Enthusiasts, are you sitting down? You must! What I’m about to tell you will positively knock your socks and shoes off, and most likely your feet, too. Up to mid-calf! Imagine a horizontal guillotine blade schwipping through your home at, say, 18 inches off the ground. That’s the kind of news I have for you. That’s the kind of offer I’m about to make to you.
Are you ready?
…
Seriously, prepare your loins and glands.
…
Here we go: SUPER-BALOGNA. Sure, 85% of you are already in, and scrolling down to find the Donation Button, but in case you’re a chowderhead who can’t recognize a world-thrashing idea when presented with one, hear me out: What makes super-balogna so super?
IT’S ALSO SALAMI.
Did your legs fall off? I warned you. I told you what would happen when I laid my genius upon you. (Remember: the New Yorker has officially recognized my genius.) You don’t have legs now, well: that’s your fault, fucker. I’m talking super-balogna here. Not only is it also salami, which should be more than enough to impress anyone, it also accepts sandwich spreads 30% more efficiently than normal. It sucks the mustard up, man.
So: I’m gonna need some angel investors, and access to a slaughterhouse. Plus at least a couple hundred undocumented workers. I don’t think you can send me illegal aliens through the mail, so–
Jesus, man.
–maybe you can rent a U-Haul and pack a bunch of ’em in and point the truck southwards.
Stop this.
I won’t! What if someone told George Washington Carver to stop fucking around with peanuts? He revolutionized lunch, and so will I.
Everyone’s right. Everyone’s right, and you’re wrong. When people–nice people who make their points politely–bring up the fact that this site is supposed to be about the Dead, and yet contains dumb-ass bullshit like this almost exclusively…well, they’re right, man. It’s in the fucking title. Thoughts on the DEAD. And then the picture is of Garcia. And under that is a sub-heading in which you explicitly promise that Grateful Dead-related material will be forthcoming. But there isn’t. There’s just whatever the fuck this is.
Super-balogna!
Shut the fuck up. Please, just shut the fuck up.
Do they still even MAKE balony? And why did you neglect The whole balony/bologna schism?
I have been in a really small town in Western Minnesota for the past few days. I stopped by its little convenience store to get some supplies a couple of days ago, including sandwich meats . . . and all they had on that front was a one-pound pack of bologna. I had two thoughts:
1. How long has it been since I have actually eaten a piece of bologna? I am guessing at least 40 years.
2. Just what the hell is bologna anyway? Is it a cow? A pig? A nauga? A mix?
I decided that I didn’t actually really need sandwich meats after all. Maybe, though, if it had been Super-Bologna, the outcome would have been different . . .
I miss floating out of a show and purchasing a greasy grilled cheese from an even greasier enthusiast in a greasy parking lot.
Super-Balogna
Casings greasy
We can make sangriches
If you’ll abide
We can discover the wonders of Listeria
Barfing in our hovels
Down by the riverside
Super-Balogna
Casings greasy
We can make sangriches
If you’ll abide
We can discover the wonders of Listeria
Barfing in our hovels
Down by the riverside
Holy Mother of Jeezuz, poetry flows from LVB like… well … like other things that flow