EEKshow
I've always believed, anything for a laugh, a look, or even a "WTF!" Reality is so Funny if told in the right way - Genius, Odd, Sad or even Scary... And that's EEK.
EEKshow
The Last Meal
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EEKshow Episode 22 - The Last Meal (with song)
It has been said that those on death row are allowed to have whatever they want to eat for their last meal. It's also usually a day or two before they're going to be executed, BUT for the EEKshow, were talking hours before (you eat, you feel sick, you get ZAPPED!!!). I also learned just recently, that it is in fact determined by each separate Prison, incarceration facility to decide and determine what they'll actually allow those in their last days or hours before the person's death to order. However, different states and laws allow several prisons or facilities to indeed offer those on death row whatever they want to eat for their last meal, even if it's not sold or made at the location. At times, there are even no restrictions, where at other times, there are still no restrictions, but you can ONLY actually order what is already available to eat at said prison or facility for cooking, serving, etc... Meaning, you can have whatever you want, but by chance you're craving Fried Zerbra Hooves (they may not be serving Zebra at the prison you're about to be executed at, and or it's nearby Lethal Injection or Electric Chair Site doesn't have it)... Insert Sad Face :( Zebra Hooves when cooked correctly can be quite succulent!!
The Last Meal is an interesting discussion, always has been especially for those who enjoy or study history. Timothy McVeigh had two pints of Mint Choc Chop Ice Cream. Ted Bundy declined his last meal entirely, (sounded like a Play it Again Slam from Denny's - and or similar): Eggs, Steak, Toast with Jelly/Butter, Hashbrowns, Coffee, Juice, and Milk). John wayne Gacy ordered 12 fried shrimp, French Fries, a Pound of Strawberries, and an Original Recipe Bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken. Now just KFC. Crazy... Dahmer never was on Death Row, pleaded guilty, and avoided the Death Penalty, (but since he was killed in prison, I dabbled with what he may have order if given his last meal opportunity). What would you order? What would you eat? Would it be simple (Cheeseburger, Pizza, PB&J) or would you be courageous and try something new you've never even had before? Maybe you decide to be really picky, or you'd just go with whatever they had? Would you possibly go with whatever sounded just "ok" or "fine", specifically since your life was about to end? OR!!! Might you BUCK THE NORM, and put in an ORDER like the EEKshow did. WOULD YOU ORDER FOOD WITH SUCH FLARE, THAT THE PRISON GUARDS BEGAN SALIVATING, ADMIRING YOUR DISPLAY OF THAT ONE LAST DEEP DIVE INTO THE WORLD OF DELICIOUSNESS (provided you were allowed to to chose whatever you truly wanted overall)?
Lever Pushed Up, ZZZAPPPPPP, the EEKshow will soon be Dead... What's your last meal going to be?
"If you Seek an Episode Topic by EEK, Send Fan Mail. I'll consider every one I get"
It's EEKshow Time
I'm in that same goddamn room. I'm about two hours away from the animal. I looked up to the sky, which is an old fucking dirty white ceiling and I know I don't wanna die for all I care about is that they feebly something that's tasty and sweet.
