When I think of food, I don't think of a rectangular chunk that looks like a gargoyle with a square asshole shit it out. Or a meal that looks like a bunch of scabs swimming in a puddle of whale semen. What foods look that disgusting you ask? Well, here are a few kinds of fecal matter that are 100% guilty of impersonating food.


I'm sorry, but I absolutely do not trust food that has the word “crap” right in the middle of it. That would be like trusting a girlfriend with the last name “Hooker,” and expecting her not to gobble every man's goo she comes across. Scrapple looks like a rectangular chunk that a gray gargoyle with a square asshole shat out.

Habbersett scrapple brand pork product

What are the ingredients of this unholy abomination, you ask? Here goes:

If I was God himself, and it was time for Judgment Day, those who love scrapple would have to beg me not to command the Angels of Death to pull out their fiery swords. The feature attraction is the head. Remove the eyeballs (the brains were removed on the killing day and scrambled with eggs the next morning), break the head into manageable pieces with a cleaver, and cook them in a kettle of boiling water until the meat is easily pulled. Chop up the meat from the head and cook with the liver and heart and whatever else wasn't used in other delicacies and grind them up. The head, heart, liver and skin are all key components in scrapple. In Europe, the blood was a big part of the “liver pudding” or “panhas.” In America, the blood is not used. After the meat is cooked, it is removed and replaced with cornmeal. The cornmeal is boiled with the broth until it makes a thick mush. The meat is minced and added back into the mush. Then sage, salt, thyme, savory, nutmeg, allspice, cloves and other seasonings are added in various combinations. The meat cuts, proportions and seasonings vary to the tastes of a region or an individual. The mush is then put in a pan and cooled until it gels and forms a speckled, gray loaf.

That's right, the contents of scrapple are nothing more than the leftover crap from a slaughtered pig. That description of the contents of scrapple alone would make the fattest of fucks become the strictest of vegetarians. If I had a year supply worth of scrapple on a deserted island, I wouldn't even want that mimicry of a food within 500 feet of me. I would rather my body digest its own muscles and organs then eat CRAPPLE.

What I find extremely bizarre about this “food” (a term, I use more loosely then Heidi Fleiss's vagina after being fucked by a jack hammer) is that it has a cult-like following more queer than seven homosexual midgets. Here is an example from a rabid fan on a food forum:

Rapa scrapple - porkBoy this is seriously funny!!! I am in Georgia, where there is no scrapple to be found. I have not found a local butcher here or anyone that has even heard of scrapple none the less tasted it. I read all of the comments and I know that you are located in PA, but I grew up in Delaware and we always ate Kirby Holloway and Rapa Scrapple my whole life. The Rapa is my favorite and they have a mail order program even that you are able to order 12 packages in the mail. I am not sure what it is made of, but I at least wanted to throw the name out. We have an Apple-Scrapple festival there and Rapa is the hit. We generally eat the scrapple fried, as a breakfast meat. I eat mine plain on two slices of untoasted white bread and my mom likes ketchup and mustard.

Really guys, a mail order program for scrapple? If I was a mafia hijacker, I'd hold up the scrapple delivery truck, and inject every piece of scrapple with a syringe full of magnesium citrate. I would sell every piece of tainted scrapple for $1.50 a chunk. An hour later, all those admitted into the scrapple festival will be having their pants introduced to a gray chunky ass splatter. This will teach these fuck stains a lesson about having the wrong set of taste buds.

If I was God himself, and it was time for Judgment Day, those who love scrapple would have to beg me not to command the Angels of Death to pull out their fiery swords, and have an all-out rectal collision with their anuses. The female scrapple lovers during Judgment Day would have to give my knob some polishing. They would do it to, because any female who puts a bad tasting piece of scrapple in their mouth is probably more than willing to put a bad tasting penis in their mouth.

