Recipe: Grilled Chicken Helper Cheesy Chicken Enchilada Burrito

Phew. That's a mouthful. And so is this, literally. Or several mouthfuls depending on how much (or little) willpower you have, which, once you smell and/or taste this culinary masterpiece of my own devising, will be nigh but completely out the window. I know, good use of "nigh," right? Yeah. I know.

Anyway, this is a pretty simple recipe, and I'm going to skip lots of steps, because, as will no doubt be evidenced by this recipe, and my life in general, I myself am, regrettably, extremely, unthinkably lazy. That's a lot of commas. Yeah. I know.

So here's a synopsis: This is a burrito that uses a modified version of Betty Crocker's Cheesy Chicken Enchilada flavored Chicken Helper as filling. Here's what you'll need.

1.) Betty Crocker's Cheesy Chicken Enchilada flavored Chicken Helper, prepared according to the directions on the box ( a monkey could do this).
2.) One can of refried Beans
3.) One or more 12" Soft flour tortillas, (pronounced tor-TIL-as)
4.) One Tomato
5.) Sour Cream

Alot of the actual proportions are left to your discretion, but here's the basic idea:

Step 1: Prepare Betty Crocker's Cheesy Chicken Enchilada flavored Chicken Helper according to the directions on the box ( a retarded monkey could do this. with one arm. good luck, Ryan).



Step 2: Prepare one can of refried beans. I used the microwave, on high for three minutes, covered. This worked perfectly, but only if your into things like simplicity and convenience.

Don't they look tasty? Very appetizing.

Step 3: Transfer the prepared Betty Crocker's Cheesy Chicken Enchilada flavored Chicken Helper into a stainless steel bowl. This makes it look like you're on a cooking show, which I find gives some type of meaning to my ridiculous cooking escapades. My cookscapades. I know.


Step 4: Fold the heated refried beans into the prepared Betty Crocker's Cheesy Chicken Enchilada flavored Chicken Helper. Mix well.

Step 5: Transfer a small portion, I recommend roughly one cup of the filling to the center of a flour tortilla.

Step 6: Add toppings. I recommend tomato and shredded mexican style cheeses, but you can add whatever you want. If you add lettuce, I won't eat it. Yes I will, but I'll just complain about the lettuce.












Step 7: Fold the tortilla in the traditional mexican way, or in this alternate way, that I like. Fold the top of the burrito down to form an enclosed shell.

Step 8: Grill the burrito lightly on both sides on a non-stick skillet greased with cooking spray.











Step 9: Serve to self with sour cream. Gorge grotesquely in an uncontrollable and pathetic way, alone, in the dark. Silently hate self for lack of control.



That's it! This recipe is sure to please all lovers of mexican food, and is (can be) WAY better then the gilled stuffed burrito from Taco Bell.

Oh, and for you health conscious few out there, you'll be glad to know that I found this curious little morsel quite by accident on the front label of the tortilla shells I used:


See? No lard!! Isn't that AWESOME!? I was so worried about the lard content of my tortillas. I thought it was just an evil I would have to deal with to enjoy my creation. Not so! Now I can enjoy lard-free tortillas in good conscience whenever I please. And so can you! Lets all rejoice in a song of lard emancipation. Or maybe just eat your burrito.

Stuff That Totally Kicks Ass: All Things Silver Surfer

Oh god. Fantastic Four 2: Rise of The Silve Surfer, how you have lived up to my every expectation I'll never know, but, regardless, the fact remains that... you did. I'd like to call attention to the punctuation of that last sentence. Just stare it for a minute, like one of those computer generated 3D wall posters. Now squint a little. Now relax your eyes. No, no... look through the sentence. See? A schooner!

Ok, that was a little random, but it's been that kind of day.

