Got 2 Go Pizza

Many people like to debate the merits of burritos versus pizza. Unfortunately for pizza, burritos not only taste better, but also if you eat pizza every day you are going to die, whereas if you eat burritos every day you probably will just feel shitty (like I often do). However, I know that some of you fans out there really like your pizza, so in order for this blog to be somewhat relevant to your lifestyle choices I decided I had to Go 2 Get Some Pizza. What better place than Got 2 Go Pizza:

Got 2 Go Pizza has the best logo for a business in the Western world, and if you disagree you don’t have a firm grasp of what letters should look like in the Latin alphabet. It looks like a casino/skatepark where hot chicks in the later years of their life hang out:

As you can see in the first picture, apparently the check cashing store next to the pizza place was having a fundraiser for the earthquake that happened in Mexico recently. Sounds like a nice idea, except for the shitty dance music cranked up to 10 and in between that some drunk dudes yelling on a megaphone. On the other side of the pizza place we also have a big ass boot outside for some reason:

I decided that enduring the drunken check cashing mob was a little too much for me, so I went inside:

On the left is some dude who worked there. He was walking out, and then suddenly stopped to tell these teenage girls that he had to leave to go to a Stanford football game, as if they gave a shit. Then he came back in a little later and when leaving again told myself and my assistants about his stupid fucking football game he had to go to. So weird. Anyway, behind those hot teenagers you bear witness to the proclamation of BEST PIZZA VALUE IN AMERICA:


What to order? Before I stopped in to this place I checked out some reviews online, like a typical millennial. This one seemed helpful:


The meat has bleach in it, yet you continue to order it? 

So of course I had to order the Buffalo wings. Also got the ‘Mexican Style Combo’ pizza. It has Ham, Pepperoni, Jalapenos, Pineapple, Beef and Chorizo:

All of the wads of meat on top looked the same so I couldn’t tell what kinda greaze was squirting into my throat upon each bite, but it was pretty greazed out.

Ok the ham is pretty easy to tell apart

If you really look closely at the pizza it’s so greazed out it’s kinda hard to tell the difference between the pizza and a Carcass record:



Speaking of reeking of putrefaction, there was the inexplicable meat skid on the cheese:

What is that? 

“WHO WIPED THEIR FUCKING ASS WITH THE CHEESE AGAIN?!”-Manager, who was so angry he left for Stanford football game

Perhaps wiping your ass with the cheese is how you get this faaaattttt cheese rips:

Yes, my hands are normally this dirty when I eat. Fuck you

Actually the pizza was pretty good. Not that good though. I mean, it was slightly better than Little Ceasar’s, which is still pretty good. It’s cheese on fucking bread, how bad can it get? I’ve had some bad burritos, but I don’t think I’ve ever actually had pizza that I didn’t like. For some reason I could only eat about 4 slices of the Mexican Style Combo before I tapped out. I think the greaze level was too high.

The wings were actually really good. Didn’t even taste like bleach. I ate them and didn’t start bleeding internally so I was pretty stoked. At this point I think I should mention that there is a bikini model that comes to this shithole all the time:

It’s like dude, why are you coming here? Got 2 Go Pizza greaze will ruin your body. You go from this:

To this:

San Jose Greaze champ 2016




Daughter Thai: Spicy Food Challenge

Recently my arch feasting nemesis, who we shall simply refer to as ‘Jason The Weak’, went to a small restaurant in the Oakland hills to seek out a challenge of spicy foods:

Although going to the whitest part of Oakland to do a spicy food ‘challenge’ is low-hanging fruit, he went and did the challenge roughly ten minutes faster than anyone before him, in about 15 minutes. Here is a video of him gloating and the restaurant staff acting like he is some sort of big deal:


Of course shortly thereafter he attempted to cyber-bully me on Facebook about his accomplishments. Little did he know that I have already been in the dark recesses of what I can only refer to as ‘The Buff Zone’, training, eating habaneros out of the cold, dead, iron grips of my fucking enemies:

Actual portrayal of me, conquering, talking major shit

So off I strode into the hills of Oakland to vanquish my nemesis, to Daughter Thai:

