If Not For Maxim… – In-N-Out’s Secret Menu

As longtime Fish & Spaghetti readers recall, I’ve been saddled with a subscription to Maxim magazine. Maxim is easily the most embarrassing thing I get delivered to crib, and I not only subscribe to both Wizard and Toyfare, but I also get mail order lube.

But in order to make lemonade out of lemons and perhaps get a bit more “Alpha Male” personality-wise, I’ve made a concerted effort to actually read every issue of Maxim that I’ve received.




I mean, not all the way though, I’m a fan of my brain cells. But I’ve tried my best to glean some useful information from the magazine so that this whole experience isn’t just a waste of time and paper.

Let me get this out of the way and it’s nothing that Maxim has taught me, but rather something Maxim has reiterated; when white people think of “ass” they think of donkeys and their annoying coworker.

I defy you to find a suitable ass on the pages of Maxim. I had to get five issues into my subscription to get any kind of decent ass shot (Gabrielle Union in case you’re wondering, and she didn’t get a mention on the cover.) It’s ridiculous that a magazine that prides itself on being a showcase of barely clothed women would continue to highlight a crevice of crack rather than mounds of ass.

It’s deplorable is what it is.

On a related note, apparently white guys are really attracted to rib cages. I vaguely recall the phrase “up in them ribs” being used in the past, but apparently the demo that Maxim is going for takes it literally. It’s rather disturbing.

But here’s one tidbit I did learn from the July issue of Maxim; how to order from In-N-Out’s infamous secret menu.

During my tenure in Sin City I’d already gotten a little acquainted with In-N-Out. I’ve had my burger “Animal Style.” But I’d never even considered getting fries “Animal Style” or even “Monkey Style.” And I’ll admit to being intrigued by ordering some “Road Kill.”



There you go, I’ve actually learned something useful from reading Maxim. I mean it would be useful if I actually lived in one of the four states where In-N-Out actually operates. D’oh.