Tag Archives: food

Daily Discussion with BQB – Should Free Peanut Butter Cups Be Distributed to the Homeless?

PRO: They’d have something to eat.

CON: They might get fat.


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BQB and the Search for Culturally Appropriate Food – A Short Story of One Man’s Search for Elusive Woke-ness


Can’t prove you’re from the boot?  Don’t even think about it.

I was hungry tonight, 3.5 readers.  I should have skipped dinner because I’m fat but screw it.  My tummy wanted foody, yum yum.

I went to a strip mall, where there was a pizza joint and a Chinese restaurant.  Normally, I would enter one or the other place, order, stuff my face and leave fatter than ever and none the wiser that I had committed a hate crime that made me worse than Hitler, namely, that I ate food that did not hail from my culture.

You see, I’m not Chinese.  Of that, we can be certain.  And even though that nice Chinese couple who moved to town and spent their savings to open up a business in which they would utilize their skill in cooking and serving their native dishes to anyone willing to pay, I knew better than they did.

Up until yesterday, I didn’t know better.  I thought it was OK for me to stuff orange chicken and pork fried rice and beef teriyaki and won ton soup and crab rangoons and moo goo gai pan and chow mein into my pie hole with reckless abandon.

But then, yesterday, I read about that girl who wore a Chinese dress to her prom even though she was not Chinese and I realized that I was a monster for eating Chinese food all of this time without being Chinese.

So I stuck my head in the doorway (I didn’t think I deserved to even enter a restaurant that was decorated in a Chinese style because again, I’m not Chinese) and I told the nice couple that I would not be able to purchase their food again because I am not Chinese.  They looked at me and smiled and then when I tried to explain further, the wife grabbed a broom and whacked me in the ass and told me, “Get lost, hipster scum!”

Anyway, so the other place at the strip mall was a pizza joint.  I go there often.  They have good pizza.  However, it dawned on me that I am not Italian.

I thought about it for a moment.  Although I am not Italian, I am of English, Scandanavian and German ancestry.  As you might be aware (you probably aren’t because you attended public schools), there was a time when Europe was conquered by the Roman Empire.

So…I guess you could make the argument that I am the descendant of subjects who were under the rule of Ancient Italians.

But then I thought, “Well…I can’t really prove that.  Maybe my ancestors were aware they were subjects of Ancient Italians, or maybe they were tree people who just danced around in the forest and had no idea about what was going on.  Further, I can’t draw a map of what the Roman Empire looked at during any one point in time, let alone during various times as it lasted a long time, and don’t even get me started on the Holy Roman Empire…”

Oh well.  I decided not to chance.  I got in my car.  By the way, my car is American made, so I think I’m OK, but I’m going to put a call into the manufacturer tomorrow to ask if I share the same heritage as the people who assembled the car on the manufacturing line.  I mean, if the car was made by a man who isn’t English, Scandanavian, or German, then I’d be culturally appropriating this individual’s work and that would be wrong.

I drove for hours until I found a Norwegian Restaurant.  It was called “The Viking’s Helmet.”  Finally, I would be able to dine without it being a hate crime because, remember, I’m part-Scandanavian.

Once inside, I was greeted by a waiter dressed in full Viking battle regalia, horny helmet, battle axe, long beard and all.

“By Odin’s taint, I’m Uncle Sven and I’ll be your server,” said he.

“Glad to be here,” I said.  “I’m a descendant of the Ancient Viking peoples and I just learned it’s cultural appropriation to eat any food that my ancestors didn’t eat.”

Sven and I got to talking and found we were pissed off about the same offenses to our culture.  We were pissed that Marvel was making bank off of cartoonizing our deity, Thor, for he is the God of Thunder and to turn him into a superhero is apparently fine to everyone, yet everyone would shit solid gold bricks if Stan Lee were to churn out a series of comic books called, “The Stupendous Jesus!”  See Jesus cure the lepers in a single bound!