This shit does not look foreboding 

Of course I came here on a Friday night, at peak white people rush hour. It really was the whitest restaurant I think I’ve ever been to. It was difficult to photograph because my phone had a difficult time focusing with all of the blinding white light:

Here is a picture I took from Yelp just to help you gain an understanding of just how fucking fancy this place is:


Although the rules of the challenge is ‘no reversal’ at any time (i.e. don’t puke), I almost puked just looking inside this place, so I decided to sit outside. Plus I didn’t want all of the upper crust of Oakland gawking at me while I performed my task, as if I was the court jester of the restaurant.

Before I took my seat outside I saw the ‘Wall of Flame’, where the Polaroid of my opponent and nemesis Jason cast its radiance of false accomplishment to all:

Before we get to the challenge let’s take a look at this insanely overpriced menu:

Here is the wine list. Very expensive of course. 

You can get one (1) ‘thai taco’ for $11.50!

Everything that sounds good costs like twenty bucks

Ya Dong Set: Medicinal herbs to make your dong hard while you eat

Although I was really hungry and I felt like ordering some food to eat after I complete the challenge, the price points of the items deterred me, so I just ordered a couple of beers to let my mind slide into merciless war frenzy state:

The beer was brought out by a nice young man who bore much resemblance to Shaq in ‘Kazaam’:

My assistant ordered the Tom Yum soup:

Extremely small bowl of food, of course

Smallest bowl of food ever also comes with an equally impressively diminutive serving of rice in a stupid basket cup thing to ensure maximum un-fullness:

The assistant said the soup was alright, but has had better at other restaurants for half the price. They brought out this stupid waiver thing for me to sign so I don’t sue them or something. I assured them such measures are not necessary because my dick is hard and long and unbending, much like my iron will, but I signed it anyways:

I signed the paperwork and they finally brought me the ‘challenge’:

It’s just a fat pile of ribs with spicy sauce, some noodles, and some sliced cucumbers with some spicy sauce on top. It actually looked really delicious. I took my first bite and the server started the timer. Then I summoned my Force of Desecration:

I let the meat slide down my throat, and waited for the burn to set in. It came, but it did not ever really get that hot, so I just went full force and ate everything as fast as I could. I ended up finishing the dish in under ten minutes:


The staff of the restaurant were in awe, and I was tempted to rip my shirt off and flex my muscles to reassure them that I was indeed buff as fuck and worthy of all praise, but I played the modesty card instead. Flexing my muscles seemed inappropriate, as this challenge was not actually as spicy as some other dishes I’ve had at other Thai restaurants. One time I ordered a dish from a Thai restaurant and I asked for it ‘very spicy’ and I swear to God I thought I was seriously going to choke myself to death from my throat swelling up from the heat. My eyes and nose were dripping uncontrollably. This challenge actually came no where near that level. Perhaps my training has enlightened my senses so that such pain does not enter my body now? Or perhaps this challenge is more a gimmick to get people to talk about this shithole? The world may never know….but it is safe to assume that this place blows. Yes, my food was really delicious. But if I didn’t finish the challenge the meal costs $30 FUCKING DOLLARS. No thanks…….

Crushing your enemies is pretty tight though








Izzy’s Burger Fucking Spa

Like most of my fellow Americans, I have a sad 9 to 5 job which sometimes can leave me with lots of stress and tension, even after I leave work. Sometimes I just need to get away from it all! So this weekend I said “Fuck it, you DESERVE to be pampered”. And why not? I work hard, I blog hard, and I play hard! So off I went to Paradise, CA for a weekend of total relaxation.

I went in like this:

 so tense, so wound up! Ugh!

And once I let myself have the relaxation I deserved:

Paradise: Painfully Chill (and pretty obese)

But you readers say “Oh my I could never afford premium resort treatment like that!” Well, readers, I’m here to tell you that in Paradise, CA fuck yes you can. Just go to Izzy’s Burger Spa:

That little black box in front that looks like a trash can is actually the smoker for the ‘authentic bbq’!

