I don’t care how artfully dark the lighting guy made this scene, I can still clearly see a half dozen shrimp vomiting into Mt. Wobbles, the Shrine to the Ass-tec God of Arti-Choke and Kill-rabi which demands an annual sacrifice of two bottles of extra virgin olive oil to uphold said god’s greasiness quotient.
Tags » Retro Food
This work of culinary art looks like it’s been taken over by one of those horrifying parasitic organisms you only see in National Geographic magazine, like there’s an evolved species of Mandarin orange that lays its fruit babies inside your skin and three days later you’re covered in tangy pustules and uncontrollably shitting citrus slices.
Just look at this mess. You’d think that a bacon volcano encased in a crispy pastry crust would be the greatest artery-cloggingest meal ever but the ’70’s managed to turn what could have been a majestic death wish into a sad, dried-out, slumped-over cone of wretchedness. 16 more words