SPEAKER_03Ladies, gentlemen, kids, grandparents, aunts, uncles, stepdads, stepmoms, second and third cousins, aunts, papas, nanas, gaggas, babies, infants, the unborn. Welcome to the Eekshow. All my advertisements for episodes are on eekshow.show. That is the Instagram handle. You can connect on info at eekshow.show. That's the Google World email domain. Eekshow. Hey, is that Barney Gumble? Is it a week? That one hurts the throat. Oh, I can't even fucking little fucking cupo Joe, yeah. Ooh, um. You think they call it Copo Joe? Because the first diner, like, was Joe's diner. And they, you know, every time you go into diner at any point, you're probably gonna get a cup of coffee. You know, I mean, let's just say, especially before lunch. You know, or late night. I don't know. Especially before lunch. Diner sitting at the counter, the fucking little shiny, you know, spin seats you set up at the diner counter bar. They have those little fucking pop-top seats, cuh. You know, they got the boots for fucking larger groups. You gotta get a cup of coffee. You're at Joe's Diner. Give me a cup, oh Joe, cuh. What if the diner, the first diner ever, the guy's name was fucking Engelbert Humperdink. Yo, give me a cup of Engelbert, cuh. She comes back with a fucking like blended vegetable fucking protein smoothie. Here's the Engelbert, man. I asked for a fucking cup of coffee. You didn't! You said you wanted a cup of Engelbert. Copo joke, yeah. Speaking of coffee, let's just say you were convicted criminal. Okay, I've thought of this, you've heard the question for years of time. I've heard people talk about famous people's last meals. Let's just say you were in prison, you're on death row, and you're gonna get your last meal. Okay, anything goes. It does sound like that, you know, fictitious or non-fictitious lore. All the articles and the background, historic writings about the last meal, certain people's last meal, notorious, convicted, awful, you know, serial killers, or people that have been in prison and are gonna get put to death. For the longest amount of time, history, they actually really do have a last meal, and they're allowed to have whatever they want. I I've mentioned the last meal, or what would you do if it was the end of the world briefly when I talked about signs or in the alien episode? Do you believe in aliens? Do you believe in aliens? That's how I said it, yeah. What do you think I forgot that? Yeah. Your last meal is kind of a big deal, right? You're gonna move on from life. And anything goes, right? Anything goes. What would your last meal be? And you've gotta have the entire fucking courses, right? I mean, they probably don't allow you to have like some of these thousand bucks the 13-course meal at fucking rip raps in fucking upstate fucking yuppie New York or downtown New York. Here comes the 15-course genet with 15 different wines and even port for dessert. You know, it's like they're not gonna let you have a 15-course meal. You know, they don't want you. They're about to fucking electrocute you or fucking shoot you with uh lethal injection, or I think those are the only two I know of, man. I don't even know any others. I don't even know any others. I guess it's a good thing, right? I haven't been on fucking death row, cause death row records, cah! Cause you and I know who's the best side. It's the motherfucking west side. Death Row Records, ka. What would your last meal be? Would you have the courses? I'm sure you can have let's just say a super salad appetizer, main course, dessert. They give it to you all together, I'm sure. Like, they're gonna give you your last meal, but they want it done. Like, come on, man, get this motherfucker eating and get them out of here in an hour. We got the fucking chair. The chair's all revved up. You know, we're ready to fucking light the fucker up. It's just fucking crazy. I don't feel bad about talking about it though, because people that are on death row deserve to deserve to die, right? They've earned their end of time. In the last meal, it's like it's kind of a listen, we're gonna kill you, but you know, we'll give you some something that you really like to eat. No, what a trade-off, man. But it's whatever they've done, they've earned their fucking last meal, that's for sure. Forget about, you know, feeling bad for anybody that's on death row. Nobody feels bad for people that are fucking, let's just say, calculatedly, calculatedly. Ho ho, here's a fucking word I just made up. Calculatedly for the uh you're the champions if you can spell this last word. You're in fifth grade or fourth grade for the spelling bee. Calculatedly. The kid's like, um, that's not really a word. I'm not gonna spell it. And uh, they're all like, you're right! You win!
SPEAKER_00Uh yeah, excuse me, HL. It actually is a word. It ain't a website dictionary, it's a word.
SPEAKER_03What would your last meal be? Oh, look at the fucking parking. It's like I'm a fucking human Jenga piece. Just fucking fit right in. Oh, um, yum. I didn't press the extra bold button this morning, but I should have, huh?
SPEAKER_01I should have.
