Chocolate Death

Of all the ways to die, Svetlana Roslina found the sweetest. The Russian chocolate factory worker fell into a vat of chocolate earlier this week and she did not live to tell the sweet tale. There are conflicting stories circulating surrounding the circumstances of this horrible tragedy. Some say she fell in while adding ingredients to the mix, others say she dropped her mobile phone in the vat and unsuccessfully tried to retrieve it. No one has claimed that she actually wanted to die in a vat of chocolate, though many have admitted to wanting to bathe themselves in chocolate on a daily basis. This is her:

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Svetlana Roslina, a sweetheart

A local source said “She was minced. Only her legs were left.” Minced. This is what minced pork looks like:

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When you hear about someone falling into a vat of chocolate you really want them to come out looking something like this:

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Not this:

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Or this:

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Very sad, she had a husband and two young children. That being said, if you had to die… would a vat of chocolate be that bad? Yes?

Here is the original article: Mother dies after falling into huge vat of melted chocolate

I’m Fly At Fatburger When I’m Way Out East

Fatburger NYC

Judgement Day. Well it’s finally happened, A Fatburger has opened in the backyard playground I call New York City. It’s located at 507 Third Avenue (Murray Hill) in the one double-O one six.

The next closest one for us NYers is in Atlantic City at The Borgata. I don’t know about you, but I can go without the trip down to “Sunglasses at Night Alley” 

I have had a lot of great burgers, but Fatburger is kind of a stand alone when it comes to its mysterious allure and ability to produce a dangerous voracity in it’s pursuers. Yes, once you have had it…you too will become a pursuer.

That's a fried egg.

That’s a fried egg.

You probably haven’t tried it yet. By all means, do not check it out. I don’t want you in line in front of me anyway.

But if you want to feel ravenous and yearn for something like you’re Everything But The Girl…

I suggest you go here when you are in the city and order XXXL Fatburger with EVERYTHING on it, including a fried egg and chili.

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What can I say, I’m a fan of this place.

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And here is why. My first introduction to the term “Fatburger”:

Don’t Touch The Candy!: A Traumatic Childhood Experience

I’ve been this way for majority of my life. I don’t care for candy… or anything sweet for that matter. For a long time I wasn’t sure why but figured it wasn’t that big an issue. I mean, I like the cherry gummy things… But I don’t eat that stuff. Maybe I want to have a taste of them every now and then…

Look at them. Just look at them.

Look at them. Just look at them.

But I don’t.

Obviously I’ve started thinking about it. What could be behind this? I used to like ice cream until I worked at the Gracie Mansion for a summer and ended up scooping approximately 20,000 scoops of ice cream for the season. (I may be exaggerating) In any event, no more ice cream. Perhaps I am sensitive and easily traumatized  Nah – can’t be, I’ve eaten poisoned Taco Bell and  I will still go south of the border.

Well I think I have figured it out; I can trace my candy issue back to 1983 in Leimen, Germany. We lived above a little market area, bunch of cute little stores which I loved to look around in. Everybody was real nice as I recall, I had a lovely overall time living in Germany and I considered it home for many many years.

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One day in the candy shop, I think I was having a bit of a struggle deciding what I wanted. Then from out of nowhere, the old wicked witch of a hag storekeeper devil woman was on me like white on rice… I guess I was rummaging a bit.

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This is how I think she looked.

This woman smacked my hand like it was her final deed on this planet.  I couldn’t believe it.  I would have cursed her out had I known any curse words… instead I just stared at her for a couple seconds then called her an anti-Semite old bag. My dad chimed in to inform me that we weren’t Jewish. OK the last 17 words didn’t happen, but totally could have.  After I stared at her I looked up at my dad with that expression.. you know the “how you gonna let this witch smack the color off my hand” look. This guy was smiling, my own father… my own flesh and blood, smiling at me. What happened to protecting me? What happened to never letting anything happen to me? I was innocent and defenseless, how could he?

Dear old pop, the great purveyor of life’s lessons.

 So I did what any self-respecting, proud 3 year-old would do. I started crying.

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Pub serves super-sized 150oz steak

Pub serves supersized 150oz steak which costs £110 and is 4″ thick

Everyone direct your attention to his pinky finger which is being held up and out of the way as if he is garnishing a cheese and caviar plate.

12 inches wide, 12 inches long, and 4 inches thick. That is nearly 10 pounds of meat for anyone that needs the ounces translated.

This article is from The Sun so you know they said something appalling. For example: “They tip the scales at 9lb and more than half a stone – about the same weight as a newborn baby.” 

Don’t shake your head at me in disgust, it was The Sun I tell you! I personally would have compared it to a large tumor or an adult human head. Spare the children, please.

(Pub Owner) Ashley said: “The 150 oz steak is huge, people think it’s easy to complete but when faced with it, it’s a lot tougher than you think.”

I, like you, want to meet the people that think this is an easy task so I can say:

At about 110 British Pounds or 175 US Dollars, it hardly seems worth the effort. Do I want one? Absolutely, if not simply for the photo opportunity.  Here is the place: The Duck Inn at Oakenshaw