si!!
claro, kids,
it's always good to have a purpose,
even when that prupose is to eat too dang much.
also,
there is no such thing as too much good food.
in fact,
just in case you're new here,
let me remind you-
too much is the right amount.
yeah!!!
so,
when i cut a smallish loaf of italian bread in half,
and toasted it up all proper, so the brown outsides didn't interfere
with the soft innermost insides,
those tops and bottoms made for a pretty rad framework to build a
bombin' barbarian battle-beastly bocadillo of expertism.
mmhmmm.
check the mexican-monday-type teleport:
que?
neighbors, or should i say, vecinos,
this is IT!
i took onions, and cilantro, and a little buttery spreadable stuff,
and sweated it down to a sweet wet sauce,
and freaked it off with the thickest refried beans.
expert.
i laid a pasty shmear of those jauns down,
and topped 'em off with a custom pan-fried black bean and cashew burger.
expert.
in fact,
i freaked it off even harder with that hamburguesa-
i gently mashed some frijoles negros,
and i had nootch, and g.p.o.p. up in there, right off the bat, obvi,
and there's soyflour for bulk, and flax seeds for binding it together, too.
but then i also added soaked cashews to thicken it up,
and pack it with juicy proteins an' that,
and sweet onions and parsley,
and bits of rainbow bell peppers,
and cumin, and apple-smoked salt,
and probably a pinch or two of some other stuff i smashed in there on the fly.
i doo-doo that secret ingredients that're secret even from me style sh!t.
they looked so good, even on their own.
teleport:
you'd better believe it.
-
there's my crowd-pleasing fan-favorite salsa fresca pico de gallo all over it,
and a custom heavy-on-the-lime guacamole on the top bun, too.
expert.
-
a side order of those elite refrieds, with a scoopler or two of yellow corn,
for hefting it all into your mouth.
mmmmm.
yeah, i got some salsa on there, also. i like that raw garlicy spicy-stinging
breath-stinking chunky wet'n'wild sauce on ALL of it.
there's no such thing as enough salsa.
word.
huh?
bananas?
F* off, man.
don't be dumb.
those are platanos.
yep. fried plantains, y'all.
you'd better believe THAT, too.
amber is down to hang out hard during sandwich week,
and i'm grateful for the help in the kitchen.
plus,
eating together is good for you,
and it's so much less devastatingly depressing than packing your paunch on
with big wet blarpity bites all by your lonesome.
anyway,
we had 'em, and she made 'em,
with a little tenderoni sprankle of coconut sugar,
just to take 'em to eleven,
and honestly,
taking a bite of those and a bite of sandwich at the same time?
heavenly.
***********
oh, yeah,
and it's a FULL MOON, too, guys.
i've got my werewolf eyes,
and my werewolf teeth all at the ready,
and there's a raging storm in a bottle,
sinking my model schooners' tall masts within that bottlenecked jug,
so much sooner than usual inside the curiosity cabinet i call my skull.
y'know?
every carefully constructed tier of delicately balanced and blended
thought and spirit and memory is coming unglued inside a very small space.
infinite nature can still rage in an artificially engineered environment.
wow.
that's a thing.
i know it is, because there's a djinn in the jar, making tidal waves with my blood.
ugh.
it's a canoptic catastrophe of poorly-preserved past particles and articles,
dangling like participles, and steady staring straight ahead
right into the oncoming storm like fanatical disciples.
and everything i've kept in for a bit is bursting out
with the full force of a thousand magic lamps.
yep.
FULL MOONS are sure lots of fun.
instead of sleeping,
i'm wrapped up in blankets and wrapped up in myself,
if it wasn't for sandwiches,
i'm sure i'd be a blistering beacon of hot fire spit, vinegary acid piss,
and caustic molten iron ore and more, masquerading as blood.
it's hard styles or no styles.
if you aren't about that battle-beast berserking,
i don't think you can come over for dinner for a few days, duders.
that's it;
never quiet, never soft.....
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