Gino’s Unwanted and Unwarranted Fast Food Opinions

2017 September 29
by mockers

This one’s from longtime Mockable friend and contributor, Gino.  It was inspired by this seminal piece of internet diamondry by our hero Jeff Kay. Thanks Gino!

As part of my endless mission to punish myself daily, I spend a lot of time driving along the New York State Thruway. My job is 70 miles from where I live, so in a given week I might spend somewhere between 8 and 10 hours driving in a straight line while contemplating awkward moments I had in eighth grade, the name of that one woman who flirted with me at the gym four years ago or what roadside cuisine is least likely to create a Jackson Pollack painting in my trousers.

When it comes to the food offered at the fine establishments operated by the state of New York, the pickings are rather slim. Short of the oddball Tim Horton’s, you’re left with a heaping pile of mediocrity fit for a frazzled father, his impatient wife and their three constantly wheezing children. With that in mind, I humbly offer an unwanted and unwarranted opinion ranking the best and worst food stops along the I-90 corridor. Bon appetit!

Arby’s – The thing I love about Arby’s is that it’s always good and no matter where I go I’m never surprised by the price. If there’s one thing I know about this roast beef slinging shitshow, it’s that I’m guaranteed to walk out of the restaurant minus a $20 and covered in Horsey sauce. I don’t care if it’s made out of ass meat and oatmeal, they never mail it in.


Burger King – Burger King is like that friend your mom had you hang out with in high school so you wouldn’t end up in the back of a cop car for spray painting angsty teen nonsense on the side of a bridge. It’s safe, consistent and, albeit a little bland, not bad at all for what you’re actually getting. With that said, don’t trust the eggs unless you have a fetish for eating rubber bands.

Dunkin’ Donuts – Around these parts, Dunkin’ is a bit of a regional delicacy. A poor man’s Starbucks, this chain is known for glomming onto whatever is cool and pushing it to the verge of unbearable. If Dunkin’ Donuts was a musical act, it would be Pitbull. If Dunkin’ was a person, I imagine they would walk into a crowded bar and push everyone out of the way just so it can order a gin and tonic with extra cucumber juice.

McDonald’s – What can I say about McDonald’s that can’t also be said about a dominatrix? The second your foot hits that white tiled dungeon of depravity, there’s a McDouble in your mouth like a meaty ball gag and a whip made of fries smacking your ass. The only thing left to do at that point is grin and bear it until you actually have to pay up, which inevitably leaves my wallet as empty as my lard-filled soul.

Roy Rogers – If you had asked me when I was eight years old what I thought of Roy Rogers’, I would have extolled the virtue of their moist, flavorful chicken. And those biscuits! Tap-dancing Christ, those biscuits were like flaky pillows! Now? I’d rather eat my own farts than touch anything coming out of this culinary dumpster fire. In the same way some athletes retire long after their peak, ol’ Roy should have shut this place down when they had KFC on the ropes.

Starbucks – Nope. If I’m paying $7 dollars for coffee, I’d rather just burn it at home and save myself the attitude.

Sbarro – Sbarro is the lowest common denominator of Thruway food. You like pizza? Yeah, me too. But that’s not what you’re getting here. I imagine before taking over a Sbarro franchise, every manager must spend a week in the wilderness learning how to craft their signature pies using nothing but things they’ve found on the ground. After several harrowing days left alone with their thoughts, a tired and weary manager stumbles out of the woods with a pizza made out of moistened tree bark, squirrel blood, and shredded styrofoam. That pizza, much like their other wares, is proudly displayed like a curated museum piece for all to admire but never purchase. It’s a shame, really.

So, there you have it! You don’t need to take my advice (no one ever does), but consider it some valuable insight from a man who’s 50 pounds overweight and spends countless hours during the week shuffling along I-90. And until next time… Happy Eating!

If you want to get in on the action, I guess send it to me at metten0(_at_)gmail. I have no idea what the email even is anymore, much less how to open it and read stuff. See you guys soon…and comment for chissake willya?

Gino’s Naked…and Afraid of Nothing!!

2017 July 20
by mockers

This one’s from longtime Mockable friend and contributor, Gino. It’s super good…so good it almost motivated me to get off my ass and write something myself…almost. Thanks Gino!

I’ll admit it: I love watching shitty television shows about people left alone to “survive” in the jungle. There’s something fascinating about watching two naked preppers get their asses eaten by mosquitoes and yell at each other while spooning under the shade of a grass hut that really trips my trigger. Is it because these people have trained day and night for years just for the chance to starve in the Amazon for three weeks? Maybe it’s because the story arc of every episode is the same? But, really, it’s probably the fact that when I’m watching these shows I think to myself that I can do it, too.

