In lieu of a dog, I now have a cable internet connection and a wireless link that doesn’t stink like cat poo.
My Twisted Midget Porn website is going to be up and running before you can say “OhmygawdcanyoureallyDOthat??”
I must feed first. I made some ridiculously hot Pad Krapow a few nights ago and it is in the fridge calling out to me. Lots of beef, onions, peppers, chilies, basil, and yes… lots and lots of the meat that is not a meat. No, not that kind.
I tell Girlhead that the Serengeti is populated by huge ginormous herds of boneless pale block-shaped and rather tasteless hoofed beasts called (what else?) Tofudebeests.
They must be prepared by frying till golden and then marinating in soy, rice wine vinegar, palm sugar, and sesame oil – and only then will they be fit to consume.
It’s not all quite as good as a dog, but it’s a start.
I’m so conflicted here… is this supposed to make me want to eat meat or not? I mean, are we talking spoiled meat, metaphorical meat, “meat” meat, or some subtle layering of meaning that I’m not grasping? I’m not a fan of Pam Anderson, but what if it were Salma? What would I want then?
Screw it. PETA is a bunch of broken people. (credit for first sighting of the next two images with mine own eyes goes to Amusing Bunni – Thank you, Bunni, wherever you got them from…)