You don’t need a premium credit card. You don’t need an exclusive membership that could cost you thousands of dollars and lead to debt. You and your shitty family can just walk right in:

But surely the burgers are too expensive for me you say. NOPE! The prices are pretty chill actually, except for the $7 root beer float of course:
The only option is the Jumbo size too, kinda weird. Unrelated, but Feather River Brewing Company has the worst beer I’ve literally ever tasted

It was hard to decide what I wanted to order. The cryptic wording of the ‘Chili Size’ had me intrigued. Just how big is ‘Chili Size’? And then there is the ‘Onion Orgy’:


You can also get your food ‘set up’ for $0.00. Pretty sure that’s Izzy’s code for some dude busting a fat nut out of the dirtiest scrotum in Butte County right on to your meal:

I ended up ordering the ‘Onion Orgy’. Definitely one of those kinds of menu items that sound weird when some nice old lady takes your order. I looked around at the restaurant while I waited for my food. What a surprise, it’s just a big pile of old shit:

Charles Bronson is cool though:

Finally my food came:

Well my burger looked pretty sad right outta the gate. I took a bite. God damn it was so beefy:

The beef actually tasted too beefy. Like it was cooked in some kind of beef concentrate. That, plus the fact that the onions were still pretty raw (which I don’t really mind, but it’s better when they are grilled/sauteed to brown) kinda made me a little bummed:


For six bucks though I couldn’t really complain. But my burger did suck. I mean if that’s an ‘orgy’ then every time I jack off in a dark room to Porn Hub on my phone I’m having ‘steaming hot intercourse’. You have to order the fries separate, which still ends up being pretty cheap. One of my assistants ordered the Western Burger:

It looked a lot better than my shitty orgy. The other assistant got the ‘Gobbler’:

Also better than mine. I probably should have gotten the ‘Chili Size’. Oh well. Let’s take a look at a review:

Not sure if this person thinks a one star review means like a 1st place or something? Also why are you calling them everyday? 

San Leandro: Double Dipper/Bang Bang Edition

Yes, that’s right folks, you read the title correctly. Today we visit not ONE, but TWO eating establishments for your voracious blog reading needs. But why am I treating you readers so good, even though you don’t deserve shit? Well, on this lil’ outing I had a special professional blogging assistant: plattyjo.

PJ: Ever since I read your “Black Bear Fucking Diner” that chronicled volcanoes and squirting mouth juice, I became a diehard fan — your number one fan, in fact. So when I finally received a coveted invitation to accompany you on one of his sacred missions, I was definitely DTF.

Pro-level shit going down

So yeah, you said you were DTF. I was really hungry and not really in the mood, but you quickly clarified you were, “Down To Feast, you fucking idiot”.  So off we went to San Leandro for some Aqua Fresh Seafood:

Not to be confused with the mouth-tingling, patriotic toothpaste:

Related image

They pretty much serve everything you can fry here. They got fried fish, fried chicken, teriyaki, hamburgers, sushi, deviled eggs, etc. Basically just enough variety to make sure only one person is ordering any given item every two days, ensuring you will get fucking sick if you eat here at some point.

It’s the kind of place you walk into and immediately you’re like, “Fuck, this place looks pretty dumpy and sad. I should probably leave.”

PJ: The generic menu board definitely didn’t make me wet with anticipation. The cramped plastic booths and folding chairs in the linoleum dining area make you feel like you’re slumming in a rundown OTB. But here you’re betting on whether your stomach will survive the greasy onslaught congealing in Styrofoam containers or whether you’ll be racing to the shitter faster than you can say, “Maybe I’ll get the horse’s dick if I’m lucky.”* Plus I don’t normally trust a place that fries the shit out of everything and yet also lists raw sushi on the menu at a suspiciously low price.

*actual wish uttered by STF

But by the time we were up front staring at the menu, the person behind the counter has already made it clear that they are super nice and sweet and now you’re gonna feel like a dick if you leave.

PJ: The owners seemed to be an amiable Asian couple, so I played the race card and cut them some slack for the general vibe of their place: “Here’s your goddamn mountain of fried food, and when you’re done — please wait to have your heart attack until you’re outside .”