Oh, and any crack dealer reading this, here is an idea if you're trying to get out of the crack game and looking for an easy, new, and innovative hustle. There are people addicted to scrapple! Here is a fuck stain on Amazon.com complaining about the price of a 3-pound package of scrapple for sale, and admitting his addiction to the food (by the way, anyone browsing through Amazon for Scrapple should take five shots of AIDS blood, and sniff a line of powdered boric acid):

I definitely agree with the first reviewer's amazement at the outrageous price for this scrapple. I am somewhat of a scrapple addict, so when Amazon touted their new consolidated gourmet food and grocery store, I immediately searched for scrapple. When the search returned Habbersette Scrapple, I thought the price (over $20/lb) must be a typo. It's unfortunately not a typo, and definitely not typical of Amazon's usually excellent value. I recommend fellow scrapple addicts consider buying Jones scrapple, available in many supermarkets across the US, or if you prefer the canned variety, it's available from the Vermont Country Store, online. Both versions are priced at well below half of what Habbersette charges.

Did he say “scrapple addict”? Fuck, I rather it be known as a computer cleaning duster addict than a scrapple addict. Doesn't the future for the former sound more promising?

Cream chipped beef looks like the 8-foot penis of a blue whale discharged a 10-pound load on a piece of toast. Anyway, back to what I was saying to the crack dealers. Stop peddling rocks, because there's a profitable uncontrolled dangerous substance in town (as opposed to controlled dangerous substance), and its name is scrapple. It's legal; all you have to do is break into a few farms, burglarize the pig scraps, and manufacture your own scrapple. Fuck, instead of owning a meth lab, and risk being knarked out by one of your idiotic methhead customers who jay walked with a bag of meth, invest in a scrapple lab. No way the police will raid a scrapple lab, ‘cause it's shitty tasting food you're manufacturing, not crank!

If you're too lazy to operate a meth lab (which most drug dealers probably are), go into any supermarket, fill up a shopping cart of scrapple and waltz out. Sell it to every hick neighborhood in the Philadelphia and Delaware area. People are so schizo over scrapple, I wouldn't be surprised if scrapple junkies began melting it down and shooting it up via syringe. Ah fuck that idea, we don't need anyone making a living dealing nauseating food. Drug dealers, just continue to ruin people's lives with crack and heroin.

Finishing off about this gruesome gob of grunge, I hate scrapple so much that I am going to my town's court room to file a restraining order against it. Meaning, if scrapple comes within 500 feet of me, it will be placed under arrested, tried, and convicted, never again to make a mockery of my supermarket shelves.

Creamed Chipped Beef

Cream chipped beef on toast
It ain't all gravy, folks.
Ugh…look at this decomposed sorry excuse for a delicacy. A starving pit bull with no taste buds wouldn't eat this sinister slop. Creamed chipped beef is so disgusting it could make a corpse reanimate itself just to throw up. Cream chipped beef looks like the 8-foot penis of a blue whale discharged a 10-pound load on a piece of toast. On top of that, an 80-year-old man peeled giant scabs and sprinkled them on top of the whale load toast to concoct the corrupted cuisine nefariously known as creamed chipped beef.

Even its nickname is “shit on a shingle,” which I find appropriate, because in the supermarket I used to work in, the dried chipped beef was above the scrapple on the shelves. Shit on top of crap. You see, even the supermarkets are subliminally sending you messages that scrapple and creamed chipped beef are toxic to the tongue, yet both foods are still purchased because people love malicious meals for some reason.

Shit on a shingle is also a popular dish in our prisons. So why don't all you fuck stains that indulge on whale semen and scab toast commit armed robbery and serve a 10-year bid in prison so you can deep throat all the shit on a shingle you want. This will spare my panic attacks, which are induced by the fact that there are living, breathing cock nuggets in normal society who actually call themselves creamed chipped beef lovers. Believe it or not, there's even a group of these morons on Facebook that created a page called creamed chipped beef lovers. I would actually take the time to learn computer hacking just to delete that page and turn it into a page dedicated to a food that deserves recognition, like DiGiorno pizza.