Further, we were pissed that there was an NFL team in the current year called the “Vikings” even though the Ancient Scandanavian heritage of any of the players had not been verified.  The Vikings were a proud lot of warriors who beat the shit out of their slaves to get them to row their long ships faster so they could get to foreign lands and steal their shit, pillage their villages, set their huts on fire, and abscond with their women so…unless you did all that and still looked good in a horny helmet, I’ll thank you to not refer to yourself as a “Viking.”

Soon enough, Thor brought me a steaming hot plate of salted codfish gonads, which surprised me because a) I didn’t know Vikings ate those and b) I didn’t know fish had gonads.  I mean, I guess I knew that but I didn’t know they were anything you could make a meal of, or that anyone would want to.

“Our ancient kinsman would spend many a night looking at their plundered booty and enjoying a plate of salted codfish gonads,” Uncle Sven said.

“Yeah,” I replied.  “It’s just that…well…up until now I was more of a pizza and/or beef teriyaki kind of guy.”

“That’s crazy talk, you un-woke, bigoted, unmitigated pile of whale shit!”  Uncle Sven said.  “You’re not Chinese OR Italian!!!”

“I know,” I replied.  “And had I know it was a hate crime to have eaten anything other than the salted codfish gonads that my Viking ancestors consumed while they burnt the villages of their enemies to the ground and defiled the women folk to prove their manliness, then I never would have developed a penchant for pepperoni and spare ribs.”

“Oh well,” Uncle Sven said.  “At least now you know you were a disgusting monster and now you can change.  What part of Scandanavia did your people hail from?”

“Beats me,” I said.

Uncle Sven gasped.  I explained that my family always told me we were part Scandanavian, but never specified which country.  Uncle Sven told me the specific country matters, for this was a Norwegian restaurant and Norwegians always cooked and salted their codfish gonads.  Meanwhile, the Swedes prefered unsalted codfish gonads and the Finns liked to mix their codfish gonads with a jelly-like substance made out of crushed radishes and the excised tumors of pickled herrings.

Thus, since I couldn’t prove I was a bonafide Norwegian, Uncle Sven could not risk taking part in cultural appropriation, because for all he knew, I could have been the descendant of Finns and he was fresh out of cancer laden pickled herrings.

I told Uncle Sven there were no hard feelings and set off for a German restaurant.  I am, part German, after all.  I found a restaurant called “Haus of Der Wunder Schnitzel.”

There I met a waiter in leiderhosen named Herr Gunter, who told me he would happy to serve me a delicious, hot pretzel, a frothy stein of German beer, bratwurst, as many weiner schnitzels I could eat, all doused with a heaping helping of sauerkraut.

I told Herr Gunter that all sounded delicious and I could eat all of this guilt free because I’m part German.  Alas, Herr Gunter gasped and cried, “Only part?!”

Yes.  I asked if “only part German” was good enough and said it wasn’t.  You see, at this time, there doesn’t exist a process that would allow a doctor to determine which percentage of my stomach was German so there was no way to know how much food my stomach would be able to carry until it filled up the German part and overflowed into the English and Scandanavian parts.  The idea of German food mixing around in a stomach that shared ancestry with non-Germans was morally abhorrent and a definite act of cultural appropriation.

I thanked Herr Gunter for his time and left.  I had a similar exchange at Sir Nigel’s Kidney Pie Factory.  Sir Nigel was willing to sell me a kidney pie until I explained that I could not explain which part of my stomach was English, and then he told me I was banned from eating pies made out of the organs that eliminate toxins from the bodies of farm animals because, hey, that’s better than pizza I guess.

I asked Sir Nigel if he knew what a man of mixed heritage like me could do, because I was hungry and hadn’t eaten all day.  The kind man handed me a box of crackers, which he explained, had been invented by the Brits, for like the British, they are dry, tasteless, and have a history of invading your mouth and leaving crumbs in areas where they didn’t belong.  Hence, why my people would always be known as “Crackers.”

The catch was that I had to promise to eat only one cracker every four hours.  Thus, I’d be able to ensure the cracker would only stay in the English part of my stomach and not mix with the German and Scandanavian parts.

I agreed.  Sir Nigel also gave me a jug of water.  It was ok for me to drink water, the Brit noted, because all cultures have enjoyed water since the dawn of time.

