Showing posts with label marinara sauce. Show all posts
Showing posts with label marinara sauce. Show all posts

Monday, January 20, 2014

EADJ Wishes You A Happy Martin Luther King Jr. Day


Well, maybe happy isn't the right word. How about reverent? No, that sounds like "Reverend," which Martin Luther King, Jr. was. How about blessed? No, too religious, although that works because MLK was a Southern Baptist minister, right? Hmm. 

Okay, how about just "EADJ hopes you honor Martin Luther King Jr. Day." Is that too pushy now? What if people don't want to honor Martin Luther King? Well, that makes them racist, is what I'd say. But still, why would a stupid blog like this be so presumptive to be pressuring people into honoring a civil rights leader?

Happy Monday.

Monday, January 5, 2009

Meet Safeway's Tony Tantillo

Hey, how ya doin'. I'm Tony Tantillo, you know, Mikey's brutha. You may have spotted me and whatnot in the fokkin' Safeway circulars that they have there in the Safeway stores and whatnot. "Fresh Ideas Magazine" or "Fresh Grocer" or some shit. I don't know, they keep changing the fokkin' name of the newsletter and I get confused and shit. So fuck 'em.


I was recently featured on the newsletter thing talking about how fokkin' fresh my garden-grown tomatillos are. I know, I know– Tantillo's tomatillos, real cute. But I'm fokkin' serious. These things are the freshest produce you will ever see, my hand to God. You can pluck one of these things from my backyard garden or buy one from Safeway, and I swear on my mother's grave (God rest her soul) that you won't be able to tell the fokkin' difference. Well, if you do try to root around in my garden, I will come out with my brother Mikey's aluminum bat and put it to work on your ankles and knees. See how you like that, hotshot.


Look at these fokkin' things. You really got to go to your local Safeway and check these things out. They're like perfect and whatnot. Firm yet tender skin. Bright perfect red color. Still on the vine. You won't find a better tomato anywheres, I can tell you now. My Aunt Fiona puts these things in her marinara sauce, I swear to God, kids start hoverin' around her kitchen window like fokkin' flies around a donkey carcass. I am not lyin' to you. Them tomatoes make the sauce smell like one a' those fancy million dollar joints. 'Cept it's my Aunt Fiona's place, and she don't serve people who she ain't been introduced to since that assault at the bus stop. Or blacks. Hey, argue all you want. She's from another time.