From Haute Plates Blog

Comes a very fine post and a gem of a paragraph…

My mother taught me that if I can’t say anything nice about someone, I should simply hold my tongue. Usually, I follow that advice, but Guy Fieri is so ridiculous that I don’t feel bad about mocking him. He’s sentient hair masquerading as a cook, a jackass who wouldn’t know good food if he was force-fed like a goose by Joël Robuchon. His mere existence is an offense, and that he’s popular is surely a sign of the end times. I can almost see him, with his slow thighs and his gaze as blank and pitiless as the sun lamp that gives him his fake tan, slouching toward Hollywood to be born.


Somebody should write a play about this

Guy Fieri. Good dawning to thee, friend. Art of this house?
Robert D. Peyton. Ay.
Guy Fieri. Where may we set our horses?
Robert D. Peyton. I’ the mire. 4
Guy Fieri. Prithee, if thou lov’st me, tell me.
Robert D. Peyton. I love thee not.
Guy Fieri. Why, then, I care not for thee.
Robert D. Peyton. If I had thee in Lipsbury pinfold, I would make thee care for me. 8
Guy Fieri. Why dost thou use me thus? I know thee not.
Robert D. Peyton. Fellow, I know thee.
Guy Fieri. What dost thou know me for?
Robert D. Peyton. A knave; a rascal; an eater of broken meats; a base, proud, shallow, beggarly, three-suited, 1 hundred-pound, filthy, worsted-stocking knave; a lily-livered, action-taking, whoreson, glass-gazing, superserviceable, finical rogue; one-trunk-inheriting 2 slave; one that wouldst be a bawd, in way of good service, and art nothing but the composition of a knave, beggar, coward, pandar, and the son and heir of a mongrel bitch; one whom I will beat into clamorous whining, if thou deni’st the least syllable of thy addition. 3 12
Guy Fieri. Why, what a monstrous fellow art thou, thus to rail on one that is neither known of thee nor knows thee!
Robert D. Peyton. What a brazen-fac’d varlet art thou, to deny thou knowest me! Is it two days since I tripp’d up thy heels, and beat thee before the King? Draw, you rogue; for, though it be night, yet the moon shines. I’ll make a sop o’ the moonshine of you, you whoreson cullionly 4 barber-monger! 5 Draw! [Drawing his sword.]
Guy Fieri. Away! I have nothing to do with thee.
Robert D. Peyton. Draw, you rascal! You come with letters against the King; and take Vanity the puppet’s part against the royalty of her father. Draw, you rogue, or I’ll so carbonado 6 your shanks,—draw, you rascal! Come your ways. 16
Guy Fieri. Help, ho! murder! help!
Robert D. Peyton. Strike, you slave! Stand, rogue, stand!
You neat slave, strike. [Beating him.]
Guy Fieri. Help, ho! murder! murder! 20

Enter Bastard [Instapundit] with his rapier drawn,

Guy’s twitter feed is here

For the record, Sabs and I enjoyed Fieri’s Diners Drive-ins and dives (ok, I enjoyed them, and she bitched about all the salt….)

Pass the popcorn….