Bottoms up.

Wineland

Bottoms up.

Cheers! To friends, old and new, good health and fortune, and this crappy bottle of wine, which I procured for less than three dollars. [awkward silence, COUGH] That’s right, I buy my vino on the cheap, and I’m proud of it! I’m especially fond of Trader Joe’s signature vintner, Charles Shaw, the Aunt Jemima of terrible wines. Lovingly dubbed “Two-Buck Chuck,” Charles and I have shared some really good times over the years. I find his Pinot Noir pairs especially well with Cheddar Ruffles and French Onion Dip. Also, it makes a great Tequila chaser (this is a joke, DO NOT TRY THIS). But perhaps the best thing about un-fine wine is the subtle flavors that seem to dance on your palate as you leisurely sip it after dominating a particularly indulgent Domino’s Pizza order. I’m talking about the faint hints of twig, the playful notes of field mouse, and the seductive aroma of heartbreak, contributed by each and every migrant worker who made this criminally inexpensive product possible. Sure, cheap wine isn’t for everybody. It takes a special breed of miser to fully appreciate the art of un-fine wines, but, and I don’t want to sound like a snob here, not all people have the dulled senses necessary to be a true connoisseur. If you want to up your game, might I suggest building a makeshift un-fine wine cellar to help grow your collection of local, uninteresting, dirt cheap whites and reds. All you really need is a damp cardboard box and a heat-lamp (I find you can really make this stuff dazzle by exposing it to high-heat at irregular intervals). Anyway, here’s to you, and here’s to un-fine wines everywhere!

Who's hungry?

Breakfast of Cheapskates

Who's hungry?

You’re a good egg. Not you, reader…the eggs: over-easy and slightly runny, just the way I like ‘em. Wife and I have been eating a lot of eggs lately, because A) they’re delicious, and B) they’re friggin’ cheap, baby! And since we’re moving across the country, we’ve been scrimping and saving every last penny. This means no more lavish parties with real celebrity waiters circulating passed hor d’oeuvres. I’m not kidding! Hulk Hogan catered my birthday party! The trick is to find celebrities who are really hurting for cash. Anyway, with so much of our do-re-mi going towards The Big Move, we’ve been forced to drastically downgrade our expensive, exotic tastes. For example, instead of buying extra large eggs at the store, we can now only afford large eggs. It’s extreme, I know, but we all have to make sacrifices. Sure, it was hell at first. I was all like, “Noooooooo!!! These eggs are 11% smaller!!!,” and spit the vile stuff all over the linoleum floor. Wife immediately reminded me that we couldn’t afford to be so wasteful, and then watched as I was forced to eat the eggs off the floor, between stubborn mutterings about how large eggs tasted like dirt and plastic, and that they were “stupider” than extra large eggs. That was a tough day for me. I…hadn’t had my nap. Life goes on, and now I am officially a born-again large egg eater! Besides, what am I going to do with an additional .25 ounces of egg? Who am I, King Solomon?!? No offense to King Solomon, though. Guy had seven hundred wives. I mean, if anyone needs extra large eggs, it’s King Solomon! Gosh, I would hate to be his Royal Omelette Chef. Imagine how early you would have to wake up!