Where do I even start with you, Rick Bayless, you dickless son of a bitch?  

 

Every Saturday, you ruin the heavenly stretch of PBS cooking shows that starts with Julia and Jacques, ends with America’s Test Kitchen, and has the unfortunate crap filling of Mexico One Plate at a Time hosted by you, you decidedly un-Mexican, over pronouncing, pretty boy, crotch-inspired facial hair wearing, ass hole dick face. I am barely able to keep my can on the couch (where it resides every Saturday, watching PBS from the early morning Antiques Roadshow to the late afternoon made-it-all-day-without-bathing-getting-dressed-or-moving-more-than-three-consecutive-feet reward of Check Please and This Old House) when I see your smiling pussy face greeting me from your meticulously landscaped Chicago backyard, pleading with me to appreciate the flavorful goodness of “chhheeell-leeaas  reee-yy-aaa-ñ-oss”  or "chip-ot-laae  cas-ca-bel  sal-sa"  like you aren’t the most white bread middle aged gringo ever to walk the Plaza de la Constitución in Mexico City. It makes me want to kick you in the cha-cha. I totally know you’re from Oklahoma City, bitch.  

 

This week I gathered all my strength and took some notes during your hateful show.  First off, you were cooking me breakfast in a silky turquoise and lavender faux kimono. You mother fucker.  And this is what you had the gall to say to me: “Nothing against (pause) a bowl of corn flakes (flip head and pause), but if you’ve got a little….extra….time (pregnant pause) mmmmm…Huu-E-vvvvos RRrran-chhhhe -Ros can be a real (pause) eye opener! (giggle)”  I hate you so much.  You had ten, count them ten, costume changes in your half-hour cooking show.  Ten.  And Im going to tell what you wore, pimp, because each one was worse than the last, which is pretty bad considering you started with the kimono: 

 

1.       The aforementioned silky belted turquoise and lavender faux kimono, it hasn't gotten any better in the last few sentences

2.       Orange mock turtle neck, hugely cable-knitted, zippered

3.       Lime green women's short-sleeved, button up, pressed obscenely against pectorals

4.       Red Nuevo-Mexican button up, embroidered, tucked in, thin, horrible belt 

5.       Lime yellow button up with gray undershirt, coyly peeking out, Jerry Seinfeld-brand belted tight jeans, camel ball

6.       Tan fake vintage button up, choker circa Daytona Beach 1992

7.       Black t-shirt, electric blue silky return of the 80s button up, black jeans (camel ball), huge silver belt buckle 

8.       Orange super-fitted T-shirt, visible nipples 

9.       Return of the kimono, and finally,

10.     Shirtless, in a hammock

 

You have got some real huevos, amigo. 

 

Incidentally, thanks for bringing mongoloid your preteen daughter out to help you massage adobo into everything every time you get a chance, it's incestuously delicious and adds so much. And no one is buying that that hag making breakfast tortas in the background is your wife, so just give it up, you queen.

 

For the love of God, Rick Bayless, please say you did not just pull out a copy of Breakfast at Tiffany’s.  Yes, yes you did you pandering, fraudulent, shirtless, grande dickhole douchebag.  Please say you did not just gesture meaningfully to a copy of Breakfast at Tiffany’s from your hammock while offering me this sage advice to end your show:

 

“Life (head tilt, pause) is like……an…..all…..night…..diner (pause for thoughtful contemplation of own genius).  You just have (tilt head) to stay open  to it (clink mimosa glass)!” 

 
Get the hell out of town Rick Bayless, you dickless son of a bitch.