pot of gold, or brown, or something.

neighbors,
i made a big cauldron of boiled-up stuff to celebrate st. patrick's day.
uh-huh.
and corned tempeh, too.
...at least, that's what i'm calling it, anyway.
a boiled brick of beans pretending to be something else.
salty soy and black-hearted peppercorns, and a little malt vinegar.
that's the way it goes, sometimes, duders.
check the hard-bowl-of-farts teleport:

yeah!
duders,
rutabagas are still pretty gross,
but,
mixed in with cabbage and potatoes and carrots
and onions and garlic and celery and horseradishy mustard,
in a burly o'banion broth of non-alcoholic beers and bouillon
they are passing fair at being presentable fare.
i ate it, anyway.
and i made some expert activated irish soda bread, too.
that's right, b!tches-
what the F* is yeast?
unnecessary, that's what.
check the bread-baked-in-a-bowl teleport:

yes, yes, y'all-
batter bettered with black irish breakfast tea as the liquid,
for a browner and softer crumb.
huh?
what made me do that?
umm, i think it was because i'm not a total A*-hole every day.
yeah.
that's it.
wearing green and thinking about nausea and envy at the same time,
and yet i still got it poppin' for my main man pasquale, my ninjas.
that's your boy patrick when he was at home in rome, y'know?
yeah.
real talk.
brown food for white people, kids.
that's the way it went down.
you like it;
never quiet, never soft.....