life is nothing but excruciating pain and loneliness, also, i'd like to know what the deal is with sports team wearing retro uniforms. maybe if they did it once a decade or something, but they're doing it every other week [nfl/cfl - i'm looking at you in particular]. look, you don't wear those uniforms anymore 'cause the sucked - in most cases they were gay. that's right, i said 'gay', i'm taking the word back baby!

the chef knows a lot of things. but not everything. for example i don't know how it is possible for the people who live above me to find something that needs hammering every single day. i'm pretty sure they scramble their eggs with a hammer, as well as open their mail with a hammer. it's ridiculous. why can't they use plastic forks left over from taco bell cheese fries to do things like normal people.

recipe of the day -
my stomach is still a mess, and in lieu of quitting drinking i've been eating healthy instead. no more process cheese for me. i've been buying real cheese instead and i even bought a cheese grater. i've been grating mucho cheese and in so doing discovered a queer [yep, taking it back] phenomenon - that being that the grated product is disproportionately smaller than that piece of cheese you started with. i grated over half a block of cheese over one bag of corn chips the other day - that's like 4 dollars worth of cheese - i never would have been able to eat that much cheese if just gnawed at it like it was a snickers bar - so gay!
oh, the point being that there won't be any real recipe today so, er, why not try some turkish delight, it's like jujubes rolled in icing sugar, that sounds like a no lose combination.

in the spirit of taking it back, i'll add that the next time you see me walking around downtown holding a burning stick in my hand [a not uncommon occurrence] feel free to ask me what i'm doing with that faggot.

shit-kicking mondays-
1. the people with the hammer who live upstairs. how can i concentrate on bejewelled blitz for two to three hours straight with that constant distraction. fucking fuck wads.

2. zombies. i wouldn't really want to get that close to a zombie, but it would be fun to just stand back and pelt one with raw eggs until you saw a little zombie tear in the corner of his eye knowing he'd never catch you.

poetry thursdays-

my knee hurts
my back hurts
my stomach hurts
my head hurts
but at least i don't...
live in a yurt [that's a dirty little hut that the mongolians live in - suckers]


words of the day- 'stop buying into the publicity. i can't even feed myself.' from zombie-deadpool's head's internal monologue.


hilarious, the spell check has just informed me that fuckwads is actually two separate words - everyday, something new and so on.