They also had pastries wrapped up behind the counter, but it was unclear if they were for customers or for hungry cashiers:

Stop being nice! And it’s also ok to open a restaurant and not serve teriyaki and be Asian

But now that you, Miss Pro Blogger, were here, I didn’t want to look like a pussy, so I tried to order the sketchiest stuff possible. I asked for the Oyster Sandwich and an Aqua Roll, but the cashier said she was out of rice. Then she asked me what kind of fish I wanted in the Oyster Sandwich. It’s like, uh, isn’t that shit obvious? I asked for snapper, thinking perhaps it was a double fish sandwich?

PJ: She totally Jedi-mind tricked you and made you order a fish sandwich instead of one filled with oysters. But maybe you dodged a briny bullet since they might not have been the Aqua Freshiest.

So you ordered the two-piece fried fish meal:

Swirly ketchup to compensate for sadness of meal

PJ: I just noticed that the bicycle wheels on my t-shirt make me look like I’m wearing spoked pasties. The photo should be focusing on the fried food porn, not drawing attention to my nipples. Gonna have to keep an eye on your wily camera ways in the future.

It kind of pisses me off that even though they asked me ‘For here or to go?’ they still put all of our shit in styrofoam containers. It’s like, oh, thanks for packaging my meal for that long 10-foot journey from you to my table.

I forgot to take a picture of my sandwich, but here is a close up of its wet moisture sopping through, ready and willing for you to slide your tongue down the middle of its bready ass:


Oh yeah — I got hush puppies too. This is what they look like inside:

Crispy on the outside, yet soft and forgiving inside, much like this seemingly ‘crispy lager’ that actually contains a Pocket Pussy inside:

PJ: Or depending on your personal preferences, a Pocket Asshole.

My meal was all right, but it was also a big pile of fried food that kind of made my mind and body sad, a feeling which was not being helped by the decor on the walls:

I could tell you were not impressed. You demanded a fucking feast, and this place was pretty lackluster.

PJ: Agreed — I, too, felt a deep sense of existential melancholy after eating my meallike that feeling you get when you try to justify a shitty one night stand by telling yourself it’s better than not getting laid at all. You temporarily filled that gaping void, but you still feel empty inside afterwards.

Well, luckily this place was just the appetizer. That’s right, off we go to Porky’s Fucking Pizza Palace:

 PJ: The twofer was my “good” idea, despite the fact we just ingested a bucketload of fishy grease. But I’m glad it was Banjo Night at the ol’ PPP; nothing like some downhome tunes to pep up your mood! 

Yes, unfortunately for me it was actually Banjo Night, which sounds funny but in reality there is nothing more grating that a bunch of elderly people beating on shitty stringed instruments to create their hillbilly cacophony.

PJ: I can think of a gajillion things that more grating than a bunch of happy-go-lucky seniors following their bliss with their music. And my adorable beagle puppy who happens to have the name BANJO says you should go fuck yourself. 


Let’s go inside. There are about a 100 little teenagers who think this job is what having a real job is like:

There was a ton of old people here getting ready to see the one band in the Bay Area that caters to their demographic:

They got lots of cool decorations on the walls too, like the myriad of old awards from softball tournaments with creepy dads on them:

Pretty sure the guy in the blue sweater was still on probation so he technically wasn’t ‘on’ the team but he still chilled at the games.

PJ: Definitely not DILFs.

They have a game here called ‘Pizza Zone’ which looks like a fun game to play if you show up to a social family restaurant like Porky’s by yourself and you don’t want to sit by yourself be sad like a rapist:

There is another game where you can win stuffed animals, stuffed candy and other weird shit:

A stuffed Oscar Meyer wienermobile? What child wants that shit? 

PJ: Come on, I’d totally burn a whole roll of quarters trying to win that stuffed Sriracha plushie.

Let’s take a look at what they feed people here to make them more obese:

PJ: It drives me fucking nuts when people use alternate spellings in an attempt to be kool or kutesy. 

I have been known to fuck with some weird food, but ‘special cheeseburger sauce’ on the Bacon Cheddar Cheeseburger pizza? Oh hell no.

