Cheeky, customized illustrations of beloved actor Paul Newman dressed in various national garb to match the salad dressing flavor. So fun!
NOW:
Safe, uninspired bottle labels that shrank Newman's likeness and confined him to a small area, surrounded by floating ingredients, like some kind of salad Phantom Zone. Weak.
Previous "Where Are They Now" segments are here, here and here.
Plum Silky walked away from a successful career as a prop comedienne to found the New York School of Finance. She and her school weren't taken seriously until her predictions about the housing bubble bursting in 2008 came true.
Ask most people how they know Zucchini Planks and they'll tell you he's the wacky zydeco musician on all those Geico commercials. What they don't know is that Planks–born Charles Plank Zuckerman–is a classically trained musician who can play 8 instruments from the clarinet to the didgeridoo and has written over 20 classical symphonies.
In 1995 police raided the Bahamas vacation home of Hexchasty Buttons and found over $13 million of cocaine under the floor boards. Since serving a 15 year sentence in prison, Hexchasty Buttons has remade her image by visiting children's hospitals and donating most of her time to helping various charities. Most young people these days only know her as a fun TikTok personality than as a convicted drug dealer.
I don't know which fuckers to blame, but thanks to overgeneralizing and brazen misuse, the definition of the word "salad" has been stretched to point of uselessness. Here are some prime examples of what I'm talking about:
• Potato salad. Is it sliced and lightly seasoned potatoes in a bed of crisp lettuce? No, it's a bunch of yellow potato chunks swimming in yellow nasty mayonnaise. Usually shipped in a white bucket and served from a big metal spoon with a big, wet slap onto your plate or cafeteria tray. It's essentially the middle finger in a more viscous form.
• Chicken salad. Chopped or cubed chicken breast on a bed of crisp lettuce? No, actually it's shredded chicken parts mixed with celery(!) bits and pounded into a thick paste with mayonnaise and despair. Often eaten between two confused pieces of bread. Tuna salad is in the same boat here.
• Egg salad. Yum, slices of hard-boiled egg whites on a bed of crisp lettuce! No, wait. Actually, somebody put the yellow-and-nasty treatment on it– just like potato salad– and added something thicker to the mayonnaise, so that it clumps even more and can't ooze when sitting in the sandwich vending machine for a month.
• Marshmallow salad. Oh dear shit, this one is a doozy. First of all, marshmallows have no business being anywhere near the word "salad" to begin with, so there's no way sliced marshmallows would ever be on a bed of crisp lettuce. But some fat woman got the idea of taking CANNED FRUIT and mixing it with marshmallows, Jello, and cream cheese and chilling it. I'm not sure if this is intended as a side dish or a dessert, but Jesus help me if anyone would consider that a "salad." Just say goodbye to both your feet to type 2 diabetes if you eat that.
• Fruit salad. Fresh sliced fruit on a crisp bed of lettuce? No, a bunch of shitty pears and cherries chopped up and canned in sugary syrup. Fuck your mother.
• Macaroni salad. Is that mayonnaise again?
**Editor's note: The following YouTube clip was posted before on EADJ, so you don't have to watch. But we thought it was relevant to the piece.
• Seafood salad. Fresh cut crabmeat and shrimp on a crisp bed of lettuce? Who are we kidding at this point?
• Pasta salad. Haahahahaaaha. Good one.
I think the main culprit in most of this is mayonnaise. I love some mayo on a sandwich like the next guy, but to start pouring jars of it into a bowl and passing it off as some nasty dish that no one wants at the potluck is fucking vile. Everybody, stop it.
Me and Tom had lunch at Euro Diner one day. I ordered a salad and the dressing came in this:
Okay, neat. They repurposed a Snapple bottle. Saving the earth or whatevers. But then I look over at the next table:
What the who-hey? I get recycled garbage for my condiment, and they get a real dressing bottle? What kind of sickening social injustice is this? Am I living in the sixties again? Are you completely bored out of your mind now? I am.
It's not every day you manage to spot a social disease in your lunch.
See it? VD!
Holy Mother of Goldschlager. Pewter Bear. You're back.
Yeah, yeah, yeah. We didn't ask you what you've been up to. We just commented that you were back. Like we haven't been missing you. At all.
That's right. Pukefucker. Let it soak into your thick, hateable pewter skull. We don't like you here. Hell, nobody ANYWHERE likes you, Pewter Bear. You're a miserable, kickable, douchetastic explosion of detestable mule droppings on a piss cart.
I go to this place on 42nd St. and 3rd Avenue for salads. It's a good place because they mix it in for you then toss it with whatever dressing you want. But the last few times I've gone over there, the dressing guy has called me "Ma'am." Yeah.
I thought at first that maybe he's calling me "Man," but he's called other men in line "Sir." And I've heard him use "Ma'am" for all the women. So what the fuck, dude? Do I really look like a woman?
After like the third time he called me that, I started speaking really loudly in a manly voice to the ingredients guy (who calls me "Sir") so dressing guy could pick up on it. I'd say things like "I WANT CUCUMBERS, BLUE CHEESE, AND BEAN SPROUTS," in the deepest voice I could muster. And that still didn't work. I still got "Ma'am" from dressing guy.
So I took a photo of myself at that place to see what dressing guy sees. Turns out, I do look like an Asian lesbian in the right light. Or maybe all the time. Or maybe dressing guy thinks I'm a woman because I've been loading up on salads so much, and my choice of ingredients emphasizes my owning a vagina. Whatever.
If you or some dude you know keeps getting mistaken for a lesbian, maybe it's time you took a good look at yourself and changed your haircut or stopped going to lesbian marches with your arm around your girlfriend. Or maybe you could parlay that mistaken identity into a wacky comedy starring Kal Penn and Margaret Cho.
(pictured above, what happens when the goddamn salad place doesn't put a fork in your takeout bag and then when you get back to the office there's a goddamned meeting hogging the kitchen)
He brought his beloved Mazda Miata in for a check-up and oil change Tuesday. What he thought was going to be a short transaction turned into a major Hasselhoff.
First, the fact that he talked to a non-English speaking clerk who didn't write anything down was a red flag. Then the fact that the dude let Joel eat his dick for payment was another. Also the fact that the dude had a "If there's grass on the field– play ball" t-shirt rather than a Pep Boys worksuit would be the third. So overall Joel shouldn't have tossed his keys (and salad) to the mysterious latin stranger.
So later on that day Joel came back to pick up his car, and no one had any record of any car being dropped off for repair. No record except a hilarious security tape of Joel tossing the janitor's salad.
(pictured above, Leoncie debuts her new brand of Icelandic lettuce)
Field reporters John Reid and Mel Kreilein spotted Joel eating an Italian, dick-based feast last week. The menu:
Summer Antipasto With marinated garden vegetables, cured ham and dick
Crostini With olive, fennel, and also dick
Fresh Capricciosa Salad With heart of palm, roma tomatoes, and “zucchini” (dick), balsamic vinegar dressing
Zuppa di Pasta e Faioli E dick
Filet Mignon Stuffed with provolone and gorgonzola cheeses, proscuitto and dick, served with dick-infused mashed potatoes, grilled asparagus with dick sauce, and a big, steaming bowl of fat dick
Tiramisu
(pictured above, Joel eating, then savoring, said dick. Photos by Mel Kreilein)
