You can tell a lot about someone simply by judging how they eat french onion dip & potato chips.

AS AN EXAMPLE:

I opened the dip, and some of the little “this is fresh” wrapper is on the top. The dip also had a nice smooth look to it, much akin to how Japanese rock gardens look. That would be Pretty’s style of chip eatery.

After I’ve dug in, however, it looks more like I dug my face directly into it & just lapped some up while snacking on chips. And maybe I did. Fuck you, haters.

I don’t know where I was going, but I want more chips. I checked the container, and Helluva Good dip’s do not feature “crack” as an ingredient. This is either a fucking lie, or brilliant marketing. Either way, it’s all gone now.  =(

Kurt Fagerland, as featured on CNN’s “Craft” video interview segment. Good read & solid stuff.

thevitaminp replied to your post: I don’t know if this is Meatapalloza or the…

SERIOUSLY IM COMING OVER NOW

You’re a state from here. This is, at worst case scenario, a once a month thing. Come the fuck out.

Though don’t be surprised if they have a “bring this, you’ll be reimbursed” list. Y’all have them big bottles of good beer & such.

I don’t know if this is Meatapalloza or the Meatpocalypse. On the one hand, it is like a festival in my mouth. On the other hand, my arteries just closed from simply looking at this. And there’s still 2 flanks to cook.

Mason says to call it Meat:Thirty. I’m inclined to agree. Seems the least likely to cause me to spontaneously die.

Sorry, kids. Daddy’s got work to do.

Pretty: I’m so angry, I could kick one!
Lindsay: NO! NOT THE AUBURN (University), HE’S MY FAVORITE.
Kyle: How many garden gnomes do you have?
Lindsay: Six, and I love them all!
Me: How many gardens do you have?
Lindsay: *DEATH GLARE*

Sam Adams Norse Legend. Ridiculously delicious. There’s a story to it. I don’t remember. Something about lost drunk Vikings, I think.

As it turns out, it’s “drink many home-brews as well” day. This is a 3 year old bottle conditioned Belgian ale. This is my third.

For point of gravity, this took me 5 minutes to type legibly.

What has two thumbs & unrestricted access to a shitload of amazing whiskies?

I like wearing tennis shoes with shorts. My wife informed me this is a fashion faux pas & that I should be wearing sandals instead.  I informed her I do not like it when she speaks French & that I am also ridiculous.

So, here’s the question: Do I adhere to her request & possibly burn my toes while grilling, or do I stick to my guns & likely end up sober driving?

I think I already know the answer.  =(

If that becomes a thing, I want credit.

I don’t mean like “hey, Kam wrote this” as much as the money from it. Don’t put my name on that shit.

But it is ridiculous.

You wake up in a bed unfamiliar to you. It’s cold, but not unbearably so. You have no memory of why you’re here. Looking around, you notice that your life support machines are no longer functioning. You stumble outside and find……..what, exactly?

…headache. …water. I need water.

I painfully pull the the IV needle out, as it’s not doing me any good. No idea how I got here, but I happen to glean that I’ve been banged up good enough to land here.

Fuck, faucet is out. I sit for a moment, but my mouth is dry. I’ve used most of the energy I had just getting here. I look in the toilet, but it’s been chemically treated with that nasty & undrinkable blue shit.

FLOWERS. They’re not far. It’s going to taste like shit, but the water’s clear. Maybe even fresh. Why isn’t the fucking sink working? Thirst.

I crawl, and 5 minutes later I’m forcing myself to reach this vase. God, this water is horrible. Have I been in here long? These flowers are slightly wilted. I grimace with each sip, and remember putting the vase down for a moment before passing out.

*Thunder*

I awake, and look out the window. Sunny? WHAT IN THE FUCK IS GOING ON.

I drink the last of the tinged glass, then I try to stand. I’m mobile, in the least definition of the word.

*THUNDER* *SQUAAAWK*

I… I don’t understand. I open the door, but there’s rubble covering the left hallway out. I look to the right, and I can see the emergency exit there. I hold myself along the outer wall for support, but stumble with repeated bouts of thunder and screeches. What is making this awful noise?

I get to the exit and start down the stairs. At the next to last flight, the noise is ominously close. Halfway down, the wall collapses, and I see my fate:

It’s a goddamn huge rooster. Except his head is half as big as his body. He’s easily 30 feet tall. And the bastard kicked in the side of the building with no effort at all.

I’ve accepted my fate. I’m going to get flayed by a giant cock, and not even in a pornographic sense. As this demon poultry tilts his head in preparation for the kill, I see a steel line wrap his neck.

“PULL, PULL, PULL! WE’VE GOT IT, FUCKING PULL!”

His head comes clean off, but the body still rampages away for a good 30 seconds. What level of hell is this? This is a hallucination. It can’t be real.

“Bro! Get up! He’s gone, but the male never leaves the females far behind”, I heard someone shout. I see a man, likely long since passed, wearing shoes I can barely squeeze into. I take them, and whisper an apology while lacing.

“I… I.. what THE FUCKING FUCK. I don’t know if this is real. I’m not sure where I am. TELL ME WHAT IS GOING ON!”

The voice explains: In an attempt to cut their bottom line, KFC began a nutrient stimulant for bred chickens. They wanted more meat for their boneless lines. But something went horribly wrong with some of their ingredients; some of which likely were acquired on the black market.

We’re now living in the land… of the Chicken Legs.

Anyone want a few? I’m taking a writing break.

Just lemme know.

Inbox, Glenyrd

Between my love of playing a repetitious video game, or continuing writing out stuff on an idea that might not ever really come to fruition. But would be awesome. In my head, anyways.