Frank Bruni and Restaurant Girl may be frolicking around the city ruining lives and destroying careers as they claim that the flan is a bit too “tepid” and the “flaccidity of the asparagus gives rise to a sinking feeling”. Nary would a drunkard spout such nonsense (and if they were so inclined, they would sing it as a merry shanty). Even if the asparagus weren’t participating in a restaurant review oxymoron, Barfly still wouldn’t be able to afford it as it is $22.95 / stalk with a $2 a la cart “pee-smell” fee.
In our review of the Blarney Stone, we intend to only use real adjectives and descriptive phrases, like : “fucking disgusting” and “I’m so full that I’m about to shit myself”. When drinking at this midtown bar; one certainly doesn’t care how the food registers in your mouth – just that it’s salty enough to overcome the taste of your bloody emphysema sputum and cheap enough to make that social security check last for the entire month.
Barfly stood in line at the buffet behind a group of Long Island tweens. They were apparently on an epicurean tour of the greater NY region, otherwise why would they have taken the train the 40 minutes to enjoy such delicacies (and why would the boys be wearing their “going out” earrings and mesh shirts)? The nubile youngsters offered Barfly a strategy worthy of the greatest gourmands. When the atmosphere doesn’t quite live up to the food: “Dude, if you like, slam two Long Islands man, you can’t smell the men’s room at all.”
Two pint glasses full of juicy-juice later and all the enchanting smell of instant mashed potato mix replaced the odor of urine cakes (we hoped they had a more extensive dessert menu) in our nostrils. We were ready to order. “Mashed potatoes and corned beef, please”. The man behind the counter didn’t move. He was dark skinned, perhaps from Central America. Leprechauns sure look funny these days.
Maybe this was not the proper custom. We remembered the Long Islanders as they placed their orders. They were served, so they must know this leprechaun’s language. We decided to go back to our cultural anthropology days. To mimic them.
We started scratching our behind. “Um, can we have, grunt and grunt?” We dutifully tried to sound as monkey-like as possible as we gestured to what seemed to be mashed “potatoes” and some sort of artificial corned beef hash substitute (those Splenda people sure can do amazing things).
The leprechaun did his little jig, and we were handed a plate of cold but somehow still steaming foodstuffs. We decided to get one of those delicious Iced Teas before chowing down. As we sat with our plate we sipped our drink and tried to think of more non-Bruni adjectives (“like, yeah, delicious”; “goddamn best steak I ever had, one helluuva heffer’). We noticed that the room was starting to get spinny.
Our young friends were wobbling back and forth – “Dude, how many of those things did you drink! I had like four man, shazizzle!” He gave us a high-five as his head hit the table.
Luckily, our mimicking skills were still intact (thank you $70,000 worth of a worthless major). We slammed back our drink, ordered another. Every time we felt sick, we looked at the food, and were compelled to take another sip. By the time we were ready to eat, we had already fallen over, face down in our mashed potatoes (with our head carefully rotated, to ensure none got in our mouth).
Review: The Blarney Stone (47th between 8th and 9th)
Passing out before having to eat the food – 5 olives – It’s always nice to have incentive to drink more than you should. If you saw the gristlle on that corned beef, the only thing filling your stomach that night would have been emergency room charcoal.
Luck of the Irish – 2 olives – We think this may be an overrated myth. When we were there an ‘ol Irishman found $1 on the floor. He immediately played it on the video lottery terminal and lost. Silently weeping for the rest of the night, he occasionally uttered; “Now I can’t afford me medication.”
The smell coming from the women’s room - .3 olives – Its funny to joke about the men’s room, but to even mention what was going on in the woman’s room would leave us as a deaf/mute for all of eternity.
My dogturd just made me a urine cake. I'm so proud of her.
Posted by: Butty Buttsause | August 02, 2007 at 10:25 AM
MY butt just had a sezuire. Should i get it amputated? How do you make urine cakes? Because I thought I should use boobs in it.
Is that right?
Love,
My husband, Greenbean dogturd lad.
