Unlike all you spoiled little shits that got to hang out with your FAMILIES on Thanksgiving, I didn’t have that chance.
I mean, I do have family in Los Angeles, but I’ve been out here for four and a half weeks now and that family has not made a SINGLE attempt to see me, so let’s just saw that family is no longer considered “family” to me.
That family is now considered “dead” to me.
Although they are actually “considered” dead to everyone else too. On second thought they’re really more dead than “considered.” But it’s alright. The funeral was well attended and they all lived semi-interesting lives for at least some moments… except for Kelly. She was always a waste of time.
Now where was I? Ah yes… Thanksgiving. So this year I decided to shake things up a bit (and I’m not talking about Hot Yoga Hokey Pokey night at the rec center). No, I would be spending my holiday somewhere both refreshing and unique: I would be spending it in Tokyo!
Miniature Tokyo, that is. Wait… Teeny Tokyo? Teeny Peenee-ville!?? Come on, you know what I’m talking bout: that one neighborhood in LA where all the Jap-ski’s hang out.
And don’t start with this “well, that’s not the politically correct way to refer to those people.” Let me guess; I’m not allowed to say the word “eskimo” either. Right? Are you one of those people? Oh, and let me guess: “midgets” is a no-go too, right? How about “clipped-dick, fat and filthy, kyke-mouthed, dirty money grubbing, ashes for grandma cheapskate”? No? Jesus Christ what’s WRONG with you people??
STICK TO THE STORY DARB-IEL.
Oh yeah, I should mention: that’s what I’ve begun calling myself. A combination of my real name (‘Darby’) and my alias (‘Daniel’).
BACK TO THE STORY: I go to this ramen spot which is called 新撰組, or Shinsengumi, which means, uh, something like “the shogun’s final empire army of dudes and swords and dudes with swords.” That’s the translation. Word for word.
I decided on this place because, first of all, they are OPEN on Thanksgiving, working hard for that money while you are all finger-banging a dead bird (you should be ashamed!), and two… durr… I guess there was no other reason. The only reason I went there was because they were open on Thanksgiving.
Oh wait no… there was another reason. Because they were having an eating competition! The event was: YOU CAN GET UNLIMITED NOODLES FOR 30 MINS AND IF YOU EAT 7 WHOLE FUCKING BOWLS OF RAMEN YOU GET A T-SHIRT.
That was the name of the event. No really. I took a photograph of the flyer.
What do you mean, “do I have the photograph?”
Of course I don’t. I burned it at the scene of the crime.
What crime? Well…
Whoever went into the bathroom after me, they’ll know what crime.
(*giggles coyishly*)
That was either the best, or the most terribly awful joke I’ve ever told.
Do you like my jokes? Do people like my jokes? Do they think I’m just ADORBS?
That’s what I started calling myself: ‘ADORBS’
DID I TELL YOU I STARTED CALLING MYSELF ADORBS!?
“Darb-iel”? What is that? I’ve never heard that term in my life.
Get the fuck outta my face with that shit.
(*pulls out gun*)
(*gets shot by member of Donald Trump’s SWAT team that is composed entirely of his children*)
I’d like to apologize to everyone in the audience who came here today expecting a story. I usually start these blogs with the intention of getting a somewhat coherent tale out there that’s easy to follow along with and shit, but goddamn, my ADHD is acting up real bad right now. And if you don’t know what “ADHD” is, well it’s an acronym meaning “Attention Deficit Hyper—OMG A PLASTIC BAG (*runs into middle of expressway and causes a 16-car pile-up*)
So back to ramen spot: when I arrived there at a time just late enough to be called “lunch”, there was a waiting list I needed to scribble my name on. I was at the top of the list the whole time, but somehow I still had to wait 30 mins. It sounded like pure chaos inside. There was screaming, and bells ringing, and I could’ve swore I heard a coyote howl, but that could’ve just been a Burning Man acid flashback.
At last, the door opened and I was beckoned inside.