SPEAKER_03Sun's fucking gleaming right in my eyeball. Can't fucking see out of the left eye. The sun just fucking burned my retina. Mm-hmm. Do you have a good morning, man? Yeah, my fucking retina got scorched, though, man. Can't fucking see out of my left eye. You should use that eyeball you put on your fireplace, man. It's a good idea. Maybe I will do that. You got any scissors? Your last meal, the last meal. The concept is talked about often over time. Ted Bundy, fucking Dahmer, Ed Gain, John Wayne Gacy, all the fucking just notorious, awful serial killers. Fucking the fucking Sam guy in in New York. Do you get the courses? You know, they probably let you have the courses. You just don't get to space them out. And I guarantee you there's a time limit. You know what I mean? They're not letting you like peacefully sit there with fucking opera music or fucking like symphony in the background as you cut your, you know, let's say one of your part of your meal is a delicious fucking fillet. And anytime they'd have somebody, let's a serial killer, there's no way that the crazy people that kill people or kill more than one person, they don't cook their steak, they don't overcook it, right? They're gonna cook it. Like Dahmer is like, don't even fucking put it on the grill, man. Just cut that shit off and fucking flop it on a plate. Dahmer could have been like, you know, they they're like, you can have anything you want because we're gonna kill you. I mean, Dahmer got killed in jail by a another inmate because he was such a fucking he made jokes about what he had done. You know what I mean? He sort of made light of it. But imagine Dahmer's like, uh, for my last meal, I want to eat the warden. Do they deny him that? Or do they fucking execute the warden and fucking let him eat the warden? I mean, the guy was a cannibal. So Dahmer's meal, I guess by law, could have been, I mean, is he allowed to eat a human fucking person again? For his last meal, he never got his last meal, right? Because he was killed well before his execution. I think he was killed well before it. Would they allow that? You know, like I want, I want a fucking, I want a human liver and uh the warden's right leg. By law, can they say no? Is that not allowed on the menu? You know, you probably say lamb, chicken, fucking liver, but as long as it's from an animal. I wonder if there's fucking bylaws or like in the fine print. For your last meal, you can have anything that actually is humanely okay to eat. You can't eat human. You know what I mean? But Dahmer probably would have got a fucking for sure, you know. Like, I'd like the warden's fucking lung and uh his fucking, you know, the his aorta. Got one of his aorta sliced thin with some garlic and onions. You know what I mean? Can they deny that?
SPEAKER_01Yes, um, the data on Jeffrey Dahmer is actually not accurate. He actually admitted to all his crimes. He pleaded guilty to get the life sentences and withgo or not be accessible to the death penalty. Actually, Dahmer's here, I'll let him talk to you.
SPEAKER_03Hey Dahmer, come here! I know it's fucking crazy, you know, I do. And the idea of it is I'm sure so many people have talked about or heard or thought about what would your last meal be? My last meal? Okay, I want to know what each show land thinks for their last meal. Would you go fucking, you know, would you just go old school and get fucking a big giant fucking bowl of pasta? You know, I want a shower head above my fucking meal, and instead of it water coming down out of the shower head, one of those big industrial ones that just rains on you. If you get the fucking sweet in Aria, they've got this like giant shower head at the top, to the left and to the right. You're getting sprayed from from all directions. North, south, east, and west. You're just getting fucking showered off in their fucking sweet. We got it from my my little brother's fucking batcher party. I'll never forget it. They had a bidet there as well. Shit fucking cleans off your ass fucking after you take a shit. Just blows water right in your fucking cornhole. Just scalds off the fucking all the fucking remnants of fucking shit. I know it's crazy, man, but that is true. They got bidets in the fucking aria high-level suites. Fucking room was unbelievable. It's fucking the bathroom's the size of a fucking regular room you might rent at a fucking like Hampton Inn. Just the bathroom. They had a fucking steam shower. But back to the fucking last dinner, what I wanted, alright, I'm just gonna start with this. I want the fucking shower head. If you go old school, just I want a bowl of pasta with delicious Bolognese sauce. And I want it homemade. I want the three meats. I want lamb, I want sausage, and I want ground hamburger. You know, so you want sirline, lamb, and fucking sausage. Three