Posted by: Paris Hilton | August 02, 2007 at 10:30 AM
Whoa! I can't belive i goot thrwe thot numbre thng! i thot that it was an tst.
Posted by: Paris Hilton | August 02, 2007 at 10:33 AM
My boob has a mind of its own. And a monicle.
She looks hott! If you want to email me email me at emailme@parisisahottie.net
BYE!
WQhoa this q looks like my boobs monicle!
Whoa! Q So does this one!
Whoa!
Q+o=Boob with monicle! YaY!
Posted by: Paris Hilton | August 02, 2007 at 10:37 AM
Dogturd!Dogturd! Dogturd! Dogturd! Dogturd! Dogturd! Dogturd! Dogturd! Dogturd! Dogturd! Dogturd! Dogturd! Dogturd! Dogturd!whoa some weird thing popped up!
whoa whoa
BOOB WTH MONICLE
Posted by: Paris Hilton | August 02, 2007 at 10:39 AM
Anyone like me?
'Cause I think you should.
Here is a poem.
Don... dondondon
BOOB WTH MONICLE BOOB WTH MONICLE BOOB WTH MONICLE BOOB WTH MONICLE BOOB WTH MONICLE BOOB WTH MONICLE BOOB WTH MONICLE BOOB WTH MONICLE BOOB WTH MONICLE BOOB WTH MONICLE BOOB WTH MONICLE BOOB WTH MONICLE BOOB WTH MONICLE
Did you enjoy it?
Bye bye,
Paris
Posted by: Paris Hilton | August 03, 2007 at 03:42 PM
My dogturd just made me a urine cake. I'm so proud of her.
Posted by: Butty Buttsause | August 02, 2007 at 10:25 AM
MY butt just had a sezuire. Should i get it amputated? How do you make urine cakes? Because I thought I should use boobs in it.
Is that right?
Love,
My husband, Greenbean dogturd lad.
Posted by: Paris Hilton | August 02, 2007 at 10:30 AM
Whoa! I can't belive i goot thrwe thot numbre thng! i thot that it was an tst.
Posted by: Paris Hilton | August 02, 2007 at 10:33 AM
My boob has a mind of its own. And a monicle.
She looks hott! If you want to email me email me at emailme@parisisahottie.net
BYE!
WQhoa this q looks like my boobs monicle!
Whoa! Q So does this one!
Whoa!
Q+o=Boob with monicle! YaY!
Posted by: Paris Hilton | August 02, 2007 at 10:37 AM
Dogturd!Dogturd! Dogturd! Dogturd! Dogturd! Dogturd! Dogturd! Dogturd! Dogturd! Dogturd! Dogturd! Dogturd! Dogturd! Dogturd!whoa some weird thing popped up!
whoa whoa
BOOB WTH MONICLE
Posted by: Paris Hilton | August 02, 2007 at 10:39 AM
Anyone like me?
'Cause I think you should.
Here is a poem.
Don... dondondon
BOOB WTH MONICLE BOOB WTH MONICLE BOOB WTH MONICLE BOOB WTH MONICLE BOOB WTH MONICLE BOOB WTH MONICLE BOOB WTH MONICLE BOOB WTH MONICLE BOOB WTH MONICLE BOOB WTH MONICLE BOOB WTH MONICLE BOOB WTH MONICLE BOOB WTH MONICLE
Did you enjoy it?
Bye bye,
Paris
Posted by: Paris Hilton (Again!) | August 03, 2007 at 03:44 PM
Hello,
Poopy soupy is a yummy!
Did you ever eat a urine cake!?
Im sooooo famous!
I should dye my hair brown because brown is the best hair colour ever!!!!
Posted by: Paris Hilton (Again!) | August 03, 2007 at 03:46 PM
Urine Cakes. Smells like home.