I returned home, where I sat on the front steps to my house.  I ate a cracker, then checked my watch.  I took a sip of water.

A few minutes later, an angry, blue haired feminist wearing a Che Guevara t-shirt slapped the cracker box out of my hand, then seized the water bottle from my other hand and dumped it all over the sidewalk.

“Hey!”  I cried.

“Cultural appropriating scum!”  the angry feminist said.

“I’m not!”  I said.  “I researched this thoroughly!  I can eat crackers because I am a British cracker and also I have agreed to only eat one cracker every four hours so as to not allow the cracker to inter mingle with the non-British parts of my stomach.”

With a triumphant grin, the SJW pointed my direction to the bottom of the cracker box, which was prominently stamped, “Made in Taiwan.”

I looked to the heavens and, much as Capt. Kirk screamed the name of his nemesis, Khan, so too did I cry, “Damn you, Pacific Trade Partnership!!!”

I composed myself.  “But why did you dump out my water?  All cultures enjoy water.”

“Yeah,” the SJW said.  “But uh…hello?  Most anthropologists are in agreement that the first humans were born in Africa and so they were the first people to discover water so unless you’ve got a Ugandan passport on you…”

I sighed.  I told her I didn’t have such a passport and laid down on the stoop.  As the SJW walked away, I lost all hope.  The hours passed, the night went by, and in the morning, my throat was so dry.

As the time rolled on, various helpful social justice warriors stopped by to inform me that my hat, belt, shirt, pants, shoes, socks, and underwear had all been manufactured in other countries, none of which I could claim kinship with.  They were nice enough to take all of my clothing, throw them into a dumpster, pour gas on them and set my duds ablaze.

I returned to my front steps, where I laid their naked…until one of the women who complained about the origin of my clothing accused me of exercising male privilege and/or engaging in Harvey Weinstein-esque activity and so, she called the police.

Not wanting to go to jail, I found a sharp object and was about to stab myself to death when another SJW pointed out that if I were to do so, I would be committing a form of the ancient art of hare kare, i.e. the Ancient Japanese tradition of killing yourself in order to preserve your honor when you have engaged in an epic fail.

So, I wrapped myself in a burlap sack.  I felt bad because I could not figure out which country had invented burlap, but it was my only option.  I headed South, all the way to Antarctica, where I found peace…

…until the world’s only talking penguin accused me of appropriating penguin culture by trying to catch a fish with my mouth.

The End.



Hey 3.5 readers.

BQB here.



Here’s two things I wish had remained:















What say you, 3.5 readers?

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Daily Discussion with BQB – Lady Doritos

Hey 3.5 readers.

I love Doritos.  In fact, if it were possible to determine where all the fat on my body came from, Doritos would have a significant amount of responsibility.

I think the idea of a chip that isn’t as crunchy or messy is a good idea, provided that it tastes as good.  I assume it doesn’t.  Chips always have different versions, the fat free version, the this version, the that version, none of it is as tasty as the regular.  They might be more healthy, but not as tasty.

But I mean, if it were possible to make a less crunchy, less messy chip, that sounds like a good idea.  A chip you could bring to a quiet place and eat and not bother anyone.  A chip that you could eat and it wouldn’t make your hands all messy with cheese and then your fingers are all orange for the rest of the day and you inevitably leave cheesy fingerprints all over everything around you.

I don’t think society is necessarily clamoring for that type of chip, but you know, if a chip scientist came up with this, that would be the way to market it.  Cue commercial of an annoying coworker eating his loud, messy chips, driving everyone nuts.  Maybe the boss picks up an important document with cheese dust all over it, then that’s the last straw, he smacks the chips out of the worker’s hand and gives the worker a bag of office friendly Doritos.

Hell, that’s what you could call them. “Office friendly Doritos.” Put them in all workplace vending machines.

Soooo…instead, Doritos calls these, “Lady Doritos.”  Women, y’all are too messy and gross and loud and if you want a man you’re going to have to get Lady Doritos.

COMMERCIAL:  Man sees a woman.  He is in love.  She eats a load chip.  Man says, “Ugh!” and runs away.  Announcer says, “Coulda been married by now if you’d had Lady Doritos.”

