ingredients were mixed on the cold granite stone, being folded over and over together in some type of erotic dance (almost achieving Lambada sleaziness). I`ve never felt dirty about ice-cream before but the sight of sugar, cream and Skittles getting it on before oozing into my cup made it taste all that more indulgent. My fellow Cold Stone comrades told me to get a room.

The joint does to ice-cream what Cinnabon did to well, cinnamon buns. Oh did I mention they also carry limited edition Jell-o pudding flavors in Chocolate and Vanilla! Tight.

Three sizes are available at Cold Stone -Like It, Love it or Need it.

Now on record I don`t work or get kick-backs from Cold Stone Creamery or its stockholders  however I will tell you this – it kicks local scooperies like Pinkys and Jesus Cones jimmies all over town.

P.S. I also hear they offer a nutritional line of smoothies and sorbets. I don`t really see the point to that. It`s like going to a Swingers party and playing Scrabble.

Breakfast, Lunch and Dinner for the rest of the Summer.

Breakfast, Lunch and Dinner for the rest of the Summer.



Last year we suffered a tragic loss. Director Bob Clark and  his son died in a tragic drunk driving accident on a quiet winding California road at the hands of  a random sloshed cretin. Most of you will be asking yourself (while searching IMDB) just who Bob was. Certainly not a household name, he provided us with two of the most defining and influential films of the 80’s and our pop-culture universe. That being the sex fueled teen indie hit Porkys (1982) and the now cult Holiday classic A Christmas Story (1983)

Porkys spawned two sequels and up until recently was the highest grossing Canadian produced film of all time (unseated in 2006 by Bon Cop, Bad Cop) It can be argued that  it birthed the  80’s Teen Sex Comedy genre and also actually launched, Kim(Sex and the City) Catralls career. (I still give points if you thought it was Mannequin)

A Christmas Story (1983) is now legend. Name me another film that is played 24 hours strait by a major cable network on any day, let alone Christmas. It’s A Wonderful Life, the Wizard of Oz, The Grinch who Stole Christmas? Nothing can touch this film and the cultural impact it has amassed over the years since it was released. I challenge you to find someone from the 80’s or any decade who can’t recite specific lines from this film on command. I triple dog dare ya.

Being a child/teen of the 80’s there are certain films that defined me and my ever growing appetite cinema in this decade and I can attribute this to a handful of directors that have since been forgotten. Bob Clark was one of them and today

I was sadly reminded of another who has passed on.

John Hughes passed away today at the age of 59 from an apparent heart attack while strolling in Manhattan. Like Bob Clark, Hughes slowly and silently drifted away from his 80’s heyday and limelight to find smaller victories and the 90’s and then an almost self imposed obscurity. For Hughes apparently it was by choice.

Believe it or not kids – teen angst existed even back in the 80’s, before it mutated into the grungy smell of teen spirit in the 90’s or the self aware, depreciating mulling emo of the new millennium.

John Hughes owned the teen angst market in the 80’s. The director, writer, producer, wunderkind had a Midas touch when it came to spinning tales of adolescent relationships that rang true with the intended demographic. We lived and breathed his films because they weren’t tarted up,90 minute music videos vaguely disguised as product placement consumerism at it’s finest. For a director to get that across in the decade where MTV broke and Regan ruled it was one huge accomplishment.

With Molly Ringwald, as his ginger muse starring in three of the most popular, enduring and recognizable films in his repertoire, (Sixteen Candles 1984, The Breakfast Club 1985 and Pretty in Pink 1986 ) he elevated a geeky, gawky, pale, small breasted red head into the echelons of  the Hollywood elite.  Can you see that happening in our current era of the Hills and Gossip Girl?  To put it in real perspective – John Hughes was responsible for Molly Ringwald appearing on the cover of Time Magazine.  His films rivalled the cultural impact and frenzy of  the Harry Potter or Twilight films. Whether it be from immersing himself in the teen life-style / culture along with his casts or having a sixth sense on how to pick songs that made for a signature anthem, Hughes had managed to crack the code so many before him could not.