I sat at the counter, and to my delight, two sophomores from The University of Southern California got seated right next to me. Looks like I had some comrades to share experience with. To motivate, and to spit on and berate when they ate less than 7 bowls of ramen.
They started telling me we each needed to eat at least 4 bowls of ramen for this competition to be cost-effective.
Yeah, look at me, I go to USC, I use big words like “cost-effective”. Get the FUCK OUTTA HERE, NERDS! Riddle me this dickweeds: where’s your cost-effectiveness in dropping 200,000 dollars for bachelors degree?
Regardless of what my neighbors at the counter were aiming to do, I had but one mission:
I wanted that T-shirt baby. I needed something to commemorate the day I got Type 4 diabetes.
It wasn’t going to be easy though. As I sat there waiting for my first bowl, it finally hit me. 7 ENTIRE BOWLS of ramen. Just think about that for a second…
I said JUST THINK ABOUT THAT, BITCH-TITS!
AND DON’T EVEN GET ON MY CASE FOR ME CALLING YOU ‘BITCH-TITS.’ THIS IS MY WEBSITE, MY RULES, AND MY PARENTS ARE OUT OF TOWN FOR THE WEEKEND SO YOU BETTER BRING YOUR SLEEPING BLANKETS, FINGER PUPPETS, AND KLEENEX, AND MEET ME IN THE BACKYARD.
It all happened so fast. In a flash, I had my first bowl of ramen sizzling in front of me, and the timer began working backwards. Eating that first bowl… was comical. It didn’t feel like anything significant going in, but then again, that’s what Katie Holmes said. And look how she turned out… PREGNANT!
I felt totally unaffected by the first bowl. But when I pondered over how that was how much I normally eat in one visit, I couldn’t help but give a little fucking chuckle.
(Ya know what I’m saying about little fucking chuckles?)
The SECOND bowl I could actually feel going into your stomach. My stomach was like, “you serious bro?”
The next couple were hazy. Actually, the next ALL were hazy.
Wanna guess how many bowls I ate? Go ahead. I’ll just wait here.
(*Smokes a cigarette, dies of cancer*)
If you said 7, youuuuuuuuuuuu would be…
Wait, I’m not ready to tell you yet. I’m gonna give you blue balls. Blue balls of the ears. Blue ear drum balls.
Okay I’m ready.
Seven bowls! I made it to SEVEN BOWLS!
But remember, since this is an eating competition, nobody gives a shit if you RECEIVE seven bowls. They only give a shit if you FINISH seven bowls.
I reached the 7th and final bowl with 90 seconds remaining. With my back up against the wall, a food-induced sweat dripping from my forehead, I threw together a strategy: Four bites. I could finish it all in four massive bites. Each bite would have to take no more than 21 seconds average. Yet those first two bites averaged 25.
Each time one of those big slimy loads of noodles hit my stomach, it wanted to come up, RIGHT away. It was no longer a race to get the ramen IN me, it was a race to KEEP it there WHILE piling on even more.
With 10 seconds and ONE BITE remaining, and the entire jam packed restaurant counting down and egging me on, I did the natural thing and STARTED FILMING THE COUNTDOWN.
And then I shoved the entire remainder of the noodles in my mouth, and did everything in my power to force it down into my belly.
Yes, those final seconds, I actually have on film! Take a gander!
(Unless you’re Helen Keller. Because Helen Keller is…
She’s dead you insensitive bastard. Gosh!
(*kicks a golf cart*)
(*golf cart drives into the ocean*)
(*sees the word “cart” and thinks of Mario Kart*)
(*gets a Mario Kart tattoo on left thigh*)
(*drives a go-kart around the neighborhood with tattoo exposed*)
All those noodles, spilling out of my face and hanging out of my mouth. They….
Stayed that way. They never made it down that slide connecting my mouth to my stomach.
In other words, yes; I failed the challenge. A mere ONE BITE away from that t-shirt.
It was an epic failure for sure. I was bested by an inanimate object (yet again). And so I went home and sulked.
Aaaaaand took life-threatening shits multiple times over the next 30 hours.
But hey! At least it wound up being cost-effective.