Mind you, I’m not in peak physical shape. I can’t do a pull-up, I avoid most other exercise like a $2 Vegas all-you-can-eat buffet, and haven’t willingly eaten a salad since Obama’s first term. But that doesn’t stop me from pulling out the “coulda gone pro” classics like, “She isn’t even trying out there!” and “He couldn’t make fire with gasoline and a match.” It’s just so easy to say things when I’m watching someone nervously flail a sharpened stick at a snake that, frankly, is not having any of their shit today. But I digress…

It’s the art of these shows that keeps me coming back every week (and while I’m working from home with my ass planted squarely in the center of the couch to watch reruns in between articles). Every episode starts the same way. Two trucks roll through the dusty/wet/rocky terrain, each one carrying a fully clothed and cocky survivalist. The survivors, a man and a woman, spout off a little bullshittery about how they killed a boar once with nothing but a shoelace and half a stick of Big Red, and then they start ripping off their clothes. After some awkward but necessary time to acclimate to each other’s junk, they saunter off through the vines to kick nature’s ass.

From that point on all hell breaks loose, and next thing you know you’re watching two naked people crying in the dark while trying to eat sticks. The complete turnaround with these people after two days is something you couldn’t make up, even if you wanted to. And every single time I think to myself, “Pssssssssh, I ate a Skittle off the floor at work once and it was totally fine!” But lo and behold, having a steel stomach doesn’t appear to be a hot commodity in the swamp, especially when a good portion of the day seems to be devoted to either crapping behind a bush or laying down on a big, flat rock.
I really shouldn’t poke too much fun at them, though. They’re living the dream and getting to see the world in all its untouched glory. Meanwhile, I had a full-blown panic attack at Target once because they moved the deodorant to the other end of the aisle.

In reality, I know what side my bread is buttered on and it sure as hell isn’t the side that thinks a grub is worth eating without some tempura batter and a Fry Daddy. But for one hour a week (and four to six hours on Thursdays depending on Discovery’s programming schedule), I’m right there with them strangling the life out of a snake with my bare hands. That’s good enough for me.


If you want to get in on the action, I guess send it to me at metten0(_at_)gmail. I have no idea what the email even is anymore, much less how to open it and read stuff. See you guys soon…and comment for chissake willya?

Lakr Mourns the Loss of Chris Cornell

2017 May 20
by mockers

Lakrfool folks. I’m going to steer from my usual assortment of general tomfoolery to address a soul crushing event.

Chris Cornell commited suicide at the age of 52. He had a charmed life…living in Paris, with a stunning wife and three adolescent children. After a sold-out gig in Detroit Rock City, he took his own life. God damn it all..he’s going to make a beautiful corpse. Ponce De Leon dropped him the code for the Fountain of Youth…in life he was forever handsome & thin, dangerous & clever.

Cornell was a beautiful shining black unicorn, and many of us Generation Xers clutched to his horn to get through the 90s. We all fell on black days, but Soundgarden was there with another album to bail us out with songs that hit us between the eyes, straight through the heart, or right in the gut. A fantastic icon we could feel, but never touch.

***Cool Story Bro:  In 92 I saw Soundgarden & Pearl Jam at the Bronco Bowl in Dallas. Was there to to see SG more than PJ, but whatever. When Soundgarden started, my buddy & I ditched our dates to get down & dirty on the floor. In the pit. Get sweaty & greasy.

When Cornell executed a stage dive, he was getting passed around all over, his lustrous flowing curly mane of dark hair flowing over all supporting hands. This tiny blonde chick next to me thrust her hand into his hair, & grabbed a fistful with a deathgrip. She was intent on leaving with a souvenior from her rock god. When the crowd tried to push him back to the stage, she would not relent. She was getting picked up off her feet…she was either going back up to the stage with him, or leaving with a significant clump of his hair.

I grabbed her with both hands on her forearm, burying my thumbs deep between the bones of her radius & ulna, causing her to release her grip. She looked up at me like I was totally malicious & evil, & I returned the same glance. She could lick the conditioner off her pudgy hand, but she wasn’t gonna scalp him.

Anyways, I saved Cornell a chunk of hair. Don’t touch. That’s my CSB with CC.***

Again, his lyrics pulled no punches, causing us to explore the depths of ourselves. The darkness was no marketing ploy to sell records, because here we are today mourning his death, wondering what the fuck happened. Seriously…WTF HAPPENED?!?

WHY would a full-blown, freaking ROCK STAR take his own life? I’m still fully completely baffled.

Between hearing about Magic Johnson with HIV in 91 & Kurt Vonnegut’s passing in 07…how can I relate to such news about my heroes? I feel the same way today, actually much more, than either of those times. Magic’s promiscuity had consequences, Vonnegut was long in the tooth…but I have no justification for the most recent.

The cruel irony of Cornell’s death- is the medicine that he so beautifully, thunderously and eloquently dispensed to the masses for so many years- about sorrow, darkness, depression, and death- eventually got him.

How many of us have been able to give quality advice to our fellows regarding serious matters, but not able to hear that same wisdom in our own lives? Because we are exceptionally broken in our own minds, and not able to believe that we posess the ability to address our own problems, because we are so utterly flawed?

I have no answers, or witty anecdotes. I mourn for a man that influenced my life and has given me much release for the demons that have plagued me.

High volume, head banging, sweet release.

Sorry your demons got you Chris. I’ll keep fighting the good fight with the armour you left behind.