August 2007
Sun Mon Tue Wed Thu Fri Sat
1 2 3today! 4
5 6 7 8 9 10 11
12 13 14 15 16 17 18
19 20 21 22 23 24 25
26 27 28 29 30 31
Posted by: Paris Hilton (Again!) | August 03, 2007 at 03:48 PM
Paris is sooo famous! Paris is sooo famous! Paris is sooo famous! Paris is sooo famous! Paris is sooo famous! Paris is sooo famous!
Posted by: Paris Hilton (Again!) | August 03, 2007 at 03:50 PM
Sugar coated lemon! (My email is emailme@parisisahottie.net)
My cat just had a sezuire. Do you think I should get rid of it?
Posted by: Paris Hilton (Again!) | August 03, 2007 at 06:40 PM
Gosh!
I said maid, put the frieging blog on! Fine, I'll do it myself.
Heres my blog:
MY butt just had a sezuire. Should i get it amputated? How do you make urine cakes? Because I thought I should use boobs in it.
Is that right?
Love,
My husband, Greenbean dogturd lad.
Posted by: Paris Hilton | August 02, 2007 at 10:30 AM
Whoa! I can't belive i goot thrwe thot numbre thng! i thot that it was an tst.
Posted by: Paris Hilton | August 02, 2007 at 10:33 AM
My boob has a mind of its own. And a monicle.
She looks hott! If you want to email me email me at emailme@parisisahottie.net
BYE!
WQhoa this q looks like my boobs monicle!
Whoa! Q So does this one!
Whoa!
Q+o=Boob with monicle! YaY!
Posted by: Paris Hilton | August 02, 2007 at 10:37 AM
Dogturd!Dogturd! Dogturd! Dogturd! Dogturd! Dogturd! Dogturd! Dogturd! Dogturd! Dogturd! Dogturd! Dogturd! Dogturd! Dogturd!whoa some weird thing popped up!
whoa whoa
BOOB WTH MONICLE
Posted by: Paris Hilton | August 02, 2007 at 10:39 AM
Anyone like me?
'Cause I think you should.
Here is a poem.
Don... dondondon
BOOB WTH MONICLE BOOB WTH MONICLE BOOB WTH MONICLE BOOB WTH MONICLE BOOB WTH MONICLE BOOB WTH MONICLE BOOB WTH MONICLE BOOB WTH MONICLE BOOB WTH MONICLE BOOB WTH MONICLE BOOB WTH MONICLE BOOB WTH MONICLE BOOB WTH MONICLE
Did you enjoy it?
Bye bye,
Paris
Posted by: Paris Hilton (Again!) | August 03, 2007 at 03:44 PM
Hello,
Poopy soupy is a yummy!
Did you ever eat a urine cake!?
Im sooooo famous!
I should dye my hair brown because brown is the best hair colour ever!!!!
Posted by: Paris Hilton (Again!) | August 03, 2007 at 03:46 PM
Urine Cakes. Smells like home.
August 2007
Sun Mon Tue Wed Thu Fri Sat
1 2 3today! 4
5 6 7 8 9 10 11
12 13 14 15 16 17 18
19 20 21 22 23 24 25
26 27 28 29 30 31
Posted by: Paris Hilton (Again!) | August 03, 2007 at 03:48 PM
Paris is sooo famous! Paris is sooo famous! Paris is sooo famous! Paris is sooo famous! Paris is sooo famous! Paris is sooo famous!
Posted by: Paris Hilton (Again!) | August 03, 2007 at 03:50 PM
Sugar coated lemon! (My email is emailme@parisisahottie.net)
My cat just had a sezuire. Do you think I should get rid of it?
Posted by: Paris Hilton (Again!) | August 03, 2007 at 06:47 PM
I post here every day.
Ya' know how I found this site? I typed in urine cakes because I wanted to make them on the web, and I found this site YAY!
Plus, kids, WEBKINZ SUCKS CRAP!
Posted by: Paris Hilton (Again!) | August 03, 2007 at 06:51 PM
POOP POO OH
POO OH
OH OH POOP
POOP POOP GREANBEANS ARE TASTEY!
I WAS ON A REALALITY SHOW ONCE WITH NICOLE RICHIE, AND THIS GIRL NAMED SARAH.
