My Chinese-addicted brother

Hello everyone who is lesser than me (this means you Jesus).

You'd hate to know what else he does with those holes.

I come to you today to fill your lives with the glory...the glory that is my older brother, Michael. And by glory I mean Anal-Pagan.

What is an Anal-Pagan you ask?

Anal-Pagan

Michael.

Do you see that Anal-Pagan over there?

Holy fuck, it is Michael.

Fucking Anal-Pagan.

by Not an Anal-Pagan on May 15, 2012

tags: michael, anal, pagan, anal-pagan, germs

So yes, Michael is the topic. Let me tell you a little about him:

*He is two years older than me.

*He is a poker dealer.

*He drives a Subaru Forester

 This is the car of serial-killers.

*He is a serial-killer. Okay, not really, just borderline or something.

*He threw me down a flight of stairs when I was like 12.

Stairs caused my permanently bruised coccyx. Fucking whores.

*He exclusively hangs around with Chinese people. I'm not joking.

*He is Satan.

Like this, only with more smiling people and shotguns.

Do you all understand? Do you? I had to grow up with this person. Me, a girl, alone with Michael and his murderous tendencies.

Of course he is moved out by now so I don't have to worry about locking my door at night...

Just kidding, I totally still lock my door.

Anyway, you must be asking yourselves why I am not filling your ears with facts about me. You are probably bemoaning the loss and are at this very moment eating 5 pints of Ben & Jerry's. 

I loved you Rachel. Don't you see? We are meant to be together. No, that dead child was a present. A PRESENT!

Here is why Michael is the topic of today:

I was upstairs last night, playing Infamous 2 on evil, as I was waiting for Tyler to get home from work.

This game wins at life. 

I was totally engrossed in an epic battle with Bertrand (monster-form) when I was called downstairs to try something my brother had brought over with him.

I'd hit the shit out of that. Umpf!

Have you all ever heard of Peedan/Pidan (preserved eggs)?

Duck eggs at their most vacuum-sealed.

A Peedan/Pidan egg is a duck egg that has been caked in mud and buried for a couple weeks (according to my brother who could very well be wrong).

They look like this once peeled:

Yummy, yummy, yummy I got love in my tummy...or was that Salmonella?

Then the real horror starts when you slice them open.

Kind of like 40 year old condoms in a red casing.

Michael regularly eats these. He really isn't helping his case against him being a serial-killer.

Now, my brother and I constantly fight and berate each other (siblings at their best!). Unfortunately, this means I have to always prove him wrong. Thus comes the part where I die inside. He called me a pussy, saying I would not ever eat the egg.

I proved him wrong.

Peedan/Pidan does smell and taste like egg. You can imagine my surprise at this fact. However, the taste does not make up for the consistency. The red part has the consistency of jello and looks like blood-snot. The grey-yellow yolk is extra creamy and sticks to your throat like Superglue. This is not a winning combination.

If you cannot tell already, I hated eating this egg.

No matter, Michael had more crazy up his sleeve.

Welcome, Lychee Coconut Jam. 

15 servings per container, 30 calories per serving! What a deal!

These little 'desserts' come in tiny little cubes (all packed and ready to kill you). 

The jelly/jam is opaque (bordering on white), yet still clear and filled with tiny chunks of coconut jelly.

This sperm-looking stuff, only much smaller and cuboid.

The smell is a mix of Elmer's Glue and faint sweetness. The taste is vaguely sweet and mostly gelatinous. It was overall not too bad, that is until the aftertaste chimed in. My mouth was reminiscent of Elmer's Glue for the rest of the night.  

And my brother had a cure for that:

Taiwanese Plum Juice. No way that can be bad!

Bitch on the drink wouldn't be so happy if she actually took a drink.

This plum juice should have been the savior of the day, sweet and delectable. I eagerly poured myself a glass and took a big whiff of the sweet succulent plum fragrance...and by that, I mean barbecue sauce.

I am not joking you. This drink smelled like barbecue sauce, like I was about to chug some nice old-fashioned BBQ ribs.

You can understand my reluctance to imbibe this after the smell. However, I did.

Was it sweet? No. Plum-like? No. Enjoyable? No.

It was coincidentally the complete opposite: bitter, not plum-like, and not enjoyable.

In fact, taking a swig was like drinking smoke from a fire. I believe this is the only drink in existence that was made so people could experience the taste of burning alive.

LOL! I taste me ya'll! (Self-Immolation Inhalation, ha!)

See why this post was about my brother? Do you comprehend the horror that is Michael. He baited me to rise to his challenge. I accepted and I will never be the same.

And now the food rests in my fridge, mocking me with it's cruel smile and taste-bud destroying habits.

Any takers?

Deuces.