Any creative genius that can turn John Cryer or Anthony Micheal Hall into Teen Beat Supernovas  should be noted for a lifetime achievement.

Aside from the Molly Trilogy, a quick look at his Filmography basically defines the 80’s and with it many seminal cinematic landmarks everyone has seen at least once (much, much more if you have TBS)

I’m not sure about you but I’ve taken much away from each of his films where he may have directed and/or written. Here is a brief synopsis of what I credit a few of his  films with teaching me in my formative years..

Sixteen Candles: That quirky, nerdy chicks are the hottest and realizing the name “Long Duk Dong” will get a laugh every time.

the Breakfast Club: The deliciousness of a Captain Crunch and Bologna sandwich.

Weird Science: There are never any small roles starting out in Hollywood as Bill (Titanic, Near Dark, Aliens, Big Love) Paxton playing a big pile of Poo (aka Chet) proved.

Pretty in Pink: Believe in who you are and where you come from and everything will turn out ‘Ducky’

Ferris Beullers Day Off: That occaisionally playing  hooky was a neccisity for a teen in mentally surviving High School life.

Some Kind of Wonderful: Sometimes it’s been right there in front of you all the time. (It’s amazing how many times I’ve forgotten that one)

Christmas Vacation: Move far, far away so relatives can’t visit.

Planes, Trains and Automobiles: Pay it Forward. Oh and try not to wash your face with used underwear.

the Great Outdoors: No matter what someone says – do not attempt to eat an entire 45lb steak in one sitting – including the gristle.

Home Alone: Abandoning your children without supervision for long periods of time will not result in any type of criminal charges or a visit from social services.

I ecourage you to revist any one of John Hughes films today and relive a world where Nerds, Jocks, Outcasts, Populars and Freaks could all find common ground.

A no, Big Brother on CBS doesn’t count.

Rest in Peace Mr. Hughes.

Posted by: Andy | July 31, 2009

And Knowing is Half the Battle!

Just a reminder that the80’s Hasbro toy-line theatrical adapation juggernaut continues this weekend thanks to our friends at Paramount.

I can’t wait for Hungry Hungry Hippos: the Film.

Check out the big budget trailer below!

Excess Facial Hair G.I. Joe was one of their worst selling versions.

Excess Facial Hair G.I. Joe was one of their worst selling versions.

Posted by: Andy | July 30, 2009

Debbie Gibson vs. Super Sized Sushi Platter

51XQAmLldOL._SS500_My job is to place movies all over the East Coast. I am responsible for making studio goals happen while at the same time preserving my soul by not selling in a multitude of junk at my clients shops. Clients in the Video Industry are alot like Elephants in that they never forget. I still have people quoting non-performing titles from seven years ag0. Punch Drunk Love still haunts me. ( “Why is Happy Gilmore so sad all the time in that movie.” was my most common question)

Maritimers are a fickle bunch in what rents and what collects cobwebs on the their local video store shelf.  Although I have a penchant and passion for art house,  foreign film and documentaries, your average video store client wants something with cover art that features a half naked woman on a snowmobile toting a semi-automatic machine gun.

My worst case product placement scenario is trying to move a black and white, subtitled, French Canadian coming of age drama about lesbians into an establishment other than Video Difference (the King of alt-vid goodness)

As much as I tout myself  a red blooded, purveyor of Classic Cinema there will always be a part of me who loves a horrible Z grade film and the potential it has to offer in a night of gutteral guffaws, evil natured heckling and general disbelief that some films actually get produced albeit by oblivious foreign investors sold on some seemingly bankable concept scribbled on a bar napkin just after doing 3 lines of coke in the bathroom.

Now Mega Shark vs. Giant Octopus is a film for the B movie masses and yours truly.  A film that brings together two super powers of unlimited pop culture potential. No not the titular creatures but 80’s icons Debbie Gibson and Lorenzo Lamas (Snake Eater y’all!).

I  could feel my lactose tolerance rising as I watched the trailer for this Fromage Epic.

