As Bob Dylan once said while smoking a pound of cigarettes at one time, "the times they are a-changing". Well, that's not exactly the reason why we have been so inactive here on this blog for five months, but it seems to make a bit of sense. Fuzzy Randy and I have been traveling the seven seas all this time searching for better and better combinations. We can't settle for the things that are right in front of us anymore, for everything has been reduced to boring, streamlined shit! I guess it's true that we've always done this, but this time Meduca got in our way a few times and screwed up our trip so that we couldn't write for an indefinite amount of time. But then, in the southeastern tip of Bosnia with a group of slime monks (yes, slime monks, they never explained that), we found a killer twosome of combinations that has set in motion a serious debacle between the two of us. The slime monks regaled us with the legends of these combination's origins, and we're here to share them with you, and rip our balls off in the process due to so much intense argumentation. This whole collaborative effort may be the beginning of a new theme here at Perfect Combinations for Better Reputations. Hope you enjoy.
BULLY BEGINS...
In the tumultuous Middle Ages, Randolph the Raunchy Pirate had scurvies on the lower deck of his ship. That is nothing new. Pirates getting explosions on their hoohangs. In Randolph's desperate fear (he was afraid he was on his last legs), he screamed "GIVE ME A BEER!" Randolph was never a bombastic boozer, but on this day, with his hoohang burning, he needed a nice solid stout. Jemiah Banchee, the most talked-about prostitute on the ship, heard Randolph's plea. Fortunately, she was in the kitchen (where else would she be?), so she instantly poured Randolph a delectable secret microbrew. This was a serious kegger, and Randolph scoffed it down, asking for another. She immediately went to retrieve a second one (after tending to some other business, of course). In the meantime, Randolph took notice of a gaggle of fish suffocating on the floor beside him. "Why not put them out of their misery, and turn them into my pleasure?" he thought. So he directed his scurvy blast at them and found them an instant later drowning in a disgusting miasma of internal rage.
Jemiah Banchee returned with another kegger, and Randolph promptly asked her to scrub the fishies and serve them to him on a silver platter. She did, and she smoked them in the meantime. A few minutes later, Randolph found himself with a heaping platter of smoked fish by his side and an overflowing stout. He finished both of them, and his scurvies were gone. In fact, all the scurvies on the whole ship were gone! And Jemiah Banchee was ready for action more than ever!
This ancient tale is the foundation of an everlasting kinship between two individually magical specimens of food and spirit: smoked fish and beer. Both have their own distinct palette-related charms - the moist, musky "cahhh" of smoked fish, the no-nonsense, bitter punch of ale. Together, they fuse into an utterly unique flavor. To me, there's nothing better than sitting down to a plate of fish and a mug of beer after a long day of punching Raptor's teeth out. I also feel like I'm continuing a long lineage of manhood, an unavoidably awesome stroke of "hell yeah" that begins with vikings like Randolph the Raunchy Pirate and ends with the hulking bearded men of contemporary Scandinavia. So, I propose to you, honorary Fuzzy Randy, what could possibly top this primal concoction?
FUZZY RESPONDS...
Well my good friend Bully, you really buttered my biscuit with that post. My biscuit and my balls. But another story much like the one you’ve told doesn’t just use any brand of butter for the biscuit, it uses Olivio. There was once an Italian man named Buster Bronco who was unlike most men his age. Buster was thirty-two years old but still acted like a five year old who woke up on the wrong side of the pee-covered bed. He would fart loudly in public, eat with his mouth open, say inappropriate jokes, and buy stocks in businesses that made little profit. Because he was so immature, no one really hung out with him which made his wife very lonely. Her name was Patty Pleasure and she was awarded that name after pleasuring 5 guys with just her eyes...and her vagina, which she put on them hardcore. Patty was getting her buns tied in a knot trying to put up with Buster’s nonsense. She decided to step out of her kitchen (where else would she be?) and buy a gun to shoot Buster Bronco’s guts out to the next level. It was on this trip she discovered the ultimate food combination that separates the men from the boy toys.
While on her way to the gun store, Patty Pleasure got in a car accident (typical). She crashed right in front of a wine tasting store which was also across the street from a cheese tasting store which was also right next to a whale blubber tasting store. While Patty was waiting for the tow truck to arrive she peered into these stores. She noticed that in the wine tasting store everyone seemed to have very sophisticated mannerisms. They spoke as if they have lived an honorable life, one filled with many experiences that would put chests on your hair. The sweet and acidic taste of wine that tingles in your mouth all the way down your eating hole gives you a sense of who you are and what you’ve accomplished in life. It takes years for a wine to have its superb taste just as it takes years for a person to become wise and worthy of such a drink. Then Mrs. Pleasure looked into the cheese store to see that everyone looked and dressed in very good taste. Their skin was baby soft, clothes were clean and in style, and butts were squeaky clean. It’s the creamy and salty taste of cheese that makes a man realize that he must look just as eye pleasing as the food he’s eating. Cheese has a clean and smooth appearance which makes it only a shame if the person who’s eating it doesn’t look up to par. After that she looked into the whale blubber tasting store and thought, "why the fuck is that a store?"