PJ: Nothing like a “special sauce” — probably just expired shit mixed together and dyed yellow — to give a pizza some pizazz.

They also have the ‘Three Sauce Boss’, which not only gets a cheeseburger sauce drizzle, but also has Creamy Garlic Sauce and BBQ Sauce:

I don’t think I’m eloquent enough to describe how much of a heaping pile of greazzzy shit that pizza probably is, but I think if that pizza was a person it would be this guy:

The ‘Three Sauce Boss’ is a monthly special because if it was available all of the time it would eventually find a way to kill itself. 

I ordered the ‘Porky’s Combo’ and a ‘Chicken Snack’:

The photography on their website looks a lot better than the dark shadow of a meal I got:

I’m not even sure why I ordered this. Potato wedges, fried chicken, and garlic bread? I just got done eating a pile of fried shit and then for some reason I ordered another pile of fried shit.

PJ: Well, all of that Aqua Fresh grease did get us nice and lubed up for round two of craptastic eating. 

I did specify dark meat for the chicken and it was pretty good though.

They come correct with the toppings here. You can barely see the cheese because it’s so stacked with toppings. Hell yeah. The pizza itself was pretty good too. I fucking hate how every place that opens up in the Bay serves thin slices. People like to fold the pizza when they eat it and pretend they are cultured or something. How about you get a good portioned slice like the gods intended?

PJ: Sorry, dude — the gods actually intended good pizza to be thin, folded and eaten with one hand. So you stand corrected. (And don’t be a fuckhead like Trump and eat it with a fork.)


Anyways, since you weren’t eating much, I ate as much pizza as I wanted while I watched the banjos do their thing.

PJ: To be fair, I was distracted by my delicious beer. They did have some great stuff on tap.

Unfortunately, I am pretty sure I was sitting behind the Grand Wizard of San Leandro Ku Klux Klan:

Dude definitely looked back and gave us the hate stare

PJ: I’m pretty sure he was just sending me the ‘get back on the boat’  vibes since you look like the poster boy for the Aryan Nation.

Watching the banjo players do their shit actually started to make me feel old too, and eventually I even lost my appetite for more pizza.

Pro blogger and I at Porky’s, feeling the sands of time washing over us as the banjos play on. 

Anyways, yeah — that’s pretty much it. Porky’s food is kinda whatever, but it is pretty rad that there is a place where all kinds of different people go chill that isn’t a fucking Applebee’s or something.

PJ: And don’t forget that they have 10 flatscreen TVs and an indoor basketball hoop. There’s something delightful for everyone.

Here is a review from Google Maps:

This person pretty much hates this place. 4 stars 

PJ: Stay tuned for our next San Leandro outing that includes hot dog assholes and cum milkshakes made from banana cocks. 

Home Of Chicken and Waffles and LORD BJ

When you want to know how much of a basic fucking loser someone is, you can ask them 3 questions:

Do you listen to Kenny Chesney?

Do you regularly wear puffy ‘outdoor wear’ vests even though you don’t do shit outside?

How much do you like chicken and waffles? (also works if you ask about bacon)

Depending on how enthusiastically the loser positively responds to either question, they are indeed pretty basic. It’s like people are trying to overcompensate with how basic they are by liking a ‘zany’ combination of food. So up until this point in my life I refused to try chicken and waffles out of spite.

However, this being a food blog, I must appease the masses that so desperately crave the input of my big ass brain and feeding hole. So I rolled a fat blunt:

And headed down to the Home of Chicken and Waffles:

I walked in, and unfortunately a Raiders football game was being televised, thus bringing out the Raiders’ fans. If you have ever been in this setting, it is much like hanging out here, all of the fucked up parts of society gathered in one place:

Except everyone is wearing merch that costs like $100 for a shirt. Anyways, I sat down and looked around:

Big ass high heels+alcoholic drinks+bar stool=someone is gonna fall and smash their fucking dome

Then I looked at the menu. The menu here slays food posers. Everything has a name that rules:

Big Daddy? Jessie’s Fucking Party? 