By the way, anyone who has a refrigerator with both DiGiorno pizza and scrapple or creamed chipped beef in it should remove the shitty substance immediately to decrease Acute Refrigerator Depression Syndrome. Acute Refrigerator Depression Syndrome is a form of depression in fridges caused by storing an overabundance of shitty foods over fantastic foods. This causes Sudden Refrigerator Suicide Syndrome, in which the refrigerator gets depressed from Acute Refrigerator Depression Syndrome and shuts itself down because it believes it is not good enough to store awesome foods. So remember, you can prevent the self-shutdown of a refrigerator if you pack it with non-shitty food items such as DiGiorno pizzas, turkey, provolone cheese, and T-bone steaks. I would give your scrapple and creamed shit beef and give it to the homeless, but that would be like feeding a dog a bowl of Kibbles & Bits sprinkled with maggots—just cruel and unusual.


I will personally speak to mayonnaise on this part, because it has physically abused some good sandwiches I have ordered in the past.

“We're coming to destroy your heart AND your soul.”
Dear Mayonnaise,

Oh scandalous sandwich sabotager, you have appeared out of nowhere on many of my sandwiches in stores and restaurants. I know your “accidental” appearance on the “turkey and cheese sub without mayo” I told the clerk to make was intentional. You are like the ex-girlfriend who lurks in the shadows and finds another chance to suck on your soul slowly with a broken straw. Mayonnaise, I try to avoid you at all times like the psychotic ex, but I must always do double-takes on my sandwiches, because you resurface without invitation. Like, how the ex-girlfriend can ruin your existence and pull your soul into the depths of Hell itself, you, mayonnaise, can take a perfectly good turkey and cheese sub and plunge it straight to the magma pits of delicatessen Hell, leaving the sub an unrecognizable mess. In Sandwich Hell, on the throne, sits a giant jar of Hellman's Mayonnaise. The mayonnaise continues to exist and prosper, making billions and annihilating taste buds and sandwiches in its quest for insatiable profit. Fuck you, mayonnaise, you are the HIV of sandwiches. Your real name is Sandwich Immunodeficiency Virus. Mayonnaise is just a fucking alias.



Quarters in a bowl as cereal
To make cereal, just liquidate your remaining assets.
Ever know anyone who's opened up a cereal box and poured its contents into a bowl, only for quarters to spill out? You may think that your friend is trolling you, because no mentally sound person would call $8 in quarters a healthy breakfast. He removes the carton of orange juice from the refrigerator, and you are expecting actual fucking orange juice to pour into the cup. Instead, out comes pennies, and he's drinking a cup full of Abraham Lincoln to wash down that healthy bowl of George Washington.

YOU: What the fuck is wrong with you, why are you having money for breakfast? Did someone slip you some bad acid last night?

HOWARD Q. FUCKSTAIN: What's so bizarre about having quarters and pennies for breakfast?

YOU: Most people have cereal, waffles, bacon, or even pancakes for breakfast, and a glass of orange juice.

HOWARD Q. FUCKSTAIN: Pancakes and waffles??? Who the hell would eat that for breakfast, you're supposed to pay your bills with pancakes and waffles! You need to see a psychiatrist, my friend!

Congratulations, you have a friend with pica. What's pica you ask?

Pica is a medical disorder characterized by an appetite for substances largely non-nutritive (e.g. metal, coins, clay, coal, soil, feces, chalk, paper, soap, mucus, ash, gum, etc.) or an abnormal appetite for some things that may be considered foods, such as food ingredients (e.g. flour, raw potato, raw rice, starch, ice cubes, salt).

If scrapple, creamed chipped beef, and mayonnaise were the last three foods on Earth, I think I would throw a few silver dollars on a waffle iron like Howard Q. Fuckstain.