Tuesday, January 3


when i work late,
it's not even really actually all that late.
i'm spoiled in that regard.
the thing of it is,
i get a feeling of immense, and intense pressure,
built up in my joints, like my hinges are coming unhinged,
and the push-and-pull behind my eyes threatens to bulge my peepers
right out of their sockets....
why do i get so stressed to stick around at the studio for even one minute longer?
because my dear, sweet, ungentle boy,
crabtree the burly bull terrier needs to be set free from his crate.
he's not a get-left-to-his-own-devices kind of guy.
-in fact,
he's more of a perpetual-surveillance-is-mandatory fella-
so he stays on lockdown until i get back from my daily endurance trial.
when i don't get back when i want to,
he has to wait, and wait, and wait,
and that's patently unfair, since he needs big fun, and bigger snugs,
and a huge investment of intense attention.
i don't like to disappoint;
and i certainly hate inconveniencing others,
including my small four-legged canine calamity;
and most of all,
i want my little buddy to have a good and happy life on either side of the workday.
i get the stress-fractured focus when i'm hungry
and dinnertime hasn't happened due to the delays drawn down by my duties
as both a tattzappin' turdblastin' terminator,
and a doggy-daddy-type allfatherly druid of the north-
i'm sayin',
it's F*ing sandwich week, neighbors,
and these 'guinis aren't gonna make themselves.
what could i do in a hurry,
with the quickness,
as rapidly as feasible on an angrily after-dark timeline of tremendous appetite,
without phoning it in like a watery diaperbaby-b!tch?
i opted for FRIED CHIKN, bruh.
check the day-two-type teleport:

cold-milled chia-and flaxmeal, with a tablespoon of pickle brine,
in a quarter cup of soymilk made the gooiest sticky buttermilkish bath
for a few steaky slabs of homemade seitan.
a quick dredge left a lot of sticky goodness on 'em,
prefect preparing each for a crushed-cornflake crust,
complete with hot paprika, cayenne, aleppo peps,
and coarse cracked black pepper.
you bet,
heck yes.
deep mutha-effin' FRIED????
F*ing-A right, man.
one saucy pan, piping hot canola, and the magic practically conjured itself.
what's that bread?
i told you yesterday, man.
i don't play:
a homemade buttery pan-toasted dark-rye and flaxseed sourdough hoagie
y'got that torn green leaf letuce, crunch crunch.
y'got a simple slaw of raddichio, parsley, and vegan mayo, squish squish.
y'got pickles, because pickles are key to the good good of a southern-fried firestorm.
a few parsley sprankles,
a slather of that vegan mayo,
and a squiggle of sriracha, since ho'sauce is equally important.
not too shabby for a time-pressed prep, huh?
i don't want wimpy bullsh!t on my plate.
i want the hottness.
and i want jalapeno crisps, too.
there's MORE sriracha,
for dippin'- just in case,
because too much IS the right amount.
i've gotta come up with more sandwiches.
and i'm not exactly on my most creative culinary kick at the moment, friends.
i s'pose i'll be surprised if i pull out five more fancy ones.
i want original, impressive, deluxxxe, expert sandwiches for my supper.
there can be no wimpy ones,
there can be no shortcuts,
there can be no taking it easy.
i want the sorcery and alchemy and fanciful wizardry of my own made-up holiday
to take hold and take charge and take over my tastebuds,
and transform my day into totally-immersed mealtime delight,
transcending the idea of two slices of bread with stuff in the middle,
and transporting me to a higher plane of conscious compassionate cooking.
failing that,
i want it to look really sexxxy.
i mean,
let's be realistic here.
you got ideas for sandwiches?
then make 'em, man.
i wanna see.
it's sandwich week,
and it's all really happening,
that's the whole dang point;
never quiet, never soft.....

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