Lately I've developed a dragging, crippling addiction to mahfuckin Crunchy Jalapeno Cheddar Cheetos. They blow my goddamn mind, I swear, and you can tell because they're officially prefaced by the verbal austerity of mahfuckin, a word I use in those rare instances of snack food seriousness, like when I'm talking about mahfuckin Cool Ranch or mahfuckin peanut butter Twix.
Or mahfuckin' stroganoff (what what), which, as I've just demonstrated, receives the automatic what what parenthetic follow-up. This can be best explained with the following consistent exchange:
Me, Drunk: Who wants mahfuckin' stroganoff?
Everyone At My Apartment, Drunk: What what.
And then I rip open that packet of instant mahfuckin stroganoff (what what), add butter and milk and water and cook the crap out of it (which defeats the point of "instant"), and everyone sits around eating it and talking with their mouth full while we watch either Trailer Park Boys, Venture Brothers, or Coupling, depending on whoever is over.
And that's mahfuckin (what what).