Folks, you know me.  I’m very un-PC.  I believe it’s generally good to be nice and thoughtful of feelings but we can’t just walk around on eggshells, scared the littlest thing might offend so we just say nothing.

But even an un-woke person like me, who laughs at people who require safe spaces, trigger warnings and therapy coloring books and puppies has to admit, Lady Doritos was a bad idea.

First, it wasn’t like there was a groundswell of people who were pissed at loud and/or messy chips.  Yeah, there might be some situations where they’re annoying but it’s not like the crunch is akin to a deafening fog horn and the cheese residue is nothing that a trip to a sink can’t cure.

Even so, the idea is interesting and worth a go.  I just don’t understand how the marketing people flubbed this.

Had they called this, “The Clean, Crunchless Chip” people would probably give it a try.  People who bring their lunch to work might be inclined to buy that variety of Doritos over a rival brand of chip.

But they called it “Lady Doritos.”  Holy shit.  I’m very un-woke but had I been in that marketing meeting I’d of been like, “Dudes!  Y’all are going to be crucified on Twitter.”

“The Crunchless Chip” inventor would get a Nobel Prize and there’d be science journal articles about his invention and shit.

But they screwed it up.  “Lady Doritos.”  Shit.  What a bunch of dummies.

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Daily Discussion with BQB – California to Fine and/or Jail Waiters Who Give Out Straws Without Being Asked

Hey 3.5 readers.

Your old pal BQB here.

California, that dopey state full of dopey people (unless you read this blog then I love you and you’re not included) has passed a law, the basic summary of which is if you’re a waiter and you hand out a straw without being asked for one, you could get a fine up to $1000 or 6 months in jail.

Let’s unpack this.  I assume the concern is a) all other problems in California have been solved and the legislature can now put all of its focus into the great straw catastrophe and b) straws are not really a necessity (at least for most people) and therefore if they are passed out only when asked for, there might be a reduction in straw plastic being thrown away.

First, I mean, holy shit, a fine or jail?  Look people.  Jail sucks.  The government shouldn’t be creating new ways to throw people into jail over piddily shit.  Can you imagine the conversation on the cell block?

PRISONER A: Whaddya in for?

PRISONER B: I was the chainsaw maniac serial killer on the news.  I chainsawed 50 people to death.  How about you?

PRISONER A:  I was a mob hitman.  I whacked over a thousand people.  Hey you, what are you in for?

FORMER WAITER TURNED PRISONER C:  I gave a straw to a customer even though he didn’t ask me for one.


PRISONER B:  You make me sick!

At any rate, prison time should really be reserved for major crimes so I mean, you know locking people up or fining them or putting anything on their criminal record over a straw is crazy.

You might think this won’t be rabidly enforced but I mean, all it takes is for one uppity person to run to the cops and be all like, “He gave me a straw without asking!”  And then what’s that trial going to be like?  Five days of lawyers and witnesses and a judge re-enacting an alleged straw handoff?

Second, paper straws do exist.  I’ve used them and they aren’t that bad.  If plastic straws are that concerning, they could tell restaurants they have to use paper straws.

Third, there has to be a reason why restaurant drinks always come with straws in the first place.  It’s got to be a sanitation thing.  If you have customers just putting their mouth germs on the straw and then the straw is easily flicked into the trash, maybe that lessens the spread of bacteria for say, a dishwasher who would otherwise be handling hundreds of glasses that were drunk directly from all day.

Plus, you’ve got these cups being drank from by tons of people everyday…and they’re being handled by waiters all day…I’m sure the dishwasher probably kills most germs but the straw just adds an extra little layer.  I mean, if there’s serious germs in that cup, will the straw stop it?  Probably not but still.

In theory, I do wonder about all the excess waste that restaurants and especially fast food joints produce.  Every drink you get a plastic cup, a bag or a box your food goes in, you eat for a few minutes then that all goes in the trash but unfortunately I just don’t see another way.