You can order a drink called ‘Delight’:

Elouise’s Masterpiece. How often do you get to order a fucking MASTERPIECE?


Even the kid’s section of the menu rules:

How stoked would you be if you were a kid and you could just straight up order a Power Ranger? 

On one side of the restaurant they have all of the menu items in mural form on the wall:


Since I was considering getting the ‘Lord BJ’, I checked out his portion of the wall:

I’m not sure why this is in a family restaurant but Lord BJ does seem pretty tight.  I’m also not sure why he has a balloon on his dick but I ordered his meal. It was $17.95, and it came with a fat load of food, but my food hole was gaping wide so that’s ok. I then ordered some drinks:

My assistant and I got the French Cooler and the Fruit Kiss. The alcohol helps me eat more aggressively:

French Cooler

Fruit Kiss

Since I almost never drink cocktails because such things are for yuppies and people who go to clubs to dance, I felt weird to say the least. I must say though that shit was pretty refreshing, especially on a hot day.

Soon the food arrived, which was good, because by now I was hungry enough to have eaten a pickled pig pussy. This is what ‘Lord BJ’ looks like:

Two plates for the meal=proper amount of food

My assistant ordered ‘Laura’s Luscious Breakfast’:
Only one plate 😦

I was fully prepared to dig into my meal, but I was a little put-off by the gravy squirting all of my orange wedge:

Improper wedge formation

I dug into the chicken and it was delicious. The gravy slathering was massive, although I feel like a true slathering needs to be absolutely unnecessary in its volume. You can see in the above chicken picture that the gravy is hardly a large pool of waste, barely dripping past the chicken itself. I was a little bummed when I found another piece of non-meat substance under my chicken:


The waffles were pretty good too. They were super soggy when drenched in butter and syrup, which is rad, because when they are wet as fuck like a 17 year old at a Justin Bieber concert you can eat the whole waffle in one bite pretty much and still have room for a bite of chicken. Speaking of being wet as fuck, my fingers after eating this meal looked like I just gave a homeless man a handjob:

My assistant said her food was pretty good too. The grits serving is enormous, and pretty good with lots of butter and black pepper. I was able to steal one of the turkey sausage patties off my assistant’s plate and it was not that good though. Not that big of a fan of sausage patties. What are you supposed to do with it? You could put it in the biscuit I guess, but then why do they give you the jelly with the biscuit?

Anyways, watch out for bald people at the door:




Sweet Fucking Fingers

Some fingers are fucking sweet:

And some fingers are fucking sour:

Regardless of where you may find your personal preference lies, I think we can all agree a good fingering is pretty rad. That’s where we find ourselves today, going down to San Leandro for some Sweet Fingering:

What is Sweet Fingers you ask? Well, it’s a “vibrant scene for Jamaican food & music” of course, as evidenced by the big ass amps by the tables:

Even though the music wasn’t that loud, I’m pretty sure if you sat here Jah is going to be the last dude to bless you for the rest of your life, cuz you’re gonna be deaf after you finish your food. So I sat about two seats away and called it good. Let’s take a look at the menu. Definitely some legit looking shit on the menu here:

Fried Dumpling/Festival? Fuck yeah

Including the ‘Rasta Salad’:

Fresh blend of vegetables & tropical fruit

Hmmm, that’s weird, I thought a Rasta Salad looked like this:

So yeah, you can get the Rasta Salad, or if that is too dry for you, you can also opt for the Liquid Marijuana to refresh your palate:

I felt too awkward to order this for myself, so I asked my assistant to do the dirty work for me. She was like:

“Can I have the Liquid Marijuana drink plz?”

