SIZE MATTERS: A Review of Big Wangs

I can officially say that I love Big Wangs. Of course the restaurant you dirty bird! I'd heard much about it, passed it on many occasions and now I can say I've had the Big Wangs experience.

After a night of debauchery, a group of friend and I found ourselves stumbling into Big Wangs for one last drink and a bite to eat. The doormen were cool, they even laughed when I drunkenly exclaimed my love for Big Wangs (wink wink!) although I'm sure they've heard it about a billion times.

Any girl who tells you otherwise... is lying.

We scanned the place until we found a dark booth in a corner. The waitress didn't take long to get our drink orders started and even played along with our drunken antics, which I like. And nobody tried to stop us when a girlfriend of mine and I decided we wanted to dance to our favorite song..... on their table.



Food was good, the wings were INSANE and drinks were better.  Everyone had a great time. The only thing I can remember scratching my head at is the fact that they served our chips and salsa last.... and they rushed us out before a friend could pay her bill. Their loss, but that's not going to stop me from coming back again!

Here's to you Mr. Wang! I thought you were Asian food but now I know better. When it came to your wangs, my friends were quite satisfied. We love you.

~Amelie

"I like the BIG bone" From our guest writer, Max

A couple weekends ago my fiance and I went shopping for Halloween costumes. We separated and I was in the guy's section. This couple walked over and started looking at the cave-man costumes and all the clubs and bones and props that go along with them. 

Uga! Uga! Me have big stick. Me have big BONE under skimpy skirt.

 The woman looked at one of them and said "I like the big bone."

Bone. Boner. Bonanza!

I was like, WTF? Did she just actually say that? Her boyfriend had no reaction.

I almost had to punch myself in the face to stop from saying "I bet you do." 

OR "It's not the size that matters..."


OR "That's one bone I bet you'd suck clean..."

OR "I bet you could really bury that bone..."

How about my fellow Slinky-Like Stealth Blog writers and readers? What would you have said?


-MAX-

A Fucked Up Movie Review: Visitor Q (really, really F-ED UP!)

Visitor Q is fucked up. I mean its really, interestingly, fucked up! I watched it once and won't do it again. There are so many things wrong with this movie: Incest, murder, necrophilia, rape, prostitution, and just all around fucked up-ness.

So on that note, here is what I have to say about this movie. Outside of all the taboo stuff that happens in the movie there are real, raw human emotions. Granted, what these emotions lead to is probably not going to happen with most people. 

But you can see where one sets off the other, and so on.

For example, the son beats the shit out of the mother all the time. And you don't really know why till see you how the son is always bullied before and after school. The mom is addicted to Heroin and prostitutes herself out for money to pay for her heroin addiction so that she can deal with the fact that her son beats the shit out of her. Her daughter is a prostitute. Her husband has a mistress that he murders, then has sex with after, and pays to fuck his own daughter.

I told you, Visitor Q is all fucked up! And there is this random guy who keeps hitting people over the head with a rock.....that part, to me, was pointless.

This movie was directed by acclaimed Japanese horror film director Takashi Miike (Ichii The Killer). I have not seen any of his other movies, but my co-contributor Bill D. has. From what I understand, after watching Audition, you won't sleep for weeks. I am not sure I can handle that, I think I will need a cuddle buddy. Raquel, you in???

Anyways, if you can move past the taboo, the movie itself is pretty good. In the end, the parents kill the bullies and the mom and dad get rid of the bodies and the son stops beating the mother and the daughter comes home with so much love in her eyes for her family.

You can Netflix Visitor Q, all subtitled.

Margot

This review explains it perfectly:

http://www.nefariousfilms.com/Reviews/visitor%20q%20review.html

The Sober Edge

Tonight my Stealthy followers I made a sacrifice. For you! I did a social experiment of sorts and took a look at club life through sober eyes. I must say, it was fun and I of course found an advantage. It was a Slinky Sacrifice as I'll call it because it was risky going in. Last time I was sober in L.A..... well lets just say it wasn't pretty.

A couple friends, *Sean and *Natalia invited me out to a club tonight. For the record, I'm writing this on a Wednesday night (well, technically, a Thursday morning) but it's Veterans Day weekend. One must take advantage of such a Wednesday night when possible!

Sean and Natalia did the whole pre-party thing and I watched as they got plastered before we headed in. As my comrades made their way to the back of the line, I make eye contact with the nearest guy in front the line, *Mr. Handsome & introduced myself. Suddenly everyone in line was my best friend! His *Wingman, the *Girl-friends, even made friends with the bouncer and got us all in (for free of course. Amelie always gets in for free. & so does Raquel for that matter)!

Real bouncers have the "pack of hot dogs" on the back of their heads.

Once my new friends and I were in, things got even more interesting. After dancing a little while, I got offered my first drink of many. *Glasses, who I'd now been dancing with, was determined to quench my pelt. It was hard to turn him down, but his efforts to woo me only increased.