I just think that jail time for a straw infraction is a bit much.  The threat of jail should be used sparingly.  I have a feeling in the next year there are going to be a lot of waiters and waitresses whose disgruntled exes are going to be shouting, “He/she gave me a straw!  An unasked for straw!”

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Top Ten Ways to Murder Lobsters to Death in the Wake of Switzerland’s Lobster Boiling Ban


Hey 3.5 readers.

Your old pal BQB here.

Apparently, every problem in Switzerland has been solved because lawmakers there have banned the practice of boiling lobsters while they are still alive.  I have no idea why this was a big concern.

I can only assume some Swiss scientist somewhere was really concerned that the lobsters go through a very traumatic experience while they are being boiled.  Their whole entire little lobster lives flash before their beady little eyes – their lobster childhoods spent playing stickball, their first date to the lobster prom, their lobster marriages, the birth of their lobster children, even their lobster divorces.

Some say if you listen closely, you can even hear them shout out all of their regrets.  Why, I once boiled a lobster and he was such a big guy that he was left with an entire hour to regale me with a story about “the one who got away.”  He was a foreign lobster exchange student.  She was a French lobster coquette.  Their lobster parents despised one another and oh, how he wished he’d stood up to his domineering lobster father just once and embraced his one and only chance at true love.

Poor guy.  He was so bitter I had to dip him in extra butter.  :::rimshot:::

Anyway, long story short, if you are Swiss (and my condolences if you are) you now must murder your lobster before you boil it, so without further ado, from BQB HQ in Fabulous East Randomtown, here are the Top Ten Ways to Murder A Lobster to Death in the Wake of Switzerland’s Ban on Boiling Lobsters.

#10 – Firing Squad

Blindfold the lobster, line him up against the wall, pop a cigarette in his mouth and hand out rifles to all kitchen staff.  Only one rifle has a live round so staff can comfort themselves with the possibility that they did not fire the lethal shot.

#9 – Hanging

Construct a tiny gallows on every table in every seafood restaurant.  What a fun family activity this will be.  Mom can tie a little noose around the little guy’s neck.  Dad can read the lobster his last rites.  Junior can pull the lever and the entire family can watch as the little crustacean twists and wiggles and sputters until his last breath.

I’m sure there’s room for scientific debate here.  Is it possible to even hang a lobster with all that armor?

#8 – Lobster War

Bribe greedy politicians to declare war on the lobster population of a foreign country.  Draft domestic lobsters to go overseas to fight and die in a pointless, unpopular war.  Enjoy the tasty lobster flesh as the lobster military industrial complex is promulgated into perpetuity.

#7 – Lobster Drive-By

Find some aspiring, up and coming street gangsters who want to increase their street cred.  Put the lobster tank in the window and when you hear the words, “Break yo-self, lobster!” it’s time to eat.

#6 – Lobster Electric Chair

I feel like that’s just as problematic as boiling the lobsters.  Either way, they’re being cooked alive.

#5 – Lobster Guillotine 

Dress the lobsters up as 19th Century French royalty.  Give them powdered wigs and crowns, paint their faces white and give them elaborate, frilly clothing.  Place their heads on the chopping block and voila!  Viva la revolucion!

Will this work if the lobsters aren’t dressed as French royalty?  Yes.  Will it be as fun?  I mean, if you were having fun doing this anyway, you were a sick person to begin with.  Seriously, shame on you for even reading this far.

#4 – Lobster Hitmen

Hire two highly trained assassins to whack the lobsters when they least suspect it.  These can be human or lobster assassins.  Bonus points if you hire lobsters to hit the other lobsters and dress the hit lobsters as Vincent and Jules from “Pulp Fiction.”

Double bonus points if you train one of the lobsters to give the “Path of the Righteous Lobster” speech.

Ahem.  The path of the righteous lobster is beset on all sides by the inequities of the selfish and the tyrannies of evil lobsters…

#3 – Lobster Lethal Injection

You could poison the lobster but then, who would want to eat a poisoned lobster?   I mean, then again, people who eat lobsters are willingly licking their lips at a plate containing the dead carcass of what appears to be a giant mutant space cockroach so, those people will probably eat anything.