meat fucking pasta sauce. Probably go peine. Peine is a fucking nice noodle cut, isn't it? Yo, give me some fucking peine, man. You know the fucking morons. Just the losers go. Just classic fucking rigatoni. Rigatoni's too fucking, it's too big of a piece. It's rigatoni to me looks like a fucking fat person pasta. You know what I mean? It's just, it's a big large fucking like water sock. You know, like, yo, give me the fucking water sock noodle. Yeah, that's fucking rigatoni, dude. I want fucking a little bit of class, a little bit of sophistication. Payne, Rotini, Farfella, Farfella, or whatever the fuck your name is. It's a fucking farfafella. Yo, did you fart with a fella? No, man. I did sit next to a fella that farted, though. Jesus. I had to fucking move my seat. Guy fucking smelled like fucking squid. And he got up. I saw a little fucking squid ink stain on his shirt. And that's not fucking squid ink. That's fucking something else. That's fucking three, that's three meat rigatoni sauce. I want pay. So back to the shower head. It's above my meal. It's my last meal. I want fucking freshly flowing parmesan cheese coming out of the shower head like water. So I want them to hook up an industrial size sort of, it's gotta be a thicker size, like maybe like a septic hose. And you you have the you might even need a they may even need to build a separate Parmesan cheese creating factory next to the fucking septic hose that plugs into the side of the fucking jail, into my execution room, or the room before I'm gonna get electrocuted. So I'm my first part of my meal is the bowl of fucking payne with the three meat bowl and sauce. And it they turn the shower on low. I don't want it too high because I won't be able to like get the right amount of noodle and sauce and meat mixed with the cheese. But I want it constantly flowing. I want it on low. So the shower head's just raining fucking parmesan cheese, freshly graded from the production building they built next to the jail with a septic fucking hose pump out of the creation parmesan room belt grinder into the prison wall, into the room, into the shower head that rains down on my fucking first selection. That's my first pick. I obviously want to get some garlic bread. And I want it fucking. I just want the classic fucking pepperage farm. Pepperage farm! Remembas! Pepperage farm, those two fucking pieces of bread that it's like frozen solid because there's so much butter and fucking, you know, processed fucking goop that you can't even like pull it apart unless you let it sort of thaw out. But you don't want to wait to let it thaw out. You want to cook it in the oven. So you try to cut it, and you can never cut it perfectly. So one side has much more of the fucking buttery, garlicky goop than the other side. The other half of the loaf. I want the side that's got the double fucking butter and fucking goop. And I want it cooked to perfection. I don't want it undercooked where it's soppy and it's like a wet fucking turf field that fucking Ekshaw just scored on a fucking post pattern. Oh, he's in bounds! What a catch! Fucking Bryce Underwood threw up a fucking prayer and Eekshow caught it. Go blue! Eekshow fucking signed his a five-year red shirt. Kids fucking got 16 touchdowns through fucking four games. That's fucking four game, man. That's all time. Of course it's all time. It's fucking Ekshow, man. Back in the fucking late 70s? Late 70s. He would have been like fucking three years old. Kid studied, man. He got into college early. Finished high school after his fucking first year on the planet. Fucking got redshirted at two and fucking, he was playing at three. 16 touchdowns through four games. I need the garlic bread. I need the garlic bread night. Of course I don't want it burnt, but I want the the sides like a Detroit-style pizza where the cheese fucking melts into the side of the pan. You gotta like use a knife or a metal spatula to sort of pry it out of there. You eat through that crusty outside like it's a fucking old fucking. Just an old fucking delicious fried-up piece of fucking cheese into the soft pillowy innards. That's the way I want my garlic bread cooked. I want it crispy on the outside. Slightly kind of singed on the top, so you can see that delicious fucking brown color. And you know it's funny, you're gonna die, so I might as well get a side of like honey butter to put on the hot garlic bread. Extra. You're not worried about fucking fat, salt content, high blood pressure, calories, fucking cholesterol. You don't have to worry about any of that. And I also was like, could you leave the the Parmesan cheese shower going? I mean, I don't mind that it's making a mess all over the table, and they probably let you in there by yourself, or maybe they have someone monitoring you, like you're cuffed.
unknownMaybe.