Back to the point. Fantastic Four 2 totally rocked my pants off. I would watch it immediately again, except I expect that it has literally no replay value. As in, it rocked ass, sure, but once was plenty. The heroes were played exactly as I'd always imagined them being in real (fake) life. The movie and the actors are very true to the comics which, as we all know, is all that really matters here. I can swallow shitty acting, convenient coincidences, and even accept (without even mention or comment, mind you) the extreme disregard for modern physics and science in general, as long as the heroes are adequately super, look cool, have corny banter and triumph in the end.

That brings us to the question of Galactus. Now, a lot of people (read: no one except me) was upset about the portrayal of Galactus the World Eater in the movie, particularly the absence of that crazy yet regal looking pink and purple helmet/jumper combo that he usually appears in, and, oh yeah, a body. In the movie, Galactus is only seen as a giant sort of swirling vortex of clouds which, for me, doesn't exactly strike the same kind of chord as a totally flaming but at the same time badass cosmic destroyer whose pinky finger is the size of africa. And, oh yeah, he's going to literally eat the world. Now that's fucking cool. The whole swirling vortex thing kind of just made me think that Galactus was probably going to fuck up my sinuses. And, as uncomfortable and annoying as that can be... not so much terrifying as I'd like. But that's me.

Ok, so aside from that, this movie totally dominated. The surfer was, aside from being a surfer, completely badass, and smacked down the Human Torch, who I always thought was a toolbox, and who is portrayed as a complete toolbox by a guy who is either an excellent actor or a real toolbox. The Special effects are... actually now that I think about it they weren't really that great, but I love the movie so much it didn't matter. I mean, they were adequate. There weren't any real "wow" moments special effects wise, but the movie moves so fast and has so much action in it that you don't even notice the subpar CGI.

And that's the thing that sets this movie apart from some other super hero movies I've seen, is that it's gets right to the good stuff and then it just keep giving it to you. It's not like the Hulk, where you have to watch him jumping through the desert for twenty minutes (yeah, yeah, I get it, he can jump really far...), or Ghost Rider, where the acting and script were so achingly bad that cool super hero stuff alone wasn't enough to save it. This movie gives you the goods in a palatable package and doesn't try to be more than it is. And I totally dig that.

Summary: Fantastic Four 2 is twice as fantastic as the first, and 1/3 the carbs. You can't go wrong.

Stuff That Sucks: TV

I love TV. I spend way too much potentially productive time absorbed in entertainment, accomplishing nothing, letting my brain rot and allowing the corporate sponsored stimuli to work it's subliminal crimes on me day in and day out. And it rocks.

TV totally kicks ass. Or, at least, it did... until I discovered the absolute face on fire, edge of your seat insanity that is: 24. 24 is without a doubt the best fucking show in the history of TV. It's the pinnacle of mind smashing entertainment, requiring next to no thought but also moving so fast with so many twists and turn that it grips your attention like grim death and holds on until there just simply is no more. In short, it rocks your pants off.

The problem is, after 24, everything else pretty much blows nuts. I mean, normally I would love the continuation of old favorites like "Heroes" and "Smallville", and I might have enjoyed some newcomers... say "Chuck" maybe, or "The Bionic Woman"... who knows? But now, after having watched three consecutive seasons of 24, my entertainment standards are so high and attention span so low that I almost can't be bothered with regular TV. I need the non-stop, pulse pounding, ball splitting action/adventure/awesomeness of 24 all the time. If it's not 24, I don't want to watch it.

I watched the premiere of Heroes... yawn. I was dosing off during half of it, wondering when it was gonna start getting good. The same with Smallville... I can barely make through the tedious exchanges between the lifeless characters in between the one or two sweet shots per episode where Clark finally does something super. Clark needs to be freaking out way more, ala Jack Bauer, instead of weeping over his annoying dead girlfriend, who was, lets face it, total shit from day one. I mean I know he's super and all, but if you pit him against the iron will of Bauer, I just don't know who to bet on. My gut tells me, Jack would find a way. And he'll do whatever it takes, all whilst blowing up everything he possibly can, and somehow finding time to torture people. Which, by the way, rules.