It was at this point Patty realized what she must do. So after she had sex with her landlord she then realized she should also feed Buster Bronco a wine and cheese treat to turn him into a mature man with something to live for. Once Bronco finished his tasty tasty treat you wouldn’t believe what happened next. He died of dick cancer. But in the fifteen seconds between Buster finishing his wine and cheese and the dick cancer he said one thing with his pinky in the air, “Why honey, I must say this was quite a delightful meal! If you didn’t perform sexual intercourse on so many lads I would perform it right now on ahhhwhooowaaablaaaa I’m dying of dick cancer awwwsloooowiiiifla I’m dead of dick cancer!” And that was the end of the new mature Buster Bronco. You see Bully, beer and smoked fish will indeed make a man out of you but it won’t make a mature man with wisdom and intelligence. Hell, without maturity we’d all be spitting on each other and laughing at Dane Cook. Imagine a world like that. Now I could go further into this but I would like to know Bully J. Johnson, do you agree that this is the better combination or do you want to start a heated argument? Because I’ll just leave you off with one more thing. I’m open for rape!
BULLY:
Ahh, Fuzzy Randy, you have opened up a serious can of worms, and by golly, for a second I believed you! But, your trickery only rests upon trickery mountain, not down here on Earth! An engaging story indeed (although I was slightly offended when you bashed the whale blubber store, for I have eaten there and enjoyed myself many a'time), but also one with several significant plot holes. My story discusses the very origins of one man's discovery of this combination, and thus, the world's first exposure to it. Yours implies that wine and cheese had already been old and boring by the time it entered Buster's mouth. Even worse, it seems to be a combo only for the rich and arrogant!
My other problem with your story is that Buster was not called upon in the depths of his soul for wine and cheese. As you can see, Randolph's inexplicable desire came from the fact that he was on his last legs, about to die and give up his legacy to the wicked demons! Buster seems to have just been supplied with it on the spot. His discovery of it was incidental! If a combination is not beckoning my soul forward with ball-grabbing intensity, I say forget it! But I digress.
Though your specific tale was, to my mind, not well argued, I can understand your decision to choose wine and cheese against beer and smoked salmon. Ever since my days sailing with Scrawny Mo and sicking creatures, I have enjoyed the occasional Pinot Grigio and Brie. However, it has never produced the kind of spiritual satisfaction of a good IPA with smoked bluefish. I'm left with a hint of urine in my mouth, and whether that's from Scrawny Mo literally peeing in my mouth moments before or from the wine and cheese itself, I don't know, but it has never pleased me. I guess what I'm trying to say is that the experience of wine and cheese consumption is great while it lasts, but irritating afterward. I'm also trying to say that I'm closed for rape!
FUZZY:
Dayum Bully J. Johnson, that argument really stomped my melons and could really make any man give up his argument. But I’m unlike any man (for one I still pee sitting down and fully nude) and I always stand by my point. I think I may not have been clear enough about some of the things I’ve said. Wine and cheese has indeed been around for a long time, probably because both of them alone are still rocking to the core. But it wasn’t the kind of shit it is now until Patty Pleasure came along and combined the two to make that delicious duo of jazz. You didn’t hear me mention any wine/cheese tasting store in that story, did you bullet breath? No, they were separate just like the disgusting whale blubber tasting store. It’s not that I hate the taste of whale blubber, it’s just personal. A whale broke my uncle's heart and raped him into dust.
Another claim you make is that “Buster was not called upon in the depths of his soul for wine and cheese.” The beer drinker in me would respond saying, “fuck you lilly licker,” but I just helped myself to a tall glass (bucket) of a nice red wine with a pound of a creamy cheese so I have a more mature response. Buster doesn’t play such an epic role as Raunchy because he really stands for a point where civilized people stepped up to a new plate. Now when I say civilized I don’t mean rich and arrogant because anyone of all shapes and penis sizes can help themselves to this treat. It’s just that most people who do help themselves to this combo usually realize that they should probably look and act more dignified. It damn well wouldn’t surprise me to see Bobby Benson picking beer and smoked fish over wine and cheese on any given day. Jesus Christ, on the other hand, would easily pick wine and cheese. Hell, that guy turned water to wine and poop into cheese.
Now the taste of the two combinations is a different story. Well, not really a different story but that always makes a good topic sentence. Both combinations make orgies in your mouth but wine and cheese’s soft, creamy, smooth, and tangy touch to the tongue makes a brotha’s mouth say, “YEAH!!!” compared to beer and smoked fish's bitter, rough, slimy, and salty touch that makes a brotha’s mouth say, “YEAH!!” See that, only two !!’s.
But I digress, as now I do realize that both combinations need each other. You have the delicate combo of wine and cheese with the bolder combo of beer and smoked fish. That itself is a perfect combination, delicate and bold, something every sexy man with pubes has. So I say we quit our bitching and just realize that both combinations are pretty much equally as good, even if that’s the pussy way of ending this post and completely contradicts what I said earlier about always standing by my point. But fuck it, we’re faggots with nothing to lose.
WHAT DO YOU THINK?!
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