SPEAKER_03Don't have cuffs on. Maybe they do keep the cuffs on you while you eat, right? So you have that tight, you can't really do wide-arm cuts, you know. For the pasta, I don't need that, but I'm gonna do the the fork spin. Like I said, you probably don't have extended time. My guess is they give you an hour, maybe, maybe less, right? You're a convicted fucking killer. So I got the garlic bread now. I've got the the honey butter. I think I am gonna go with a steak. Uh just since my last meal. I just and I'm gonna go medium. I'm not gonna go medium rare, fucking raw like Dahmer. You know, I'm not gonna raw dog it. I'm not gonna fucking ask for any fucking human meat. Just a pure fucking. I'm not gonna go grass-fed filet either. I think I'm gonna go filet though. Medium. Apoi. That's the uh a poi. You know, eek show a pois in the house, man. That's just sort of some sort of like set of just delicious, fat-filled, fucking buttery gravy that's got sort of a meat flavor, mushroom flavor. I want a pois mushroom gravy, and and I'm gonna get it Oscar style, which would mean you can get typically that means fucking lump crab on top of the fillet. But I'll go, I want Oscar three shellfish. I want fucking lobster, king crab, and then regular lump American crabs. I want all three. Lump crabs, sort of those lumpy teardrop pieces you get in Maryland. The Alaskan king crab, especially the big giant legs. It's like this big, long, delicious freaking sweet piece of crab meat. So I want three shellfish meat, Oscar style, with the apoi. And I want the apoi on the side in one of those really nice silver fucking like gravy ladles, so I can just choose which bite I'm gonna pour the apois on. I also want a fucking silver, you know, with a little flame underneath to keep the butter hot. I want a silver second gravy ladle filled with hot clarified butter with extra salt in it. So it's just the perfect consistency of salty butter with the flame underneath so it doesn't start to harden up. I want hot melted butter for any bite. I might even dip the fucking, I'm gonna put a piece of garlic bread with the honey butter, the piece with the double fucking goop stuff from the frozen paper fab. Remembers. I'm gonna put extra fucking honey butter on the fucking hot piece, and then I'm gonna dip it in the clarified butter. I might even cut a piece of the steak, put a piece of fucking Alaskan kid crab on top of the steak, followed by a one-tiardrop of Maryland lump crab and lobster. And I want I only want knuckles. I don't want fucking claws, I don't want tail meat, I don't want body meat, I just want knuckles, knuckles, and I want knuckles from lobsters that are two to three pounds or bigger. Because the the knuckles then are gonna be the size of a fucking chicken nugget. The knuckle of the lobster is the prize piece. My wife doesn't love lobster, but she loves the knuckle. No. You love peanut and you love knuckles. I love fucking peanut. I love to eat knuckles while I play peanut. I don't even know how to play peanut. Can you throw a knuckle ball in there? I can throw a knuckleball playing peanut, eating lobster knuckles with clarified butter. So basically, I want the Oscar filet, three shellfish meat, two ladles, one with a poi, mushroom gravy, ideally for the steak, but I'll fucking put that shit on the shellfish. I mean, come on, man. I'll do it. And then another ladle of clarified, extra salted, continuously heated with a small heating candle below it, butter. So now I've had the pasta bowl, the shower fucking parmesan raining device is still going. I've got the the three meat fucking bolinise, the double saturated side of the pepperage fine remembas, garlic bread, the two ladles, the steak a pois, Oscar style. I want fucking classic green bean almondine. I won't overexplain that. Green bean almondine is probably flash fucking frying or flash sauteing, some fresh cut green beans. I want those little tiny fucking sides, those shitty fucking gross, you know, squirrely, like dead rotted sides of the green beans cut off. I want the green beans cut into about one inch sections, maybe half inch. Yeah, hey, half a! We had a fucking uh a janitor or like a uh school guy that worked in our fucking high school. Yeah, yeah, hey, half a call everybody half inch. Jesus fucking Christ. The guy had like a warped eye, glasses. He was old. He was a nice guy, but hey, hey, no one half