Welcome to the Future of Motherfucking Gastronomy

With this package, a couple of our interns show up at your house with a few bags of mixed takeout, probably mostly Pop Eyes, but there's bound to be some spring rolls in there, maybe some amount of pizza.  They mostly get high and play video games.  If you have kids, probably ought to send them to a friend's house for the evening.  There's just a lot of obscenity in this package.  

With this one, honestly we're still getting a lot of the food from takeout windows, but it's a higher class of takeout.  McHardy's, Rally's, that sort of thing.  But we're also making some custom dipping sauces for the evening, and we're bringing some pastas or maybe a shepherd's pie.  

There are no food blog interns in this package, but our chefs are coming into your house, mostly your kitchen but also your living room, and they're eating your snacks and they're fucking up your liquor cabinet.

With this one, Chef Weston Thomas Nicoll personally comes to your house and drinks whatever whiskey you haven't locked up.  He gets drunk and makes an ass out of himself and, by extension, you, in your own living room, in front of all your important friends.  Ultimately, he falls asleep on our near your toilet, not sure if he's trying to puke or shit himself.  And in the morning, a team of interns are dispensed to your house to clean up and bring him home. 

We hunt down and kill whatever you want to eat.  You want to eat like fifty squirrels you sick fuck? We'll get out there with a slingshot and get fifty motherfucking squirrels, and we'll grill them or whatever.  This can be at your house, in a public park, whatever.  We give no fucks, we obey no laws.  We have a god damn army of motherfucking rocketships and science fuckers.  No one can stop us from roasting a fucking elephant in the middle of madison park on a winter afternoon.  

Maybe you just made partner at your lawyer job or you're a fancy business person.  You have a bunch of money, but you're basically middle management.  But you want to show your boss or whatever how fancy you are.  So you hire us.  Big mistake.  Huge.  

With this package, what happens is we send our most disgruntled employees, they show up at your house drunk, they have no interest in cooking anything.  They make out with your coworkers and each other.  They pass out naked in your garden. Fuck 

With this one, we end up paying you..  The last one there, it got cut off, but after everyone passes out and wakes back up and starts doing uppers and demanding taco bell, and crashing hard in your basement for a few days and then asking you to take them to rehab, this package really only starts at that point.  There is a moment where it gets a little like Burning Man, and you're all on acid that was secretly slipped into the croquembouche. But it all collapses in on itself.

Just continuing there, you're getting that first euphoric buzz of the acid, you've had a few drinks, Weston, or someone who looks like him, is roasting an entire ox over an open fire in your backyard.  You can't tell who are the cooks, who are the hookers, who are the bartenders, everyone who passes by pours more wine in your cup, more wine straight down your throat.  Part of your house is collapsing, the music is so intensely loud you feel it in your bones. Your lawn is on fire, your lawn will 

Your lawn will never be the same.  A woman or man you've never met, will never see again, or recognize in your other life, they paint your whole body in blue and green, and you can feel your entire being turn both blue and green also.  All you feel is laughter.  All you know is craving, is pulling at this moment to make it last forever.

It doesn't.  You wake up sober, head pounding and angry.  Your god damn lawn has been ruined. Part of your porch is missing. We cover the damages.