Handwritten introduction!

Dig it.

I tired and hungry and oh! Check this shit out. When I got out of work tonight, my mom and I stopped at the grocery store so I could purchase something to eat that wasn't canned or invisible. All night, I had been lasciviously touching cookbooks and murmuring, so I figured I should buy something that required some sort of preparation. I had an itch, baby. You know it.

I ended up with baby portabellas and dill Havarti. And do you want to know what I did? OK, I caramelized some Vidalia onions in butter and mixed that with bread crumbs, dried dill, and black pepper. Then I gutted the mushrooms, stuffed a little chunk of cheese in the cavity and topped it with the crumbs/onions. I baked those fuckers for a little bit and, dude, they actually came out good. Like, really good.

Then again, I smoke Dorals so what do I know about good taste?

Christ, things are hurting right now. Now the head is joining in on the fun. Maybe I should eat some ice cream.

Or punch something satisfying.

I have the urge to write some poetry, which can only lead to one thing and that is hate. So maybe I should just stick with eating ice cream and punching things. It'll be fun! I know I'll laugh.

There are trips being planned, by the way. Little ones, big ones, short ones, long ones, dry ones, slimy ones. Four are definite. Holy shit. Four. Granted, this goes up to October but still! Four! And with the three tentative ones...seven fucking SEVEN different places.

If I were the type of asshole who girlishly squealed, here is where I would.

"She was outta that town." Fucking right.

You should have this website's babies, that's how cool it is.

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