a new. We call him snapper, and and they try to snap. The guy worked in the fucking locker room, and all he did was call every young boy. I mean, a young boy, I guess, at my age, right? I'm fucking older. Any boy that's 18 or younger is considered a young boy when you're a adult or a parent or a fucking older person. This guy was an older, older man. He probably was in his 50s, 60s at that time. He'd try to snap your balls with the towel, and he called everybody half-inch. Hey, Haba! And his name was Snappa because he tried to snap your fucking balls every time you were in the locker room and taking a shower. So, and everybody thought it was hilarious. Yeah, yeah. Snappa's a fucking, you know, I guess under the covers fucking pedophile that lives and works in the fucking high school boys' locker room and tries to snap every boy that plays a sport in that locker room's fucking balls and calls everybody half-inch. And I'll be honest, he was a nice guy. I talked to him. Hey, he never snapped me, man. I would have fucking sucked him in the side of the fucking jaw. Oh eekshaw just fucking did one of his fucking fake right left hand uppercuts and knocked out Snapper. Hey Halfa, you're fucking on your backup. Fucking half a Snapper! Hey, fucking Snappa had Jesus. That's a true story. I wonder what fucking Snappa's fucking last meal would have been. Jesus. Guy's gotta be dead by now. I wonder what his last meal was. Hopefully he didn't fucking need a last meal based on fucking never doing anything bad, but so I'm through, you know, most of my meal at this point. A green bean almondine. You got the fresh beans sauté, flash fried with a little fresh garlic. I want it ground on one of those little cheese graters on the tightest side to the garlic and all its fucking oils seep into the green beans. It's gotta be flash-fried quickly with a little of olive oil, a little salt and pepper, a little splash of lemon, a little honey. Okay, then you throw in the almonds. You can add some white wine. You know what? I'll let the fucking prison guard cooks decide that. I'm not gonna demand the white wine splash. But I'd like it. And I want it to be a Sauvignon Blanc, ideally from New Zealand. That's the right temperature grape that I want. So I might as well have a glass of wine. I don't drink, but I'm gonna have a glass of fucking Monkey Monkey Bay. Monkey Bay is from New Zealand. That's the first Sauvignon Blanc I ever had back at the fucking wine expo in fucking Seaport, South Boston. Back when I was still fucking a raging fucking lunatic. You go to a fucking wine expo and you just walk around and taste wines and get fucking ripped. It's fucking blast. And everybody there is to do things, it's just thousands of people. At the time I went there with my girlfriend who became my wife. You know, I just I never was a mess, but I just always was one speed, and I uh I luckily grew out of that shit. I definitely would have been dead, that's why I'm alive because of my wife. I said that in one of my recent episodes, yeah. So I've got the green bean almondine, and you know, okay, that plate has got a big, probably 45-degree angle left to be filled. Okay, I've had the pasta bowl, the garlic bread, the green bean almondine for a little bit of you know vegetarian sort of green flair on the plate. I still want it to look nice, but I love green beans at this point in my life. Used to fucking hate them. Ho ho ho, green bean giant! I've got room for one more thing. Now I could go whipped potatoes, truffle fries, lyonnaise potatoes that they have at fucking Capitol Grill, they just fry them up. It's almost as if they put some sort of candy starch on the outside, they get so crispy. You could dip those in the apoi or the clarified butter with salt. But I think I'm gonna go fuck it. I love baked potatoes and I love when they're cooked perfectly. You you wash the potato, you dry it, rub your hands with olive oil on the outside, you put salt and pepper all over the potato, and then you cook it. And you cook it probably like up to 50 or 60 minutes, so the outside gets a little singed, a little crispy, and the inside's a fluffy pillow, a fluffy cloud that you're probably gonna go to. You're probably not gonna go to any clouds if you're a fucking serial killer and you're eating your last meal. But for each show, my last meal is a fictitious episode. I'm gonna say that I do rise into the