I submit: to follow are 6 things that I believe made the world a worse place the moment they came into creation. If I was their inventor, I would lie and tell people at my high school reunion that I sold bedpans because it would be less embarrassing than being responsible for any of these things. Simply put, they never should have happened.
*The Forever Lazy
I kept my mouth shut about the Snuggie. Yes, I would rather be caught passed out in a ditch wearing a vomit-covered gorilla suit than on my couch wearing a Snuggie. But to each their own. If you can wear a Snuggie and maintain your dignity, hooray for you.
But the Forever Lazy takes one gigantic, fleece-covered step into the land of wrongness. For one, it’s a one-piece pajama, which introduces the possibility of going commando. I don’t need to tell you how creepy that is. But then they introduce the ass flap.
So that if you have to take a shit, you don’t even have to take your Forever Lazy off, you can keep it on while you shit! Except that I can’t even begin to figure out the logistics of that one. Unless you’re wearing your Forever Lazy without any clothes underneath, (creepazoid!) you have to somehow open your ass flap, reach inside the flap, undo your pants and…pull your pants down into your Forever Lazy legs? And then what? Honest to god, I can’t figure out how that one works, only that it’s guaranteed to be the most awkward thing you’ve done in the bathroom since jr high.
*Philidelphia Cooking Creme
Honest to god, I have no clue what this shit is. It’s not cream cheese, it’s not yogurt, it’s not heavy cream. It’s this…seasoned goo that you’re supposed to plop into a cooked starch and smother with cheese. Because apparently making dinner is on par with climbing fucking Everest when it comes to challenges. Look, maybe the fault is mine. I love to cook, I truly do. Cooking dinner for Kyle and myself is something that I truly enjoy doing, especially since so many of our evening meals are spent eating reheated leftovers backstage. So maybe others don’t enjoy the task of chopping vegetables for homemade vegetable soup like I do. But this shit. This…coagulation of chemicals. This goes beyond laziness. The only reason you would feed this shit to your family is if you truly hate them and truly want them to suffer. And even then, I’m pretty sure there’s something in the Geneva Convention that prohibits it.
*The new Footloose remake
I would like to begin by saying that I have not seen the movie yet. And truth be told, I probably won’t. (Kyle says that working in a theatre fills his gay quota.) But I saw the trailer, and those 2 minutes and 32 seconds were plenty of time to know that this is a bad fucking idea.
Not that I’m a crazy huge fan of the original. That movies so damn cheesy that it should be sold in a spray can and served on a Ritz. But it’s got a decent story and John Lithgow turns everything he touches to acting gold. Plus, it offers enough karaoke fodder for an entire drunk bridal party. I’ll probably never watch it a second time, but its existence doesn’t offend me.
But this monstrosity. I just have to ask, what the fuck was the point of remaking Footloose? Is it to make sure that Julianne Hough has more than Burlesque and Proactive Commercials on her resume? Or did Kevin Bacon and John fucking Lithgow not do a good enough job the first time around? Especially since from what I’ve heard, this one is damn-near a copy-and-paste of the original. Only with more skanky booty-dancing. Because that’s what the world needs. More skanky booty-dancing.
*Those no-bake lasagna noodles
I get it, I really do. On paper, this sounds like a great idea. Take the arduous task of boiling water and dropping in pasta noodles completely out of the picture! And I guess this sounds great, if you’re one of those people who thinks that lasagna is alternating layers of noodles, cottage cheese, and Ragu with browned hamburger. But I’m not one of those people. My lasagna is made with ricotta cheese and fresh herbs. A sauce that starts with fresh tomatoes and eventually joins a mixture of ground turkey and spicy Italian sausage before simmering for almost an hour. My lasagna is made with time, love, and a metric ass-ton of garlic. And the thought of laying those beautiful sauces and mixtures with those gummy-at-best-crunchy-at-worse noodles makes me want to cry. I mean, can you imagine how heart-wrenching that would be? You’ve been smelling the delicious, homey smells coming from the kitchen, you’re finally sitting down in front of a heaping plate of yummy goodness, you take your first bite and…it’s crunchy. Why would you do that to someone? And why would you do that to a beautiful lasagna? Yes, lasagna takes a long time to make. But that’s what makes it delicious. If you don’t want to spend the time, go make Hamburger Helper. At least then people are emotionally prepared for the crap they’re about to eat.
*Top Chef Texas
I love Top Chef. I love pretty much any show that involves food and competition. Add in a sexy host who’s topless photos can be found with a simple Google search and I’m sold. I’ve been with the show since damn-near the beginning, and I’ve followed it through it’s various spin-offs: masters, deserts, all-stars. I was there when Cliff tried to shave Marcel’s head. I was there for each and every one of Carla’s “Hootie-hoo!”s. And I was there when Blais choked. Bet your ass I enjoyed every minute of it.
But Top Chef Texas? What the fuck is that? Texas isn’t even a type of cuisine, it’s a state. Do we really need to do an entire season about chef’s doing the same thing they do in regular Top Chef, only in Texas? How is this any fucking different from regular Top Chef? Funny story, no one on the internet seems to be able to tell me, except that “EVERYTHING’S BIGGER IN TEXAS!” No, let’s call it what it really is: Bravo’s attempt to ensure that there is a new season of Top Chef on the air at all times. They did the same damn thing with the Real Housewives franchise, and I think we can all agree that it started becoming unwatchable somewhere around New Jersey. No, Top Chef Texas is just another lazy-ass attempt to milk this show and Padma’s rack for every cent they can. Fit Top Chef for their water skis, there’s a shark waiting.
*55 calorie beer
I totally understand that as women, we are under immense pressure to watch our weight. Believe me when I say that I and a sack full of body image issues are right there with you. But come on guys. 55 calorie beer? What the hell is the point of that? First off, the way they get the calories down to 55 is by reducing the amount of sugar. When you reduce the sugar, there is less for the yeast to eat, and thus, less alcohol. That’s right ladies and gents, that 55 calorie beer is not really beer. The alcohol content of a Budweiser Select 55 is 2.4%, which is less than the fake beer some southern states sells in grocery stores. And I am telling you from experience that you cannot drink that beer fast enough to get even remotely buzzed. So if you’re drinking to get drunk, you’ll end up drinking three times as much just trying to get enough alcohol in your bloodstream Not exactly a calorie saver. And if you’re drinking it for the taste you’re lying to yourself, because that shit tastes like watered down piss. So if you’re not drinking it to get drunk and you’re not drinking it for the taste…why are you drinking it? Save the 55 calories and have a water; it’ll taste better and you’ll have to pee less.
There are so many better options for drinking smart. Gin and tonic. Vodka and cranberry. Even drinking regular beer doesn’t have to destroy your figure; a Stella has a 5% ABV, and it only adds 135 calories to your day. Or, even better, here’s my favorite option: if you want to have a drink, have a motherfucking drink. Don’t let the guilt destroy your enjoyment in life by forcing you to drink watered-down beer that they charge full-price for just because you’re afraid a Blue Moon after work will make you fat.