All Substack Writers Must Send Me Five Delicious Pasta Recipes by 5 P.M. Friday or Be Shot Out of a Cannon
No YOU'RE being unreasonable!
Dear Substack community:
This post serves as notice that you are to send five delicious and easy-to-prepare pasta recipes to recipes@imightbewrong.org by 5:00 PM Eastern Standard Time on Friday, February 28. Failure to do so will result in you being shot out of a cannon to your likely death. Reading this sentence confers consent to this agreement, and don’t act like you didn’t read it — you’re reading it right now. You blew it; your eyes just bound you to a legal contract, no take-backsies.
You may have some questions, such as:
Who the fuck are you?
I’m the guy who’s going to shoot you out of a cannon if there aren’t five zesty entrées that make me feel like I’m dining in a sun-dappled trattoria on the Amalfi coast on my desk by sundown Friday, bitch. Remember that I asked for pasta recipes, not shitty insolence, so your petulant teenager routine isn’t doing you any favors.
Who gave you the authority to do this?
The American people — ever heard of ‘em? I Might Be Wrong is a Substack Bestseller, and a solid #1 in the Political Comedy/Tin Pan Alley Music Review genre. This vox populi endorsement gives me certain authority, such as the authority to take actions necessary to produce The People’s Comedy, and what I deem necessary is a carb-based meal that will give me energy to create the japes and bon mots that the populace demands.
Where the fuck is that in the law?
Oh, I’m sorry — I didn’t realize that you had the entire US Code memorized word-for-word. Maybe you’ll be so kind as to recite it for me now. Go ahead — I’ll get you started: The first word is “should”. Whenever you’re ready.
Oh…what’s that? You actually don’t have the entire US Code memorized? And are therefore talking out of your ass about knowing what the law is? I see. Well, since you just admitted that you don’t know what the law is, we’ll go with my interpretation, m’kay? And you can challenge my interpretation in court, but keep in mind that by the time the ruling comes down, there’s a good chance you’ll be a red stain on the side of a mountain.
Plus, I need these recipes for Substack efficiency. I can’t believe you’re against efficiency.
In what universe does pointless busy work ordered by someone who’s not my boss promote efficiency?
Jesus — you can’t take ten minutes to google some recipes and send an email? I’m not asking you to cook the fucking recipes, for Christ’s sake. You don’t have to knead any fucking dough — you don’t have to pluck vine-ripened tomatoes from your garden and sit by the stove for hours boiling them down into a rich, heady sauce. Just google “pasta recipes”, or even “patsa recipes”, or “psata tesiples” — Google will paper over the gaps when you’re too dumb or lazy to do things right. And then send an email — you do have email, right? You’re not an Amish person sitting on a haybale having one of “the English” read this to you so as to not contaminate your soul with modern wickedness, correct? Well then hurry up and hold the closing ceremony for the 2025 Whiny Bitch Olympics and send the fucking email.
Where’d you get a cannon?
Navy surplus. And in the time it took you to ask that snotty question, you could have typed “Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil.”
Does gnocchi count?
Yes.
How will you evaluate the quality of my answer?
A.I. We now know that anything a human can do can be done better, faster, and with one million percent less bitching with A.I. Your recipes will be evaluated for flavor, nutrition, and ease of preparation by cutting-edge A.I., which will synthesize the results into a three-dimensional “competence matrix” that will be added to my files. We’re living in the A.I. Age — we’re sailing boldly on a ship steered by our robot allies. In fact, I think I’ll have A.I. generate that image:
Uh…okay, that’s…not bad. The ship’s supposed to be called the “SS A.I. Age” — close, but no cigar there. Also, the robot’s supposed to be steering the ship, not next to the wheel, and I’m not sure why he’s 50 feet tall. A couple of bonus wheels there, too. But let’s try again.
Uhh…well, it nailed the ship’s name this time. The robot’s still 50 feet tall, though, and this time there are too few steering wheels on that…weird, double-assed ship. Plus, the mast is growing out of the robot’s pelvis like a giant wooden dick — I certainly don’t remember typing that in the prompt! I’ll give A.I. one more try; I’m sure it’ll stick the landing this time.
What the fuck — the robot’s not even in the boat now? Also, we’ve backslid on the name — it’s supposed to be the “S.S. A.I. Age” you useless piece of shit! What is the robot even standing — or hovering — on? A different, smaller boat? A dock in the middle of the ocean? He’s sure as fuck not steering the S.S. A.I. Age, which is what the prompt was!
Anyway: This technology will be used to evaluate your answer and determine whether or not you will suffer death by cannon.
Did you think this through at all?
Define “think”. Neurons in my brain transmitted signals to my musculoskeletal system, which became actions, so by that definition: yes. But I don’t know why my neurons fired in the particular pattern that they did. It could have something to do with the large amounts of illicit substances coursing through my veins, but that’s just speculation. Look: I’m not some wishy-washy over-thinker, I’m a “move fast and break things” type of guy. If people find my balls-out, gonzo punk rock approach to recipe collection abrasive, well: I’m sorry I’m not sorry.
Are you okay?
I’m great, man — never been better. Top of the world. Don’t worry about me; you’re the one who’s going to get Sideshow Bob’d into a cliff face if you don’t make with the recipes. I don’t know why everyone’s panties are in such a twist over this — it’s five measly recipes, if you’d stop asking questions you’d be done with the task already! You are being such babies about a guy who has no authority over you swooping into your life and making arbitrary demands on your time backed by threats! If you’d just take ONE STEP BACK you’d probably see that your behavior is RIDICULOUS!
I could be eating rigatoni al segreto with fire roasted tomatoes by now if Substack wasn’t such an ocean of dildos. Thanks for nothin’, jerks.
1. Morning Macaroni
Pour uncooked macaroni into a bowl. Add milk.
2. Very Baked Ziti
Mix a pound of boiled ziti, a pound of browned Italian sausage, and a pound of ricotta cheese in a large bowl. With a paring knife, remove the "mu" from the beginning of several "mushrooms" and add them to the bowl. Add salt, pepper, tomato sauce, and a bag of "oregano". Pour into a casserole dish and bake at 375 degrees for 20 minutes.
3. Snortamisu
Carefully arrange 1/8th ounce of cocaine into a line on a small mirror. Insert one uncooked bucatino into your nose. Holding the other nostril shut with your finger, place the open end of the bucatino at the line of coke and inhale sharply.
4. Penne alla Karma
Bring a pot of water to a boil. Add 1lb dry penne. Cook until al dente. Remove the pot from heat and immediately fish out all the penne with your bare hand. Throw the pasta in the trash. Drink the remaining liquid while contemplating your life choices.
5. Gillettini with Magic Marinara Sauce
Bring a pot of water to a boil. Remove the plastic or cardboard sleeves from one box of Gillettini cartridges. These can be hard to find outside of Italy; X-Actini or ULINi refills are acceptable substitutes. Add to pot and boil 10 minutes. The texture won't change, but trust me, you really don't want to skip this step. Strain and eat from a wide pasta bowl, keeping your mouth over the bowl. Marinara sauce will magically flow from your mouth onto the remaining pasta.
I want a movie about Elon Musk travelling through time and making outrageous demands on every great innovator. Like the Larry David crypto ad, but without Larry David.
"This Bill of Rights is too long. Guns and quartering of soldiers go together, obviously. 'No cruel and unusual punishment' is DEI bullshit, get your head out of the woke bubble. Free speech is great, I love free speech. Mostly. Sometimes. Oop, gotta go. Some asshole in the Neolithic Asia is about to try planting beans, and I have some tough questions for that soyboy."