And our server, who I’m pretty sure was from Jamaica judging from his accent, was like:

Da fuq? Ok

Shit was pretty tight though:

It didn’t taste like weed, but it was pretty fucking delicious. While we waited for our food I took some pictures of the decor:

It took a little while to get our food, which is pretty understandable since there was only like two dudes working, but it was worth the wait. I ordered the full order of the Jerk Chicken:

Comes with plantains, rice and peas. I guess the peas are brown and not green? I’m pretty down with that though. Fuck people trying to put colorful stuff all over your plate. Nocturnal fucking feast:

Everything tasted really incredible, especially with that side thing of sauce. I’m pretty sure the sauce was 90% grease, 9% salt, and then some spicy shit I have no idea about, but damn it was good. The chicken was crazy. It was so soft, you could even eat the bones if you wanted. The flavor was so fucking bonded into the meats that the flavors built up into black ash pools of flavor crisps:

Firefighters have been trying to ‘rescue’ children from burning buildings for ages, and eating their crispy tender meat instead, and just know we know what flavor secrets they have been keeping from us. 

You can also use some of this legit Jamaican hot sauce if you want, although I wasn’t that down with it. As I’ve grown older I’ve gotten pretty picky about my hot sauce:

My assistant ordered the ‘Jamaica Me Crazy’:

God damn it was juicy, even juicier than mine. Kinda spicy and very greazed:

Even though it was a stew, it was mostly just a big ass pile of meat. Fuck yeah. The flavors of both of the dishes were very rich and tasted unique enough to make me go out of my way again to come back for another taste. Although some people beg to differ:

“send an incognito tester” 



Las Palmas Super Burrito

Greetings my loyal readers. I apologize once again for my long absence, but I am now back from my Black Sabbatical. My dick is hard and I’m fucking hungry.

The weather has been nice, which makes me want to take off all of my clothes and chill in the sun all day. Unfortunately for extreme white people like myself, that shit burns you. The only cure for a sun burn is of course the Mexican Aloe Vera, aka Burrito Greaze, so down to Fruitvale we go to gather our homeopathic remedies:

Las Palmas Super Burrito

Let’s check out some reviews so we can get an idea of what to expect, shall we?

Ok they are racist here. But how is the food? 

She’s pissed off and full as hell!  

So I guess this place is racist and full of hood rats with big orders. There is also none of your typical Mexican restaurant decor. Instead there is this random picture of dudes chilling on a skyscraper:

And one of MLK Jr:

I think he’s looking at the menu, perhaps at the weird desserts:

Sock It To Me cake? I’m guessing this is sorta like when you were 10 and your older brother would ask you if you want a ‘Hurts Donut’ and then of course you’d say yes and then he’d punch you in the nuts and say ‘hurts don’t it?!’ Except here the sweaty cook in the back just comes out and punches you in the nuts and then just walks away.

They don’t even offer regular burritos here. Only super. Fuck yeah.

They sell some shit called ‘Whiting’ . Not sure if this is a Crest product or some fish.

I really hope the taco salad is just 3 avocados in a tortilla shell. 

Not really sure what the deal with all of the southern food here is but it’s pretty rad. Never been to a Mexican place that offered gumbo. Unfortunately my assistant called in sick, and rolling solo means limited ordering capacity, so I just ordered the Steak and Shrimp super burrito and some hushpuppies. The Steak and Shrimp super burrito is almost $14, so I was a bit worried that for all that money, I was not going to get that full. Fortunately this place does NOT fuck around:


I realized I was actually not even that hungry, but when life puts these things in front of you sometimes you just gotta take them down:

It’s pretty crazy to think that every single person that gets a burrito here is getting something this big. I must say I admire Las Palmas philosophy of no compromise-all feast. Look inside this thing:

Inside was a plethora of greaze. The meat exuded many fluids, and when paired with soured cream it was downright wetter than a dog pussy. The shrimp was great too. Every time I would get a wet ass bite and started to get overwhelmed, I’d hit a shrimp pocket and it would provide some relief. The lettuce didn’t even bother me. There was also a bunch of pickled jalapenos in there which added a nice balance. As you work your way down the burrito, it manages to get wider and wider and soon you have to eat it like a corn on the cob, from side to side.


The precious Mexican Aloe Vera started squirting on the table:


The hushpuppies were pretty good too. The picture doesn’t look like much, but trust me, they were delicious. I ate all of them, and all of my burrito, and then tried to ride my bike home without shitting my pants. Would definitely come back here again.

Thanks again for reading! Eternal feasting hails!