Creator Of General Tso's Chicken Just Died, Since 2016 Ruins Everything We Love


The joke about how 2016 is the worst and out to get us refuses to stop being relevant.

I've been seeing it pretty much all year, and I've been waiting for it to seem hacky. I've personally been making this joke constantly all year too, just waiting to get bored of it.




But when this year has been filled to the brim with gut punches and heartbreak, the joke doesn't lose its edge.

Still, it's almost the New Year. Just one more month, and it'll all be over. Just one more month until we get to start again.

We are SO close.

But the show runner of 2016, like all good show runners, saved the worst for last: The man who invented General Tso's Chicken just died.


Peng Chang-kuei, the 98-year-old legendary chef, passed away on Wednesday.

Peng began training to be a cook at 13 years old. When I was 13 years old, I had still not yet mastered the art of "not getting computer viruses when you look at porn."

And as NBC reports, by the end of World War II, Peng had been put in charge of "running banquets for the Chinese Nationalist Government."

But it was in 1952 – while living in Taiwan – that Peng made his famous dish. It's a dish you have all, at some point in your lives, ordered at 3 in the morning (and then found on your doorstep the next morning).

Peng introduced the dish to the US in 1973 through his restaurant in New York City. It was named – very creatively – Peng's.

The dish was so good, in 1977, the New York Times called it a "stir-fried masterpiece, sizzling hot both in flavor and temperature."

My mouth is actually watering right now.

That's not a joke: I just had to swallow my spit in order to say something to a co-worker.

If that took away your appetite, good: Happiness has no place in 2016.

We can't even Seamless our misery away without being reminded of tragedy and heartbreak.

Sometimes, I think years are like Moleskine notebooks.

When you first get one, you're so excited, and you write really neatly, But a month in, you're already doodling dicks on every page. In two months, you want another one.

OK, was that the LEAST relatable analogy ever? Because I have another one about how I think "years are like my sister Claire" that I could try instead.