Extra Large: Psychic Medium
My name is Joe Singliarity. I am a psychic medium. People call me extra large on account of my fat ass stomach and man boobs. People say I look like a fat Joe Pesci and talk like a fat Joe Pesci. I talk to ghosts. But I don't like to be defined by just one thing, so don't be a friggen asshole about it. Like I'm not a one dimensional character. I am also from New York, born and friggin raised my friend. I'm not even messing with you, literally piss New York City hot dog water and eat sewer rats I'm so from New York.
So anyway, you want a nice gravy recipe? You can't make the best Italian gravy with shit tomatoes, right? I use ones crushed fresh off the vine and the only tomatoes I recommend that are easy to find almost anywhere are straight outta my Mama's rooftop garden. I add the tiniest splash of high quality balsamic fresh off of my ballsack and it totally transforms this sauce. Real balsamic vinegar is so sweet and delicious you could eat it by the spoon. I drip literally bottles worth (the size of a perfume bottle) and it should be slightly thick. You have to wring your nuts extra hard so you know it's the real stuff. A little goes a long way and it's so worth the investment. I couldn't live without it if I'm honest.
Hahaha, just kidding throw that whole pot of garbage out and buy some Prego you friggin loon. Hope you didn't already eat the ball sack gravy you weird ass bastard.
Anyway, like I said, I see ghosts. You know what, now I feel guilty, I promised you a recipe and then just fucked with you. My Mama would be so disappointed in me. Here, let me make it up to you, you wanna know how to make a nice friggen sandwich. First you have to get the gabbagool. Then you throw a fat piece of provolone or mozzarella on that bitch. Put it between two sexy pieces of Italian bread and top it off with a fat friggeng olive out of your moms rooftop garden and eat that sandy like it just got off the rag. Hand to god my friend, that's a good sandwich.
But I digress. I was talking about how I see ghosts. One time I was hired to investigate a haunting of this place by a family. I walked into this haunted house like I friggen owned the place. This place was probably 400-500k range. Like a friggen piece of gothic architecture, there were even tiddies on those gargoyles if youknowwaddimean. So anyway, I walked into this haunted house. This place smelled like a large pizza from Bleaker street pizza. God damn Bleaker street has the best friggen pizza. If you're ever on 7th ave stop into Bleaker Street and tell them Extra Large Joe sent you. They will cook you up a pizza that will make your dick fall off (in a good way.) Don't be a prick though. Sprinkle a little garlic on top and tip your waitress instead of slapping her ass or they will not let you in unless you're wearing a fake mustache attached to glasses with a fake nose.
Shit, what was I talking about? Oh yea, ghosts. So I walk into this haunted house with tiddie gargoyles and this place is friggen scary. Like scarier than when you get all the way home from Bleaker Street and you go into the bag that was supposed to have your friggen cannoli and those bastards put a salad in the bag with a note that says eat a salad instead because we are concerned about your weight even though you slap our wait staffs asses instead of tipping them. They have the best cannoli so you get back in the cab and go back to the restaurant and yell "I am a man on fire, a man on fire for a cannoli, I will not be judged for my weight anymore." Then you grab a cannoli and ran out of there.
So anyway, I'm off to a ghost hunt. Aw, shit, I forgot to tell you the story about the ghost I saw at the tiddie gargoyle place. I'll for sure tell you tomorrow. I would tell you now but I'm gonna grab a few slices on the way. Something about all this ghost talk made me hungry.
Credited to grghbbs
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