At any rate, my lawyer tells me this is a bad idea so no one should do it.  Actually, no one should do or read anything on this blog ever at any time ever at all.

#2 – Lobster Explosion

Give the lobster an explosive device with twenty seconds on the counter and a pair of wire cutters.  Red?  Green?  Will the lobster pick the right one?  And why give him wire cutters when he has pinchers?  Heck, if the lobster saves the day, give him a reprieve.

#1 – Lobster Suicide

Ridicule the lobster.  Get him fired from his lobster job.  Show him pictures of his lobster wife having hot, steamy lobster sex with his lobster best friend.  Tell him his lobster kids are calling his lobster friend daddy now.

Ruin his lobster finances.  Drive him into lobster bankruptcy.  Leave him with no hope and then leave him on the edge of the counter.  Walk away and I mean…if the little guy leaps to his doom, well, that’s a tragedy but is it made any better by letting all that delicious lobster meat go to waste?

Then again, you’d be eating something that fell on the floor, so, eww…




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Daily Discussion with BQB – What is Your Favorite Thanksgiving Food?

Stuffing for me.

I know how that sounds.  “Phrasing,” as Archer would say.

Oh well.  I love to stuff myself with stuffing.  Put all the stuffing into my belly.

What is your favorite Thanksgiving food, 3.5 readers?

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Hodor’s KFC Commercial – Chicken with Rice

Hey 3.5 readers.

Hodor was in a KFC commercial.  Just as “hold the door” became “Hodor,” so too does “chicken with fries” become “chicken with rice.”

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Daily Discussion with BQB – Amazon Buys Whole Foods

Happy Saturday, 3.5 readers.

Have you heard the news?  Amazon has just bought Whole Foods for $13.4 billion dollars.

My first reaction?  If Bezos has that kind of loot at his disposal, why the hell did he need to take 64 cents out of my 99 cent sale, literally the one and only copy I’ve sold of my book in over a week of it being online?

(Just kidding.  This dog doesn’t bite the hand that feeds him, even if it is a tiny piece of kibble at this point.  I wuv you Jeffykins!)

Did I mention you could be the second person to buy my book?

You might think this is just an interesting business deal but it’s much more.

Amazon didn’t just buy a chain of food stores.  They, in essence, bought a whole shit ton of buildings that will serve as good regional distribution centers which means, yup…you’re sitting on your computer late at night, you think a nice lobster and a gallon of milk would be delicious right about now.

Just click on that button and wham-o…some dude will show up at your doorstep with a lobster and milk, both delivered in time to avoid spoilage.

I mean, the Jeffmeister doesn’t clue me in on what he’s up to but I assume that’s where this deal is headed.

Many food store chain stocks took a dive because of this news.

Do you think this is good or bad, 3.5 readers?

On one hand, I’d hate to see brick and mortar grocery stores go out of business.  Perhaps they will always be around because a lot of people will still want to squeeze that melon to see if it’s ripe before they buy it.

I mean, really, who doesn’t like to squeeze a ripe melon?  Am I right?  Huh?  :::rimshot:::

On the other hand, sometimes I waste so much time in grocery stores.  You have to fight for parking.  You have to find a cart.  You have to roam around the aisles until you find what you want.  Usually there’s some blue haired old broad standing right in the spot I need to be and I’ll have to wait an hour before she moves just so I can get my hands on my hemorrhoid cream.  Extra-strength for extra itchiness!

Then you’ve got to wait in line.  You’ve got to check out.  Something will inevitably not have a price on it so some kid will have to go roam the whole store until he finds the price and everyone grumbles at you because you’re holding up the line.

Then you get home.  You have to haul all the bags into your house.  You’ll do that thing where you come super close to breaking all the bones in your hands just so you can carry extra bags to avoid making additional trips between your kitchen and your car.

Meanwhile, all the d-bags in your house will see you struggling with the groceries and they won’t lift a finger to help.  You’ll resent them because they’ll still eat the food you brought home even though they didn’t help you bring it in.  God, your family is a bunch of butt monkeys but you still love them.