It's not that other shows are bad... in fact everyone is pretty much still raving about Heroes, and how great it is, and I'm sure that's relatively accurate, except I've been watching back to back episodes of collected seasons of pure TV domination. After three episodes of 24, Heroes is like watching paint dry. And so is, you know, anything that's not 24.

So I'm torn. On the one hand, I'm compelled to encourage you to watch 24, and watch it religiously, and write to your congressman about how great it is, so that they can continue making new episodes until Kiefer Sutherland is 80. (BTW, what the hell kind of hippie name is Kiefer? How do normal-named people like Donald and Shirley go and give their kid a kool-aid name like Kiefer?). On the other hand though, I'm compelled to recommend that you not watch 24, and thus retain the ability to watch other, non-24 TV shows. Ultimately, the decision is yours, but I will say this:






Sorry, gotta go. There's a torture scene.

Stuff That Sucks: Death Proof

Ok, just calm down. I wanted to like this movie. Really, I did. I was totally psyched to like it. I went in expecting to love it. Tarantino, car chases, gruesome gory awesomeness all in a convenient homage to the grindhouse movie watching experience. And I get that it's supposed to be bad. I get that it's made to be a "B" movie. But here's the thing about "B" movies: They suck ass. They're "B" movies, because if they were any good, they'd be "A" movies, or "independent" movies, or some other such nonsense. But Death Proof is a "B" movie in it's truest sense. In fact, were I rating it on an alphabetic scale, I'd probably put it in the low M's.

It sucked. Granted, there were a few decent parts... the car chase at the end, the amazingly and repeatedly bloody accident scene shown from different perspectives, and maybe a tenth of the dialogue were all entertaining. But the lasting overall impression that I got from the film was: "Wha?" The plot was barely there, and arguably missing altogether, and the ending was abrupt and unsatisfying. I didn't hate the antagonist, if you could call him that, I actually kind of liked him, and by the end of the movie, I kind of wanted all those stupid wannabe badass bitches to eat asphalt. Maybe it's because the second group of girls was so fucking annoying, or maybe it's because the token black chick was such a painfully stereotypical cartoon of herself, or maybe it was that they were all just so goddamned annoying, but I just couldn't get attached to them. no character development, no plot evolution, no story, very low entertainment value altogether.

And I know...it's supposed to be that way, but, I don't know, I just thought it would be that way, except in an edgy, different, entertaining sort of way, that kind of redefined the long dead genre and breathed some life into it. But this movie could easily fit on a shelf with every other god awful piece of shit "B" movie no one's ever heard of but that your hippie, alternative friend with the dreadlocks told you was "totally mind-opening, man."

The worst part is that the companion movie, Planet Terror, composed by the familiar Tarantino counterpart Robert Rodriguez, actually looks pretty awesome, just like Death Proof looked awesome when i saw its trailer. And when I see it, and it inevitably sucks monkey balls, it will be nobody's fault but mine. And Robert Rodriguez's. I predict I'll put most of the blame on him.

To sum up, Death Proof is less fun then a car crash, and takes a whole lot longer.

Stuff That, I Suspect, Sucks: Sony PS Pee

It's quite possible that the PSP sucks. But it might also be that I'm not sufficiently "hardcore" in my gaming enthusiasm. Let me give you some background, and you can decide for yourself.

I've been playing video games or, as we say in the industry, "gaming," for about 18 years now, (Christ, I'm old) and I've had my fair share, or what I'd like to call, a crapload, of gaming experience. During the tenure of my gamer career, I've owned the NES, Super NES, Sega Genesis, gameboy, game gear, Nintendo 64, Game Cube, Playstation, Playstation 2, XBOX, PSP and XBOX 360. I've been around the block. And I have to say, I have never had more trouble finding just one game that I like, than I have with the PSP. I think that quite possibly, the PSP blows ass.