ONCE I ATE A TURD!
Posted by: Paris Hilton (Again!) | August 03, 2007 at 06:56 PM
This is some retard blog:
Frank Bruni and Restaurant Girl may be frolicking around the city ruining lives and destroying careers as they claim that the flan is a bit too “tepid” and the “flaccidity of the asparagus gives rise to a sinking feeling”. Nary would a drunkard spout such nonsense (and if they were so inclined, they would sing it as a merry shanty). Even if the asparagus weren’t participating in a restaurant review oxymoron, Barfly still wouldn’t be able to afford it as it is $22.95 / stalk with a $2 a la cart “pee-smell” fee.
In our review of the Blarney Stone, we intend to only use real adjectives and descriptive phrases, like : “fucking disgusting” and “I’m so full that I’m about to shit myself”. When drinking at this midtown bar; one certainly doesn’t care how the food registers in your mouth – just that it’s salty enough to overcome the taste of your bloody emphysema sputum and cheap enough to make that social security check last for the entire month.
Barfly stood in line at the buffet behind a group of Long Island tweens. They were apparently on an epicurean tour of the greater NY region, otherwise why would they have taken the train the 40 minutes to enjoy such delicacies (and why would the boys be wearing their “going out” earrings and mesh shirts)? The nubile youngsters offered Barfly a strategy worthy of the greatest gourmands. When the atmosphere doesn’t quite live up to the food: “Dude, if you like, slam two Long Islands man, you can’t smell the men’s room at all.”
Two pint glasses full of juicy-juice later and all the enchanting smell of instant mashed potato mix replaced the odor of urine cakes (we hoped they had a more extensive dessert menu) in our nostrils. We were ready to order. “Mashed potatoes and corned beef, please”. The man behind the counter didn’t move. He was dark skinned, perhaps from Central America. Leprechauns sure look funny these days.
Maybe this was not the proper custom. We remembered the Long Islanders as they placed their orders. They were served, so they must know this leprechaun’s language. We decided to go back to our cultural anthropology days. To mimic them.
We started scratching our behind. “Um, can we have, grunt and grunt?” We dutifully tried to sound as monkey-like as possible as we gestured to what seemed to be mashed “potatoes” and some sort of artificial corned beef hash substitute (those Splenda people sure can do amazing things).
The leprechaun did his little jig, and we were handed a plate of cold but somehow still steaming foodstuffs. We decided to get one of those delicious Iced Teas before chowing down. As we sat with our plate we sipped our drink and tried to think of more non-Bruni adjectives (“like, yeah, delicious”; “goddamn best steak I ever had, one helluuva heffer’). We noticed that the room was starting to get spinny.
Our young friends were wobbling back and forth – “Dude, how many of those things did you drink! I had like four man, shazizzle!” He gave us a high-five as his head hit the table.
Luckily, our mimicking skills were still intact (thank you $70,000 worth of a worthless major). We slammed back our drink, ordered another. Every time we felt sick, we looked at the food, and were compelled to take another sip. By the time we were ready to eat, we had already fallen over, face down in our mashed potatoes (with our head carefully rotated, to ensure none got in our mouth).
Review: The Blarney Stone (47th between 8th and 9th)
Passing out before having to eat the food – 5 olives – It’s always nice to have incentive to drink more than you should. If you saw the gristlle on that corned beef, the only thing filling your stomach that night would have been emergency room charcoal.
Luck of the Irish – 2 olives – We think this may be an overrated myth. When we were there an ‘ol Irishman found $1 on the floor. He immediately played it on the video lottery terminal and lost. Silently weeping for the rest of the night, he occasionally uttered; “Now I can’t afford me medication.”
The smell coming from the women’s room - .3 olives – Its funny to joke about the men’s room, but to even mention what was going on in the woman’s room would leave us as a deaf/mute for all of eternity
I don't like this blog, do you?
Posted by: Paris Hilton (Again!) | August 03, 2007 at 06:59 PM