Wednesday, March 10, 2010


First of all, the word "renig". What a great word. Did you know that "renig" isn't the proper spelling?


How the hell do you spell it then?

Reneg? NOPE.

It's actually R-E-N-E-G-E. Renege. What, is it French or something?

Anyway, enough with the word. I am here to PUMP YOU UP with my semi-renegging.

That's right, last week I told everybody how much I hate Paula Deen. Well I still do, don't worry.

But I let my hate for obese southern twats creep into my decision not to eat at her restaurant, when we were in Savannah this past weekend. See, I was originally against it, in favor of a different, similar place. However, Heckyeahwoman really wanted to try it, so I caved. Grudgingly, I caved.

And holy shit, what a mistake that would have been if we would have passed on this (highly) polished turd!

So here I am, renegging. I was wrong - I have no qualms about admitting it. And with that, lettuce get UBER-PUMPED as I tell the story of my Paula Deen experience.

First things first, rumor is, in order to get lunch at her restaurant, you have to get up at the crack of dawn, and go get in line to put your name in for your lunch reservation. And we did just that - I was up by 9:15, and on my way down to the line by 9:30. Total UNPUMP right there.

Lucky for me, I made a quick pit-stop at the hotel's continental breakfast to grab some quick NOMs before I busted out. Christ, I had no idea how long I'd wait in line, so I had to get my grub on ya heard. Upon arriving in the room containing the continental breakfast, I was greeted by a chorus of "what the fuck is this shit?".

Turns out, I was greeting myself as I gazed yonder at the dismal looking shitinental breakfast. Fucking cereal, shitty OJ, shitty apple juice, tiny cinnamon rolls, shitty biscuits with shitty gravy, what the fuck, I can eat this shit at home. Whatever, Heckyeahwoman told me to chill out and eat a biscuit.

OK so I grabbed a cinnamon roll, and in defiance of Heckyeahwoman telling me to eat a biscuit instead, I poured gravy all over it. It was OK.

5 minutes later, ur boi is out on the mean streets of Savannah, GA, pre 9:30 AM. Damn.

Cause I'm a FUCKING BALLER PIMP, I booked us a hotel right in the middle of the action, so the walk was about 2 minutes. Holy Crap though, I could see the line from the hotel, and it definitely wrapped around the blocks. Whatevs, undeterred, I made my way.

And cause I'm such HANDSOME BALLER PIMP, the mexican bitches in line behind me were trying to smile and flirt with me, but yo, ur boi had his headphonez on, and was about to set it off.

Don't believe me?

Listen to this song, and try not absolutely lose it. G'head, pussybeats - try it.

Within a half hour, we had lunch reservations at 1:45. There was only one thing left for us to do: get PUMPED UP and JACKED at the hotel fitness center. Hell yeah, at the gym by 10 AM on a Saturday, don't see that very often.

Working out on the weekends PUMPS ME UP. I hate it, but it PUMPS ME UP.

So after a brutal workout, a shower, and a couple minutes of chilling, we were on our way to lunch.

Dude it was awesome, we got there, and guess who was seating the guests! MOTHERFUCKING PAULA DEEN WAS! THAT FAT BITCH WAS STANDING THERE, WORKING THE HOSTESS STAND.

Holy shit, that's not true at all, actually it was some doofy looking guy, and some hot looking slore lol.

Of course, we got sat, and immediately gravitated towards the buffet. Wait, buffet? Hell yeah, buffet! A quick once-over told me that this shit was good to go.

Look how tasty the fried chicken looked!

I can't think of many things that PUMP ME UP more than FRIED CHICKEN AND AMERICAN FLAGS. AMURRICUH FUCK YEAH.

Then I took a heaping helping of collard greens. Unfortunately they didn't look like the ones in the picture below. No, they were soaked much longer in what was probably motor oil and salt. But holy shit were they good.

We went on to sample a little bit of everything, not planning on getting as full as we did. We got so full, that we couldn't even start drinking till like 4:30. Yeah, I know right. But then we got...well, I got, very loaded. All I remember is walking home from the bar, and all of a sudden Heckyeahwoman thought we should get pizza. I just remember walking like a zombie, following her so I wouldn't get lost lol. I was pretty tore up.

And this should go with out saying: eating a shitload of horrible-for-you-but-awesome southern food, getting drunk early ever day on vacation, and partying furiously make for one of the most unruly HUMP DAY PUMP UPS that we have on record.

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