So…yeah…I gotta be honest.  The idea of being able to sit at my computer, click off all the food I want on a website, and then some dude brings it to my house for me sounds pretty sweet.

I don’t know if they’ll completely tank grocery stores altogether in the near future.  Some may remain.  Some may modernize and start their own online delivery services.  But, yeah, in the near future, Amazon is going to take a big chunk out of the grocery biz.

Will that mean anything for us aspiring writers?  Maybe we can forego monetary profit and just ask readers to send us a jar of pickles from Amazon in exchange for all the books they download from us on…Amazon.

Of course, Amazon will take 64 percent of the pickles (or 30 if you ask for 2.99 worth of pickles, but not more than 9.99 worth of pickles).

FYI I hate pickles.  It’s like a witch doctor took a cucumber and did a spell on it to make it shrink.

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Daily Discussion with BQB – Is Avocado Toast Keeping Millenials from Becoming Homeowners?


Hey 3.5 readers.

Your old pal BQB here.

Australian millionaire Tim Gurner, himself a millennial, has been quoted in the media (this Time Magazine article, for example) as, and I’m paraphrasing here, that millennials aren’t becoming homeowners to the extend that previous generations did because they essentially spend their money on crap.  They go out to eat too much, they take too many expensive vacations to Europe, they buy too many lattes and too many pieces of avocado toast.

Personally, I’m aghast that I’m behind the times because I never knew that avocado toast was even a thing.

Regardless, those wacky millennials took to the Twittosphere (where, shameless plug, you can follow me @bookshelfbattle) to mock Gurner, cracking jokes along the lines of who knew that all their problems could be solved by cutting back on avocado toast.

Typical snarky millenials.  Argh, I just want to channel Uncle Hardass and shake my fist at them in an impotent manner while shouting, “Get off my lawn, hippies!”

Or, hipsters, as is the modern parlance.

I do understand the point millennials are making.  The economy took a big hit in 2008 but honestly, it’s been pretty stagnant since 2000.

Meanwhile, a college education has never been more expensive, yet a college degree has never been less relevant as more and more people have degrees and yet they are pitting themselves against each other for fewer and fewer jobs.

So yeah.  Add to that mix the fact that property values are high and yup…you can’t really blame people who are pissed that they’re living in Mom and Dad’s house well into adulthood for being told all their problems result from that piece of avocado toast…or a latte…or insert your favorite comforting thing you buy that you know you spend too much money on here.

On the other hand, I’m going to side with Gurner.  Life sucks.  You’ve got to make choices.  Save your money.  I’ve always advocated for saving money on this fine blog.  I know it’s hard.  I know times are tough.  I know there will be times like it seems impossible but if you can even save just one dollar out of every paycheck, it’ll grow in time.

OK, you probably have to save more than one dollar.  Save a lot of dollars when you can and save just one when you can’t.

Ultimately, if you’re taking multiple vacations to Europe and throwing your money away on useless gadgets and stuff, then you’re choosing a certain lifestyle.  You have decided to live in the now, the present, to enjoy today.

You have decided to live while the living is good and see the world and do and see and experience awesome things when you are young.

You’re also selling your future old self out because your old self may not have a house to live in when you’re older but you know, your old self will also have nice memories of a fun youth so…it’s up to you.

I can’t really knock anyone for picking that lifestyle.  I’ve had old relatives who worked their entire lives and never went anywhere or did anything and never treated themselves to something extravagant.  They planned to do it in retirement then croaked before retirement came.

So there’s definitely an argument for living in the now and spending it all in the now.

But there’s also an argument for saving that moolah so you can own your own piece of land, a piece of property where you can hang your hat and not get nagged by Mom and Dad about what you’re doing well into adulthood.  And honestly, that’s good for the soul too.

I do agree that in many ways, our political and economic leaders have screwed the big time pooch for awhile now.  The “pay big money for college and college will get you a job that pays big money to you” pyramid scheme is bust.  Less jobs.  Less opportunity.  Less money.  People are less happy.

So it’s up to you what to do with your pennies.  Spend them now and enjoy it now.  Save them now and that will lead to something good later.

What say you, 3.5 readers?

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