Disclaimer: Please read this article in a British accent, specifically in the aforementioned celebrity chef ’s voice for full enjoyment. Also please don’t be offended by Mr. Ramslay. He’s just “hangry,” and he complains about everything under the sun. And please imagine the bleeps, and not the bad words!
@%$&#*. Sorry, I meant “hello.” I’m here to rant about a bloody #%[email protected]# thing I discovered recently. Who am I? Blimey! You don’t know who I am? What a load of #@^% crap. I’m Gordon [email protected]#&% Ramslay for crying out loud. I’m the real deal, the best chef in the whole @*#$^ world! Alright, I’ll try to swear a bit less in this scholarly article about my immense food expertise.
Today I would like to talk about the absolutely magnificent dining center at Vassar College. That’s sarcasm, you nitwit. I think it’s absolute @(&#$# crap. I think everything is @(&#$# crap. I’ve never been happy with anything in life. Anyway, the most infuriating thing about Vassar’s dining center is that they [email protected]%&ing stole my name! @%$&*!!!!! I’m beyond furious. I’m salty. I’m boiling with anger, just like water should be when you’re making pasta, you numbskull. Do I have to teach you everything? I’m so mad I want to sue them. I’ll sue everyone. I want to prove how American I can be.
I first went to this [email protected]*#$ dining center in the morning for breakfast, and they (&$#* ran out of eggs! Absolutely unacceptable! I could have a freakin’ pet rooster, and he’d give me more eggs than they did. Yes, a freakin’ rooster!!! Heck, I could lay more eggs myself. That stupid rooster is fired for being incompetent. What an idiot sandwich (That’s right, he’s a chicken sandwich now).
But that’s just the beginning of my misery. I have a whole arseload of complaints. On the day of my visit, I asked people for their hateful complaints (I feed on negativity, it inspires me), but some numbskull student who had the audacity to claim she wrote this article said she likes the coffee and lives off of it. I stated (politely, of course) how much of a dimwit she is and told her the coffee tastes like mud. Don’t ask me how I know what mud tastes like. I’m a @($&# chef damn it—I know everything about taste.
Another issue is how they claim their meat is humane. I don’t believe them because I don’t believe anyone. I’ll tell you who’s the most humane. I am! I’m the kindest #$#*$ person on this planet. Don’t argue with me, you dunderhead. They also try making all kinds of cuisines, and man they fail so shoddily hard (in my westernized opinion of every cuisine in the world). As a white man, I know how it’s all done, and only I can cook every cuisine perfectly. Don’t challenge me you @*$^#. And once they put so much ginger in a dish, it was a freakin’ Weasley! And not even a good Weasley like Ginny, or Ron or the twins, but one of the useless ones like Percy.
Also, why are there so many freakin’ desserts? I can’t choose which one to eat, and my brain hurts. And they’re all bad. I didn’t even try them—I just know they’re bad. I know everything. And in my opinion, their ice cream is too damn cold. Only I know the perfect texture and temperature for perfect Michelin-star ice cream.
Another one of my brilliantly wellthought-out complaints is that the stir-fry station is too crowded. I don’t like squeezing next to incompetent people while I’m cooking. I want my own stir-fry room, you idiot. And also the lights in the dining center are just too damn bright. Is this a dining center or a @#&$#* makeup room? Crikey! Plus, don’t even get me started on how all their hard chairs and booths hurt my sensitive arse. They should at least provide some freakin’ softer ones just for me. I’m a star!
I also have a problem with the staff being so nice and friendly. What is this, kindergarten? I strongly believe in making people miserable, and I believe that people who make food need to be ruthless, or the food will never be perfect. I think I want to give the Deece employees a lecture on my favorite bad words. I have so much to share! I also don’t appreciate how the Deece has hours that are too %(&#@ convenient for students. Such spoiled kids. I want to whack them all. The freakin’ Deece is open till freakin’ 1 a.m. Who cares this @*^#& much about hungry kids anyway??
And finally I think it’s absolute bull*#$^ that students work, study and socialize here. Fine dining means NO FUN. Someone make this dining center a red carpet with a formal dress code. All these Vassar hoodies are so drab.
Okay, that’s enough for today. And no, I don’t have a problem with everything. I have a problem with you, dumbhead. And to those who say things like “I love the Deece. I practically live in the Deece. The Deece is my home,” (like the stupid junior who claims she wrote this article), I say you’re all idiot sandwiches. @(#*@#(!!!!!!!!!!