But I'm not sure. I mean right off the bat, the control scheme just doesn't lend itself to FPS games. You need another joystick in there. It's obvious. And ever since the Playstation Expo in 1996, when Sony unveiled it's dual analog joystick for the PS1, Sony has consistently moved forward in video game controller technology. Until the release of the PSP in 2004. That's when they decided not just to step backwards and include only a D-pad with their device, but also, they just tease you with that one useless analog joystick. That's just mean. Throw another one of those on the other side of the device, where it seems to symmetrically beg to be placed, and you, Sony, have got yourself a winner. Without it, sadly, you suck nuts.


So yeah, I'm pissed. Sure, I knew the control setup when I was shopping for a PSP. I had access to information about the games, and even could have played the demo models on the floors of electronics and game stores. But I didn't. I saw the one analog and thought... it's on. Analog frag-fest of global, yet portable, proportions is within my grasp. And with game after game, inevitable disappointment sets in as I experiment with universally shitty control schemes.

It's just so frustrating, all that graphic power and processing potential, but a complete inability to take advantage of it, because of one simple, stupid little oversight. Damn you Sony... you tease us with potentially great things, and then you fuck it all up in an unscrupulous efforts to secure market dominance. Ok, that doesn't really apply here, but you know you're guilty of that too.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to drown my sorrows by basking in the superior videocassette recording format of BetaMax.

Food Is Good Food::

Well, I've done it. I've polished off an entire box of tastykake rich frosted mini donuts. I started, and I couldn't stop. The worst part is, this is not my first time.

Oh no, I'm a repeat offender. Do I feel bad about it? Of course. I've just consumed enough fat to recreate that guy from "The Practice's" lips.

That's a lot of fat. Plus just the sheer amount of calories is staggering. So yeah, I feel bad about it. It's amazing how food has the ability to make you feel bad. You know you shouldn't be doing it even right as it's happening. But some kind of animalistic chocolate-cakey-goodness seeking instinct just takes over and you (read: I) just can't stop. And then you (I) reach that point where you can just about justify further gluttony with the rationale that "Well now there are only a few left. I might as well just finish them." What is the attraction of finishing the box? There's no benefit to having none left. In fact, there would be substantial benefit to not finishing them, as then you could enjoy a few later or the next day, and also, you know, not be fat. The attraction, I think, is that once you finish them you've got nothing left to stuff your fat face with, lardo. If you just finish everything, then you don't have to exert any willpower at all. And that's way easier than, say, stopping.

Two weeks ago, I ordered and devoured an entire medium cheese pizza from pizza hut. I am not proud, but I am honest. I have no delusions about my shortcomings as a consumer. In that case the ordeal was entirely my doing. I plotted it out, I planned it, I executed. Start to finish, all me. At least in the case of the disappointing donut display I didn't seek out those donuts... they were given to me, nay, forced upon me by an outside will. Granted, I folded like a cheap suit, and then subsequently ate the entire box in one sitting, but at least it wasn't planned.

The problem with food is that, there's way too much of it, there's too many choices, and ultimately, the evolutionary byproduct that makes fat and sugar taste so goddamn good is ironically both our biological means of survival and one of the greatest modern threats to our health. Or at least my health. I guess there's really no way around it. I'm doomed to continue struggling with dangerous food addiction until the day when cholesterol stuffs my arteries and I keel over from a massive coronary just as my blood sugar level drops triggering diabetic shock resulting in my untimely donut-induced death. Hopefully by then they'll be able to freeze my body until the future, when my brain and spine will be removed and transplanted into a robotic exoskeleton. Then I can eat whatever I want.

Stuff That Sucks: Button Fly::

I'm thinking maybe I should change the name of this blog to "Stuff That Sucks." If only because of the unbelievable multitude of stuff that really, really sucks that's out there. Someone needs to just stop and go through it all (See: Stuff That Sucks:: David, The Guy Who Registered The StuffThatSucks blogspot blog, Never Posts To It and has No Contact Info).

