I told you once you son of a bitch, I'm the best there's ever been.

Food is vitally important and the usage thereof must constantly be documented due to its universally fascinating appeal; especially when it’s mine and definitely not yours. I don’t know why people waste film on foreign wars and party political broadcasts, they should be filming my delicate culinary genius instead. I’m beyond cultured.

Today, I sat watching all of the pointless sheeple in my office scarfing down their ridiculous sandwiches made from preposterous store-bought bread and deli-meat so sub par and ordinary that it might as well have been sliced using a knife fashioned from a frozen shit. 

As always, I’m raising the bar in both quality and interest. I know you’ve been waiting for this and with good cause, because I’m everything you want to be and my food is something you couldn’t possibly make on your own, and if you tried, you’d fail so badly that your ugly wife would leave you and your children would wish they were orphans. 

Spicy Vegetable Ramen.

Beautifully extruded strips of egg noodles, woken from their majestic slumber by boiled h2o. That’s water to you highschool dropouts. Look how the seasoning glistens amongst the freeze dried vegetables. Not only is that modern technology at its finest, but this has spices you couldn’t even dream of. You’d be better off tying to figure out the physiology of a unicorn before you tried to understand what was going on in this noodle pot. You aren’t sophisticated enough for this.

Here’s one of the best food pictures in the history of time. Look how close the ingredients are.

Don’t you just wish you were as skilled in cookery and photography as I am? I’m also the most humble fucking guy in the world. The city tried to give me a gold medal for humility, but I told them to shove it up their fucking assholes ‘cause I’m a diamond. Gold doesn’t do me justice.

I'm the best.

My food is a shining personal achievement and yours has the appeal of an evil billionaire pissing on an injured, wide-eyed dog. Well, here's the skinny, you fatheads; my food is more exciting than the promise of consecutive blowjobs from 17 increasingly attractive women. 

If your food isn't grown 3 inches from your door in soil that's so organic that from dry-roasted peanuts a mighty oak would grow, then fuck you up for looking at it wrong; you don’t deserve food at all. You’re an enormous waste of time.

If you and your crop-top wearing, tattooed covered, Ray Ban sporting, SLR humping, vegan girlfriend didn't take 8000 hours of tandem pestle and mortar grinding, hemp oil frying, peeling, coring and art nouveau'ing to make your lunch right now today; then you ain’t eating food and you might as well drink anti-freeze. In front of your children if you have any.

Why should you care what I eat? Because I’m awesome. I’m the biggest shot they got. I’m a diamond that gleams like the world has never seen. This is the food you dream of and only I can make. I’m literally the greatest of the I Ams, and so is my food. 

Today I had Moroccan vegetable soup.

If you don’t know where Morocco is, load up Google, then take an overdose of Nyquil. The arduous journey between soup and bowl was facilitated by a can opener. As I looked around the office at all of the other suckers eating their joyless mainstream trash, I thought to myself, 'who could possibly care what they’re eating and why don’t they just jump in front of a train or something?' 

But when I looked down at my bowl, I knew I had something special that the entire world had to see.

Notice the skin-like coagulation floating on top of the soup caused by actual microwaves. That’s right, microwaves. We’re talking electromagnetic spectrum, not some dusty disc of meat in a capitalist 1%’er bread roll. 

And the crescendo, the soup sexfully drips from a silver spoon. Arousing as it is delicious. Interesting as it is thrilling. This blog is now your life, and so are updates on my unforgettable and important lunches. I’m not telling you where I got this soup, you wouldn’t appreciate it anyhow, tuck back into your bowl of banality that your ugly wife made for you, you shameful cretin.