What kind of coffee machines cost over $4,000?

So in preparation for Thanksgiving and the subsequent tradition of utilizing odd hours of the night or morning to hope to get some good deals on already overpriced luxuries, I’ve been doing a lot of sniffing around on Black Friday websites, making a list of things that I’d like to attempt to acquire.  One of those things is a Keurig coffee maker, since I like coffee.

Upon looking through one well-known retailer’s circular, I couldn’t help but notice some of the pricing they claim on their regularly-priced coffee makers.  As well as the “sale” price range of these “discounted” coffee makers.  Special $5.99 – $2,520.00. Wait what?  Two thousand five hundred twenty dollars for a coffee maker?  Down from four thousand two hundred dollars?  What in the fuck coffee maker costs $4,000?

If I’m paying $4,200, there better be Colombian coffee farmers harvesting those beans fresh, crushing them by hand, and making my coffee while the hot farmer’s daughter is fellating me while the luscious scent of a fresh cup of coffee is wafting through the morning air.  Every day.

I can understand fabricating a slightly higher price to dupe the consumer into thinking they’re getting some kind of robbery of a steal, but there’s such a thing as a little too exaggerated for their own good.

Bryce Harper’s Monster Truck

In short, the Arizona Fall League has more or less ruined me as far as live baseball experiences are concerned.  Parking is free at all these small, intimate ballparks.  There are only general admission tickets that are $7 a pop, and allow you to sit anywhere you want, including right behind home plate.  And unlike in Spring Training where there are veterans loafing it and not taking the games seriously, the Arizona Fall League is nothing but 19-25 year olds playing their hearts out, because every ounce of effort could possible get noticed and get them called up to the Majors sooner rather than later.  Baseball at it’s most pure and innocent, and frankly, most beautiful.

I also shagged five baseballs because hardly anyone is at these games, and got into one game free, because a stadium worker just didn’t really care and let us in, but it’s instances like getting to go right up to Bryce Harper’s douchy monster truck and take my picture next to it that is really awesome.

I look forward to going to Arizona again in the future, even if it’s boring as fuck outside of baseball.  At least the food is really good.

Oink Oink Arizona: Sacred Hogan’s Navajo Taco

I’m not going to lie – the main reason why I went to this place in the first place was because it was called “Sacred Hogan.“  I know in redcorn-speak a hogan is something of a wooden cabin structure where ceremonies are held if it’s a “male hogan,” and food is made if it’s a “female hogan,” but let’s be real here.  Hogan is synonymous for one thing, and really just one thing.  Which is obviously the god damn Immortal Hulk Hogan.  And Sacred Hogan sounds just fitting as a shrine to the Sacred Hulkster himself.

But really, I’ve never really had redcorn food in my entire life, so this was as good as time as any to try some.  From the Hulkster’s sacred shrine.  In all honesty, this Navajo Taco wasn’t the greatest thing in the world, but it was far from the worst.  To give benefit of the doubt, I’m guessing my tastebuds are all sorts of fucked up and ruined by all the processed and unhealthy crap food I eat on a regular basis, so something so fresh, natural and redcorny like this Navajo taco go a little under appreciated and is construed as a little bland.  Adding some salsa helped a little bit, but overall, the flavor was a little light.  But not to say it was bad at all, because I ate it all, and I really wouldn’t do that for something I didn’t enjoy.

So in all, Hulkamania would approve of the Sacred Hogan.  Brother.

Oink Oink Arizona: The Del Ray from Torta de la Reyes

Let’s see, cheddar, lettuce, tomato, egg, chorizo, ham, sausage, and pork.  The Del Ray.

Getting to Torta de la Reyes involves driving down a sketchy stretch of a redcorn road called Indian School Road, where you have to pass like 20 redcorn businesses, several sketchy strip joints, chop shops, and imigracion offices, but this sandwich made it worth it.  The entire place was entirely Mexican, but nobody seemed to notice white boy and chino wandering in to sample some of their foods.  Our waitress even addressed us in Spanish, before I had to bust out “no habla Espanol” before she switched to English.

The ironic thing is that this restaurant’s other location had the sandwich that was twice the price, and probably twice the size of this monstrosity that I initially scoffed at not being able to get.  The best analogy for this beast of a sandwich and how it dominated both Huzzard and myself is that we both thought we could take Shredder, but instead this Krang of a sandwich kept beating our ass, and we never even got to lay eyes on Shredder when the day was over.

It was a truly delicious sandwich, but I couldn’t finish it.  Granted, we had only eaten three hours prior, but even on a hungry, empty stomach, I don’t know if I would have been able to tackle this entirely.  Not to mention the absurd side of fries.

Oink Oink Arizona: Chompie’s Jewish Sliders

Mini Challah bread, potato pancake, moist lean brisket.  Served with brown gravy on the side.

100% fucking awesome.

It’s not that I’m deliberately trying to be politically incorrect and tasteless, but the best way to describe what happened to these Jewish sliders is that I committed a holocaust on these motherfuckers, they were that good.  If they weren’t so tasty, I’d have saved one of them, just to take back to the privacy of my bed chambers and literally, place my dick between the bun.

I am completely serious when I say that I was almost in tears when I consumed the first one.  Maybe it had to do with the fact that it had been 11 hours since my last food prior to eating these, but I swear to god I might kill a homeless person to get my hands on three more of these delectable Jewish sliders.