Everybody likes to eat food, but the people who like to eat food the most are those that are filthy and starving. Thankfully, within the realm of satirical video game articles, those variants of humanity are solely confined to the Fallout universe. A dusty leather coat may shield a frail body from horrid radiation for a few scant moments, but it will not satisfy any desperate hunger. The remedy for such an affliction, of course, comes in the form of many tasty bites that can found throughout the series’ post-apocalyptic wasteland. When embarking on an end-of-the-world food shop, remember: have a gun in your hand, bring a bottle cap for a plastic bag, and search the toilets for crunchy animal bits if necessary.
This little box of meat-ish delight can be found in almost every home; homes that may be bombed out and filled with horrible toxins of unimaginable intent, but Cram will be holding on for dear life. It’s almost as if it still has a pulse!
Cram contains all of your daily nutrients in one gelatinous package: blood, keratin, follicles, latex and, of course, nature’s shell, the thorax.
I wouldn’t be without my daily dose of Cram? Would YOU?
(Cram may not actually be a form of food. May cause night terrors, blindness, miscarriage, pregnancy, hair loss, death, total liver shutdown and the clogging of every bodily internal and external orifice. Please Cram responsibly).
Back when I was a young man, we used to get potatoes by the boatload down at the ol’ riverhole. But one day, a man came along, and that man wore red; that man was one of those Chinese men and after he left our fishin’ hole and ol’ pappy alone, he set out to destroy civilisation on an atomic level; it was because of a geopolitical outburst.
Excuse my use of fancy words. I shall now return to a level of plain speaking.
Now, I said to the man before he went, “Don’t you mess with Mother America,” and he spoke back in a tongue that I cannot recollect. A load of mouth noises that were neither man nor whale. We tussled about on the dirtbank, and I tied him up real good with one of my rope bracelets. Four or five minutes later, and I was makin’ deep pots of smelted chips for all aboard our big boat of a vessel. We called her the Gentlemen’s Snatch.
Now, that story may not mean much to yourself, being from a place of dietary bliss, but remember this: teach a man to eat a potato for one day, and that potato will be gone; teach him to eat potatoes for the rest of his life, and your Gentleman’s Snatch will be holding a whole load of brown nuggets for at least seven or eight days.
Nothing too fancy here. Just a plain old iguana, with a sharp stick shoved up its rear end.
Fancy Lad Snack Cakes
On the contrary, these cakes are positively fancy.
Fancy Lads Snack Cakes are made with the finest bits of wheat from our hand-grown fields out by Washington D.C. If you happen to passing by on our great nation’s fusion-powered trains, you may happen to see a number of farm hands on their daily work session amongst our golden rows. Don’t forget to wave!
As has been the case in previous years, some of our workers may be faced down on the job, or bruised. But don’t fret! They are simply sleeping off the harsh conditions and brute force that comes with slavery. Did I say that on tape?
If I know anything about Vodka, and I think that I do, it’s that it really leaves you wanting to go and have a swim in the irradiated water. Let’s just go. Let’s just go. If we don’t go I’ll put your free soup into the river. I will.
You want me to burn your hand with the soup? Oh look, I threw it in the water. Here, drink this instead. Drink this instead. If only we had some cranberry for the vodka. Cranberry…cranberry is only 2.50.
Oh is your hand burnt? I’m sorry. Put on my gloves. We could go the hospital? What, we can’t? Of course they have a bar!
I love vodka. We’re still friends aren’t we? We love each other like vodka. Yeah. Let’s go to the hospital bar.
If you are dying of thirst, and come across my character in the hot, crinkled wastes, don’t expect me to give you any water; especially if it is dirty.
There’s something just so bad about drinking out of the filthy bottle. Sometimes I just look in the mirror, with my unwashed vessel in hand, and chug, away until the hot mud is all over my face.
What have I become?
Nuka Cola Quantum
There are seventeen flavours inside just one bottle of our sainted Nuka Cola Quantum.
They are as follows: water, sugar, glass, diet glass, carcinogens, an actual cigarette, a photo of the sky, a blue, midnight dolphin, tinfoil, a ripped flannel nightdress, Neil Armstrong’s belt sander, six or seven light bulb filaments, a framed photo of Richard Nixon, an old man’s only companion, the earliest form of wrist watch known to man and the button from an elevator.
Oh boy! There’s nothing better than a little bit of mystery to stretch your taste buds into an orgasmic frenzy. Back when we only had two channels on the TV, your mother and I would get bored; we would slip into little pieces of silk finery, and do the jive turkey along the living rug until our socks were thoroughly bopped. Afterwards, that sassy minx would slink off into the kitchen and fetch her husband a plate of “strange meat.”
I didn’t question the validity of such a product at the time; I was looser than the St Louis Arch, but as the night progressed, I began to taste a faint trace of your Aunt Martha in that meal.
I may have recalled her distinctive tang from a previous occurrence, but please don’t tell your mother.
If you really like to eat dirty things out a food toilet, why not hit us up in the comments below?
Also, if you are a doctor, hit me up on Twitter at @srussell795 to give me some advice on why I’m writing articles such as this one.