Look, we all know the dangers of zippers. We've seen "There's Something About Mary" (See Stuff That Sucks:: There's Something About Mary"), and we've all, (and by "we've all" here, I mean "I've") zipped up a little too quick, taking a little too cavalier an attitude about the interlocking metal teeth that guard the portal to our nether regions. Those suckers are tough, and they don't take "skin" for an answer. The point is, yeah, there's a potential junk hazard right there, every time you access the mainframe, so to speak, and you run the risk of inflicting injury upon your most prized jewels every time you open that door. The question is, is the convenience worth the risk?

Enter -- The Button Fly. This little idea gem replaces the all too familiar lap taffy guillotine with an innocuous looking set of buttons. Devised by a taylor named Jacob Davis in the late nineteenth century, the button fly was originally used on rugged workpants that davis made and later patented with Levi Strauss. The button fly wasn't the attraction to the garment so much as the metal rivets that were used to reinforce points of stress like the pockets. Right then, at the inception of the product, Davis and Levi both new that goddamned button fly was gonna piss people off.

The modern zipper, however, wasn't invented by Gideon Sundback until 1913, and even then, it was another 21 years before people were finally persuaded to "give up" their fly buttons for zippers. I can understand their skepticism, really. But seriously, that button fly is such a pain in the ass. I mean, short of closing your pants with a pair of scissors, I think just about anything is better than that.

The thing is, there must be some (stupid) people that still like this thing. Cause they still make it. And people buy it (thanks, Mom). But I think all of us modern, intelligent people can agree, the button fly totally sucks. It's hard to open, even harder to close, it takes too goddamned long to operate, and nine time out of ten, you're operating it in an environment where you don't want to spend too much time doing any unseen fumbling or fiddling. People are liable to think you either can't find the goods or you're spending a little too much "quality time" at the urinal. Neither one of those things could be good.

So, to sum up: Button Fly. Sucks ass. Steer clear of button fly jeans, and if you absolutely have to buy them, My advice: just leave your fly open. Face it, nobody's lookin' down there anyway.

Stuff That Sucks: Dreamgirls ::

Quite often, everyone just seems to love something that very obviously sucks swollen monkey balls.

This is most certainly the case with the movie "Dreamgirls."

Winner of two academy awards, most notably one for best supporting actress Jennifer Hudson, a decision I thought must have been made by gerbils. Now, truthfully, I only saw two of the four movies with actors nominated in this category, but I of the two I saw, I would almost have picked the fatty from Little Miss Sunshine over this screaming, bitchy cow. I mean she can sing, I'll give her that, but the award is for acting. You're telling me this American idol reject beat out Cate Blanchett? I didn't even see that movie and I know Cate Blanchett was WAY better then Jennifer Hudson. The only way Cate Blanchett could get beat by Jennifer Hudson in an acting competition is if she was legally dead for the entire movie, and was playing a live person.

I couldn't even make it through this movie... the plot was predictable, the music was shitty, and the acting... my god the acting. You have a pop star, a cast off from American idol, and Eddie Murphy. With that lineup, if it doesn't suck hard, I'll eat my own head.

Anyway, the thing I hate most about this movie is... everything. I can't even narrow it down to specifics. I just flat out hated it, and anyone will tell you, I like almost everything. It's really difficult to make a movie that I don't enjoy, but Director Bill Condon (you know he got teased as a kid. And now.), congrats, you made a movie so painfully sucky that even I hate it.

What I don't get is how everyone on the planet seems to have loved this movie. Granted, I'm not exactly up on pop culture these days, but this movie is winning awards like it's Paris Hilton at a "Humiliate Yourself Publicly for Money You Don't Need" contest.

Bottom line, no matter what anybody says, this movie is shit. And if I have to sit through any more "performances" by Jennifer Hudson because she somehow annoyed her way into an oscar win, I'm going to cut out my spleen.