Not since Shark Attack 3: Megalodon have I felt this giddy for the possibility of so many unintentional WTF moments (if the trailer is any inkling). Seriously 1:03 mark is the money shot.

Sadly this tale of battling behemoths is currently not available for me to peddle in Canada.  I must discover what lies beneath the seething sexual chemistry that exudes on screen. Were the Shark and Octopus lovers? How does that even work? When did Debbie Gibson change her name and her nose?

So if you are a friend in the U.S. and want to do me a solid – hop on and send me a copy.

I promise to Pay it Forward (remember Kevin Spacey played Edward James Almos?) at a later date.

And by Pay it Forward I mean review the film at a later date

Posted by: Andy | July 30, 2009

the Lot – coming to DVD soon

The cast and crew of "The Lot" take a moment for a totally staged photo.

The cast and crew of "The Lot" take a moment for a totally staged photo.

A little film I helped direct with my fellow Harsh Knuckle Production Studios brethren will be out on DVD soon than later! If you are interested in owning this epic comedy about a down and out crew of used car salesmen battling back against all odds let me know!

As an added bonus this film contains footage of me smoking, cursing, not wearing glasses and being beaten up by a hobo (and that’s all within a 1 minute span.)

My characters name? Rick Corduroy. Need you need more reasons why you must own “the Lot” on DVD?

Here’s the trailer that started it all!

Posted by: Andy | July 30, 2009

Roll up the Rim Retro Edition

Vintage Tim Horton Cup found in ceiling at work amongst dead rats and abestos. Look for it on Ebay tomorrow.

Vintage Tim Horton Cup found in ceiling at work amongst dead rats and asbestos. Look for it on Ebay tomorrow.

Remember the days when you could smoke at your local Donut Shop?

Well now you can relive it with vintage Tim Hortons disposable cup circa the mid 80’s.

Ah a simpler time for cigarette lovers where you could alternate inhaling nicotine and trans-fats. This was before “the Man” started cracking down and boarded them up behind plexi-glass walls which resembled Habi-Trails before ending the freedom to suck back a menthol and a walnut crunch together in some kind of vice laden heaven.

Now you can smoke em if ya got em 10 feet away from the door and my Boston Cremes no longer smell like Colts when I get them home.

Progress is at times as scary as it is beautiful.

Posted by: Andy | July 30, 2009

Why Crows are Dicks.

I consider myself a decent, caring individual – A type of guy who treats everyone how I would hope to be treated in turn. I donate to charity, open doors for the elderly and buy and consume more Girl Guide cookies than I should. (Guiness has been called twice.)

I also respect all of God’s creatures. There have beentimes that I have scooped spiders or a wayward ant into a plastic tumbler and escorted it outside of my humble abode so they could crawl and creep out someone another day. Hell – I almost killed myself once avoiding a rabbit on a major highway.(Oddly there was no lupine clause with my Insurance Broker – go figure)

OK, Ok – If I write any more testimonials about how nice of a guy I am I suspect a rainbow will probably shoot out my ass and a unicorn will show up letting me know I am replacing Jesus. So I’ll move on.

Speaking of Unicorns. If God had the ability to have draft picks for trades in the animal kingdom (Sort of a fantasy – fantasy league) I’m pretty sure that Bigfoot, the Loch Ness Monster or even Snorks would have been a better choice to plague us than crows.

Fuck Crows.

If I wanted to be woken up by a bird I would live on a freakin’ farm and rise to the dulcet tones of a rooster. That’s why he’s there. That’s his job. That why God created them. Other than nailing a harem of hens and having to put up with the pigs constant FogHorn LegHorn impersonations, the rooster knows his place and job description.

Crows are every other persons annoying shrill alarm clock. The difference is a crow has a snooze alarm that goes off every 30-45 seconds. And if you’re lucky – you get treated to a crow chorus line. The only problem is crows do not take requests or have rich Southern Baptist training in moving, spiritual offerings. They are one syllable ass-holes who have no respect for those of us who work hard all week and want to sleep in.

