it was so nice out today that I felt obliged to fuck a hole into a Thomas Kinkade landscape this morning. all those bright colors felt cool and soothing against my cheek as we cuddled in post-coital bliss.
i thought of a brilliant idea for the food network. "Iron Chef: 3rd World". they could go from ethiopia to haiti to pakistan and the robe wearing guy would be all, "the secret ingredient today is.... NEWSPAPER" and the chefs would scurry off to concoct bouillabaisses out of childrens tears while they swat the flies away from their eyes and hold a crust of bread just out Ndugu's reach.
food and sadness should continue to fit together as well as they do when you see someone binging and purging or a commercial for that device that will instantly de-shell a hardboiled egg.
the winning dish might feature a disemboweled infidel's ears as garnishments or perhaps as the meal itself. cannibalism has a bum rap and i've been considering marketing my scabs as an "Atkins Friendly" alternative to potato chips.
EAT MY SCABS, motherfuckers!
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