Call after call, text after text, I realized my real friends were still outside. Uh oh, I had to leave the dance floor to find them and I couldn't go out alone, so what do I do? I instinctively slink by a group of people until one guy grabs my arm and asks, "Who are you looking for?" I exclaim with eyes that would put a puppy dog to shame, "I can't find my friends!" So magically I have my own personal navigator with sandy blond, hipster-long hair and *Brown Eyes. My new bff, the bouncer, let my Sean and Natalia in and we continue to party.

It's 2 a.m. The lights are turning on, the music is lowering and people are heading outside. Flyer's of the next events are being chucked toward us from every direction. I strategically make my way over to each of my new follies:  Mr. Handsome, Brown Eyes, Glasses and even a couple of the cool Girl-friends to exchange numbers.

My name isn't Anna, but Shhh, they don't know that!

All in all, I had a great night. It was a nice change of pace to not be so wreck housed that I could maneuver my way through the scene and actually enjoy the time spent with my new friends. It was also nice to be able to easily shovel my drunk-ass friends into the car and successfully take their keys.

No hangover. Less calories. Same amount of fun.

THAT IS THE SOBER EDGE!

~Amelie

Side Note: In no way do I intend to convince anyone not to drink. I whole heartedly encourage all of you to have fun in your own, safe way, however, that way may be. This was simply just an Observation of this particular situation With a Twist.

"A Letter to My Nut-Job Boss", From Guest Writer, Sadie

To My Boss:

You are a fucking cunt of a nut-job.

See? That's you?

You make my job a living hell. Every day I pray that karma pays you a visit and brings something horrible upon you. Your family hates you. Your employees despise you. And everyone that meets you asks to never see you again.

I wrote a little message in the sand, just for YOU!

Yet you live in la la land and think everyone loves you. One day I hope you wake up and smell the fucking reality coffee.

It's tasty, isn't it?

Until then, you may want to dot your I's and cross your T's 'cause we are watching you and we are prepared to take you down.


Love,

Your Disgruntled Employee,

Sadie
xoxo

My Peeve: Driving in L.A.

Everybody knows driving in L.A. Sucks Balls. Big, hairy, sweaty, sticky, stinky balls. There is traffic. Endless. Rows. Of. Traffic.

Angeleno's unite with a common complaint "THE 405" A freeway sooo familiar to us, that we talk about it with an intimacy and disgust similar to when referring to the 'uncle who drinks too much'. 

THE 405 FREEWAY

Gas in L.A. is so expensive that it is actually cheaper to spend an afternoon at a Strip Club 'makin' in rain', rather filling our gas tanks. 

Make it rain or drive in the rain?

And of course, we all know that NO ONE in L.A. can drive in the rain. It is a very well-known fact that our curse for living in Sunny Los Angeles, is that the 3 days a year that it rains, every idiot commuter out there freaks-out and smashes into every third car. 


Therefore, when I pumped my car full of gas this morning, I almost blew a gasket (again) when I realized that the gas pump was missing the auto-pump nozzle. You know, the 'thingie" attached to the nozzle that allows you to walk away from the pump as your hard earned pennies get sucked into your gas tank. 

Makes you wanna 420 it up when pumpin gas. Oh wait! we can't do that either!

The nozzle that allows you to continue to pump your gas as you go into your car to listen to the end of the news report. Or the nozzle that allows you to hide in your car as your lock the door from the smelly, homeless person whose pupils are so dilated they are virtually non-exsistant. 

I bet the boogie man ate your PUPILS too, huh?

The same nozzle, that allows you to HIDE SAFELY in your locked car from the 4 douchebags hitting on you at 2 o'clock in the morning. Thanks to you, L.A. County Fire Marshall, all gas pump nozzles have been recalled in order to avoid yet another brush fire. Thank you for thinking of saving us from fires. But have you given some thought to my mental sanity? Have you thought, per chance, of keeping me safe from the would-be rapist? Thanks to you, L.A. County Fire Marshal, My Drive in L.A. Suck EVEN More!!!!


-Raquel
As featured in Project Peeve

'My Grandpappie was a Pusher' From our Guest Writer MAX

I love Pepperidge Farm. There's no disputing that they make the best cookies. The cookies are so magical that the package is just a bag. No bright colors, no clever slogans, no dwarfs or garden gnomes or Bill Cosby or cute kids on the wrapper. All they need is a plain white bag with a 200 year old looking picture on it of what's inside. As a kid my grandpappie always ate their cookies and so did I. He once let me eat a whole bag of them and made me promise not to tell.

Shhhhh....little boy, I won't tell if you don't tell

Yes friends, it's true. My grandpappie was a pusher.

He got me hooked on the 'product' at a young and impressionable age. With their deliciously crisp, perfectly sweet cookies, sophisticated name and ungreen, grossly wasteful, oversimplified, uber-creative and sophisticated packaging with a 10:1 ratio of paper to cookie how can one resist? Don't worry-I recycle, so it cancels the other out. I eat them because it makes me feel sophisticated to eat an overpriced cookie.

I play cello and eat cookies at the SAME time!

Plus, they taste really good. Eating them always makes me feel better. It makes me look better. It makes me feel smarter. It gives me stronger erections. It even makes me fuck better. The positive results are well worth the irritation of crumbs in the bed.

-MAX-