Roosters are Harry Connick Jr. Crows are a drunken Courtney Love.

They smart too.

Crows aren’t afraid of you. Have you noticed them on the side of the highway picking at leftover bits of a raccoon that failed in a game of Frogger? You could be doing 120km per hour and the crow doesn’t fly away in terror. It does a few jumps past the yellow line and waits for you to pass. That’s right – it does two skips and a fuck you and then goes back to his road-kill brunch.

Crows also share the same enigmatic ability a cow in a field does over humans. The ability for some unknown reason to provoke you into uttering animal talk as if it’s going to talk back. You know you’ve done it. This alone is why crows feel superior to us but share occasional kinship with cows (before they steal their wallets) How many times have you Kaw`d at a crow. Who the Hell do we think we are Dr. Dolittle?

Crows tried to screw over Dumbo in that movie. You make a movie called the Crow and someone dies. Sure you can argue how cool the band the Black Crows are but that is instantly negated by the Counting Crows.

Crows still have resentment issues since Poe went another way with that story.

A group of crows is called a Murder which is appropriate since that’s what your mind quickly races to after about 15 minutes of DJ Jazzy Douche and the Fresh C discussing Fox News directly outside your fucking window at 6am.

Crows don’t take vacations either. You’re treated to them year long. Crows are the equivalent of that creepy free-loading, invasive relative that comes for a brief visit but doesn’t leave. EVER. Crows are the avian equivalent of herpes.

Crows are the single reason why I am now forced to recycle properly. Because if for some reason I leave one sliver of expired pepperoni 2 feet deep in a Glad Hefty Cinch Sack – they will find it and in turn litter the street with a 6 foot radius of trash – so you can enjoy a sickening and humiliating game of “Pick up Shit” (patent pending by Hasbro) when you get home after work. Crows enjoy sitting around and laughing at the people that have to cover their garbage with bed sheets, gaudy left-over carpet swatches or 70’s era rugs in a vain effort to keep them and their ass-hole beaks out of your discarded bags of nibbles. Even if they can’t get at it – they are satisfied that you had to exert extra effort to do so.

Garbage day is in essence an orgy of green and black Pinatas to a crow.

And don’t kid yourself – if a crow can’t get into your green bin – they have the racoons on speed dial.

Crows also contribute to the increasing low level of decent mens line of clothing selections at Frenchy’s. Continued dressing of scarecrows in fields in attempts to fend off the bastards just means fewer items to sift through at thrift shops. If crows aren’t afraid of a two ton truck barrelling at them at 140km/h do you really think a red plaid work shirt and brown cords adorned with wacky placed patches is going to keep your corn safe?

Next time you see a crow – do me a favour. Tie a French fry to some dental floss, get in the car and make a day of it.

They deserve it.

Finally – as much as I don’t care much for our neighbours to the South at times – I will give them this – they have made it legal to hunt crows. Yes for a few glorious months, crows have the same rights a Deer, Moose, Elk and Democrats. None.

God Bless America.

Mmmm I smell five day old Beef-a-roni - Score!

Mmmm I smell five day old Beef-a-roni - Score!

And Screw you Heckyl and Jeckyl.

And on the fourth Humpeth Day in July of the the Lords year 2009 Eatzilla was born. Created in his own vision, Andy decided it was time to stop pestering the Facebook Faithful will non-stop Twitter-like updates like a Girl Guide at doors her first day of Cookie peddling.

Armed with piss and or vinegar. the love for a good rant and his general fascination with the bizarre, pop cultural, culinary –  My promise is to keep it fast, weird and fun. Much like being groped on a rollercoaster by that creepy Coccoon extra Red Flags dude.

See? I have no real clue where this Blog is going. I don’t have a fancy GPS on my desktop telling me when to review a new flavor of Pringles when I should have wrote an article on how much I hate Crows. (oh and I have – I’ll post it soon once I lift it off of Facebook) Think of Eatzilla! as an overstuffed pinata of verbal candy.

Time to go grab a stick.

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