Frank McCourt has been McCourt-ordered (see what I did there?) to pay his wife a few hairs over $637,000 in spousal support. PER MONTH.
Hello, Future-Ex-Mrs. McCourt. May I please bring to your attention the luscious tacos that may be had for a mere $1.25 apiece but not 100 paces from my front door? It’s true that you have seven homes and some property in Mexico, but you’ve been ordered to sell the latter. There’s a taste of Mexico right here!
Here’s how they do it: They stack thinly sliced layer upon layer of marinated, BBQ pork or pastor, jam half a pineapple onto a giant metal spike, jam the two-foot tall meat wall onto that, and then jam another half pineapple onto the top. Flame ushers forth from…the flame place (sideways, very impressive) and then the pastor gets rotated past the flame until it’s crispy and tender and dripping and ready for my mouth.
Oh dear god it is delicious. I get everything on it which means my mouth burns for a good 15 minutes after I wolf down my two tacos. $2.50! For a plate of goodness! With a Mexican coke to wash it down…listen, people, this is why we are alive. To be able to scrounge the coins from the car floor and wind up with the juices of delight running down our chins. That’s what she said.
Jamie McCourt has, by all counts, lived a life without denial. If she wants her kneecaps massaged in a counter-clockwise motion for alternating 2-7-2-7 minute increments by the pre-adolescent fingertips of illegal Javanese (watch out, Arizona) girls, then by god, that’s what she gets. Truly, Jamie McCourt has the upper arms of the privileged. They’re toned, slightly freckled, and definitely exfoliated.
I know. Is it odd that the first image I post in this blog is of folks I really could care less about? The facts of the case are that I just figured out how to include an image, so felt obligated to support my description with a visual aid.
Well, hell. At the risk of a very VERY stretchable segue, allow me to now post a recent photo of myself with another disturbing piece of flesh:
That’s right. In case you’ve got a hankering, they (the infernal THEY) make what can only be described as a grotesquely large hank of dried, flavored meat and stick it in a plastic sleeve for selling.
These things disturb me. Jerky and Jamie.
I don’t know if you can see it, but the brand name, Arizona Jack’s, is accompanied by the catchy subtitle “The Branded Jerky.” And yup, it is. Branded. See?
SSSSSSSSSSSSS goes the brand! Ouch goes the jerky!
Wow. Adding images is really fun. Maybe one day I’ll try to tell the entire blog via visual aids. No promises though, suckas.
Jamie McCourt may be full of compassion and goodness and sweet, sweet temper. For absolute certain – she’s got one hell of a lawyer.
$637,000 a month. That’s a lot of tacos.