I teach freshman composition on the internet, and I also attract cops to my house once in a blue moon. To make matters worse, I publicly write about it. A concerned reader wrote me the other day and mentioned that I might exercise some professional decorum, re: writing about cops on my porch. I appreciated her concern and replied like so: I don't get paid enough to bother about censoring myself on this blog. I am not complaining about my pay, folks. I am merely suggesting that one would need to pay me a hell of a lot of money before I would compromise my public self. Furthermore, I am not even slightly interested in working for any employer who would turn down—or fire—a potential candidate for blogging with too much spunk. It requires a small-minded person to say, Oh, I don't know about him. He takes pictures of himself slurping spaghetti and publishes them on the internet! Sounds far-fetched but there are people out there who think like that. One time a co-worker scolded me because I tied a satchel of pizza to my belt—i.e. my lunch—while moving the company from one office to another. He said it was not professional to have pizza hanging from my belt. I said, Oh, come on, Russ! But I digress. Somewhat.
I have been worried about money and jobs lately. Not so worried that I can't still enjoy myself on a Friday night—it's Friday night right now—but worried enough to stop and think about how I present myself publicly. Do I like like a lunatic? A mad person? Is my hairstyle unbecoming? Would you want me to baby sit your kid? Would you want this mug to do your books? I would probably cook your books and pocket the difference. I condone crime, and I think war is commendable. I love bloodshed. I am dishonest and I push old people onto the street. If I had my way, I would completely re-design the entire world and force feed linguine with garlic oil to everyone. If someone uttered a peep through a mouthful of food about the garlic being too strong, I would say, Shut up—there were starving people in Asia, Africa, North America, South America, Europe, Australia, and the sub-continent of India before I took power. Then, if they continued to moan about the pasta, I would lash them with a wet noodle the size of Tennessee. I would do this because I am a ruthless person with no respect for anyone. If you hired me to work in your office, I would probably vandalize the bathroom the first time I needed to take a sh**. Don't I look like I would?
OK, rant done. Let's talk some pasta! I love linguine with garlic oil. Love it more than casual sexual encounters and recreational drug use in dark alleys, both of which I do at every opportunity, and often times while main-lining cheap rum. What this amounts to is a total and passionate love for linguine with garlic oil. If I could have children by it, I would. I would bang it for a fortnight straight and bury it deep. If linguine had a condo with wall-to-wall carpet, I would vacuum its carpet with my nose. Linguine with garlic oil is the world's greatest noodle dish. It cooks up in a snap. You want to cook it up in a snap? Did you just say you wanted to cook it up in a snap? You're in luck! You can read how below the photograph of the degenerate, hate-ball.
LINGUINE WITH GARLIC OIL
1) Peel about four, five, six cloves of garlic and give them a good whack with your knife; then dump them into some olive oil (about 3/4ths cup per pound of pasta) and heat the oil on a low flame for ten or twenty minutes. DO NOT LET THE GARLIC BURN. IF IT STARTS BURNING, TAKE IT OFF THE HEAT. BURNED GARLIC IS BITTER.
2) Cook your pasta al dente. Don't f**k that up. And put A LOT OF SALT INTO THE WATER. Your pasta will not be overly salty.
3) Drain your pasta and give it a quick rinse in cold water, then return it to the pot. Rinsing it gets some of the starch off.
4) Finally, toss the pasta with all of the oil. If it seems like a ton of oil, it is. That's how it should be. If you want to sprinkle some extra salt onto your noodles as you go, do it, but be careful.
5) Finally finally, hit your pasta with some Parmesan cheese and some parsley. I also like to hit it with some "cock sauce"—a.k.a "rooster sauce"—a.k.a. Sriracha. I do this because FUCK CORPORATE GREED.