It seems I’ve been going about this “religion” thing all wrong. Thank goodness for late-nite televangelists, or not ONLY would I be going to hell, but I’d never get the Most Holy Aga 6-Burner Range of my dreams.
I know this is supposed to be a food blog, but I can’t help but be troubled by the continued effort of many U.S. states to colonize my uterus.
Because I really only have one outfit that’s funeral appropriate, and I don’t feel like getting it dry-cleaned over and over. Also, if all my friends jump off a bridge, that’s a hell of a sign that I am a poor judge of character.
Apparently there’s some kind of big match-up today that involves my local sporting franchise, which also features a halftime show starring the skeletal remains of Madonna, the Lady Gaga of the 1980s.
Remember when I told you to ignore the USDA and cook your duck to 130? I take it all back! I didn’t mean it! I’m sorry, USDA! I’ll do whatever you say, just stop the green shits.