Stuff That DOESN'T Suck: Funky Butter - Funky, Buttery Farewell::

Ah, Funky Butter. How beautifully backwards you are.

Funky Butter, the five piece funk rock firedrill from NYC, gave their farewell performance this past weekend at the World Cafe Live in Philadelphia, PA. Though I only caught the last few songs of the night, they were all intricate and complex, challenging at times for a listener but always entertaining. The band has a song writing style all it's own, never to be accused of adhering to any formula, and while it's dynamic and different, it has it's own brand of organization, and always leaves room to show off the musicianship of the five members. Each piece is showcased tastefully, giving the audience a sense of the talent, but without showing off. And they are, contrary to their website bio, seriously funky. Overall, I'm sorry to see them go.

Though they're disbanding in the coming weeks, it's not without setting their legacy in wax for fans of the group, which they have been and will continue doing for the rest of the summer. It's definitely backwards -- get together, write a stable of songs, tour up and down the area playing them, break up... and then record your first album -- but it has a kind of purity to it that might get snickers from some, but respect, at least from me.

The act itself shows a love and respect for not only the audiences and fans, but also for the music that was created in the three year tenure of the group, and for the experience and memory of being together. It's a tribute to the family that a touring band becomes on the road, a sort of musical photo album that, hopefully, will allways remind them all of good times. Furthermore, the band decided to put every cent generated by their musical career into the album, supported additionally by donations from fans. Simply put, they're not in it for the dough, but for the love of music and performance, and I, for one, respect that.

God speed, Funky Butter, we'll miss you.

Back From The Dead Concert::

Well, it appears to be in the shape of a Big Boy!

Good God! He's back!

Well, in many ways, the Big Boy never left, sir. He's always offered the same high-quality meals at competitive prices.




Holy.


Shit.

I'm back.

It's true. Loyal followers, unite! I have returned!

And I'm just as pissed off as I used to be!

Well, maybe not quite that pissed. It would be hard to ever really attain that level of pissed-ness again, but trust me, it's pretty close.

So where've I been? What've I been doing? What do I have to show for all this time I've been hiding away?

None of your goddamn business, that's what. And I'll thank you to stay out of my personal affairs.

What you should be concerned with is that I am here, and I'm, as we say in the biz, "about to be droppin' some mad siz-nience on all y'all's asses."

Except not so much today. Today I'm just going to sit back and bask in the glory of my resurrection. If I had a satanic death metal band I would totally call it Res Erection. I am totally prolific.

This is degrading into randomness. Ok, ok. I'll share a morsel of thought with you today:

I'm pretty sure I could never flat out kill somebody. I just couldn't do it. But what I could do is wish death on someone. I know, because I did. This morning.

Look we all (read: I) know that I have a sort of stigma when it comes to driving and traffic. Lets face it, they're a bitch. They're just a shitty part of life that there is virtually no way around and you have to deal it one way or another no matter who you are.

At certain points in traffic, friction with your fellow road-weary motorists is unavoidable... such as when you're trying to get off the highway while someone else is trying to get on and the on/off ramps share the same lane.

Now come on, in this situation, let's just all agree, whoever is in front should speed up, and whoever is behind should slow down, thus facilitating an easy merge for both parties. So don't be an asshole and stay just far enough behind me and to my right so that I can't get in the fucking exit lane and then go all the way to the extent of speeding up with me to stay in that position to intentionally try to fuck me into missing my exit. Douche. Because when you do that, then you make me wish that fiery, bloody and painful to the point of near death carnage befalls you at some point down the road, and I fantasize about stopping my car by where you crash and walking over to your badly burned and broken but still conscious body to give you the finger and tell you how you deserve every second of searing agony. And normally, I'm such a nice guy.

So yeah. I'm back. Whoopidee doo.

post date: August 1st, 2007