clouds of the perfectly cooked baked potato. I want a loaded baked potato, and I want the middle of the potato sort of mashed up, almost like a twice-baked, but I won't, I don't want to make the fucking prison cook go through the twice-baked part. I just want a loaded baked, I want new butter. I don't want the the ladle of butter that I have for the rest of my meal. I don't want that to be wasted on the potato. I want regular salted fucking some sort of oceanic salt butter. Oceanic flight 815 butter. I want that fucking laced into the potato. Then I want it sprinkled with some fucking sharp grinded from the block cheddar cheese. I want fresh bacon bits. The bacon, I want it cooked, and I want it cut up with one of those big long Michael Meyer fucking butcher knives. I want that sprinkled, and then I want some chives, and then I want a dollop of sour cream. I want two dollops of sour cream, and then I want more chives or parsley on the top of the sour cream. I want a fucking small silver cut coat with the nickel ribbon's fucking steak knife. And that's pretty much my last meal together now combined. For dessert, I want a fucking brownie vanilla ice cream hot fudge with candied fucking chopped-up walnuts, homemade fresh whipped cream. I want the whipped cream on top of the fucking hot fudge, homemade cooked double fudge brownie, and vanilla ice cream from fucking, I'm gonna go Richardson's up in fucking um, I think it's in North Reading or Wakefield. One of those two cities. I want the Richardson's, I want three scoops, dollops, extra large, sort of, you know, the top hat style where you get the flow of the fucking ice cream that fluffs out and you try to squish it down on a cone. I want that on top of the brownie with fucking fresh, homemade, fucking hot fudge. I'm okay with any type of hot fudge. I just want it to be homemade. I want it to be cooked and I want it to be warm, not hot, not cold. I want the whipped cream dollop literally to represent the same height, okay, the same height as fucking Wildcat Mountain up in fucking New Hampshire. Not far from Jackson or North Conway. I can't remember which city Wildcat Mountain is, but I want the fucking whipped cream on top of the fucking Brownie Sunday to be as high as Wildcat Mountain. They're like, oh, Eek Show's doing the Wildcat fucking whipped cream mountain trick. Meanwhile, I don't want you to fucking dare forget I never asked them to shut off the fucking Parmesan cheese fucking shower head that I had them ship in and build from the Aria fucking sweets in Vegas. So in short, it all there together. I got about 60 minutes to eat and probably shit myself and throw up. You know, again, not worrying about anything because I'm about to be I've been chosen to go electric chair, so they're gonna electrocute me. But I'll tell you what, with that meal, I think I'm okay with it. I think I'm ready to go. And it's not a cottage. I'm ready to go. This is my last meal. I am the Eek Show. I just had pasta, garlic bread, steak, a poix, and Oscar style with green beans, almondine. I've got a twice-baked, but yet not twice baked, potato that's full of sour cream, cheese, and butter, and uh brownie hot fudge ice cream from Richardson's fucking wildcat whipped cream mountain on top. That is my last meal. This is the Eek Show. I ask you all out there, the one thing. What is your one thing? What is your one meal? What are you gonna go with on your way out? Is it gonna be an extravagant meal? Is it gonna be a couple fucking hot dogs from Fenway with a side of fucking Cracker Jack? You get and you want a Cracker Jack with five prizes in the box, right? So you get to open five prizes before you die. You know, that might be fun. Maybe you get one of those old school fucking temporary tattoos, and it's like a tattoo of a fucking electric chair, you get the tattoo, yeah. Yo, yo, Warden, can you get the water and put that fucking electric chair tattoo on my fucking bicep? You get to look at the electric chair bicep tattoo as you get fucking scorched. And you just had your last meal, right? A couple Fenroy francs, some cracker jack. Maybe you have a fucking can of jolt. What would your one meal, one thing be? What would be your one meal to wrap up your life? This is the Eek Show. I've had a great time dissecting what I'd eat for my last meal. Let's see if you can come up with your own last meal. I'll talk to you soon.