Larry the Cable Guy's Spicy Corn Muffin

Euphe-what? I went there. To whomever neglected to inform me of the wonders and joys of Big Lots. You are a saint. I now have yet another funnel of cake and destruction to fuel my hard-earned paychecks into. This store is a mecca of weird-assed junk of the weirdest and assiest variety. I spent $12.50 on beautiful things and a lifetime supply of Propel in the ever-popular Lemon Pledge variety. Today's selection, however, is not for the faint of heart. It is an item that exists on no websites, with proceeds that go toward prolonging a dubious catchphrase, and is advertised by a celebrity virtually nobody enjoys.

Amidst a gentle background of Conway Twitty, ladies and gentlemen, this is Larry the Cable Guy's Spicy Cornbread mix. Hey, it was between this and a child-sized guitar emblazoned with a hip-gyrating Elvis, filled with festering cheese popcorn. No brainer, right?

You'll notice that I neglected to sample the vast majority of the entire Cable Guy family recipe roster, including the Triple Cheese Cheeseburger Skillet Kit and Lasagna Casserole. This is because I do not fetishize e. coli and stomach pumping. Those of you who do have come to the right place. The first thing worth noting about this is its complete lack of presence on the Almights Lord our Internet. The only trace of this I found, aside from the downright creepy Git 'R Done Association, whose charitable payouts undoubtedly include Big Mouth Billy Bass dolls for all, was the apparently brilliant pyramid scheme of selling these on eCrater for a mere $9.99 apiece. And to think I almost balked at parting with a dollar for the humiliation of having Larry's face grace my kitchen. Eh, I've done worse.
Perhaps the most upsetting thing about this package are Larry's witticisms and advice, scarily intended for an audience to which he is superior. Larry warns me on the back to "taste 'em before you add more hot sauce" and enthusiastically points out that I've "gotta try this." What the fuck, Larry? No offense, I'm sure you're a great guy, but I don't come to you for advice on FDA safety regulations and Frank Bruni-esque recommendations. But I bought this cornbread because I was delirious with glee and also, hungry. For a dollar, it's not terrible. Emphasis on the "not" and the "terrible" part. By that, I mean that it is edible, but only to a certain degree. My friend Larry might compare this to roadkill or one of his second cousins, but it's no better than soul food and no worse than cornbread made from huitlacoche. I'm done. I'm sitting alone in my kitchen eating cornbread branded by a man with all the finesse of a drunk Guy Fieri.

Do not patronize me, Lawrence.

For all its poor advertising, though, the cornbread is a decent value. What it lacks in visual appeal it surely makes up for in taste, with a surprisingly spicy, non-medicinal burn and a tender crumble with a moist center. Too bad it's colored in Home Depot's bestselling "decoy orange" shade. I served it with a roasted jalapeno compound butte- ahahaha, I did no such thing. I ate it out of the pan. In the great, wide world of TV tropes, it's the quickbread with a heart of gold. If you chance upon these, folks, I might say to give them a try. For a dollar they're no worse than Hamburger Helper, but for the love of God, if you must gamble with your life and try the Cheeseburger Dinner, git 'er done- git 'er well done and don't send me your hospital bills.