To male porn stars grunting, moaning and, especially, speaking. Shut the F up. Please.
This may come as a shock to you, your goatee, and your shorn scrotum, but no one is picking up a copy of “Schindler’s Fist” to hear your masterful line delivery of classic dialogue such as “Oh yeah” and “You like that?” I don’t know about those blonde twins, sir, but I do not. Like it. When you speak. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy the things you are doing, but, much like a barber, shoeshiner or masseuse, I just don’t want you to speak while you are doing them. This is my time, not yours.
To Mongolian Beef.
Or chicken. Or Mongolian ANYTHING. Fry some onions and garlic, add some unrecognizable meat product and then drown it in chili peppers and chili sauce. That is a meal fit for conquerors and the holders of territories that are strategically unimportant in RISK. If science ever created a Mongolian burrito, science could retire to Aruba because I would buy one of those for every breakfast, lunch and dinner. Mongolian food is the best.
I know people will complain that I’m describing a Panda-Expressed bastardization of Chinese food rather than traditional (bland and non-spicy) Mongolian cuisine like Boodog, which, if wikipedia memory serves me correctly, is mutton cooked within the abdominal cavity of a deboned marmot. To those people I say: I cannot hear your complaint regarding my historical inaccuracies due to the loud, tumescence-inhibiting chatter of the dude in this porno I’m watching.