Another harried weeknight, another bowl of pasta covered in green crap.
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With bourbon. Because THAT IS WHAT MEN DO.
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Jamie Oliver: A man on a mission, a mission to single-handedly piss off every elementary school lunch lady in the United States.
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Something's going screwy with my Olympic fever.
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Hi there, it's Tina from the Choosy Beggars acting as your host for today. When Michelle asked us if we wanted to do a guest post on TNS, my first thought was, "Of course! What fun! Absotively!!" You will note that I have immediately identified myself as the kind of person who says, "What fun" and "absotively." In the same sentence.
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I'm a teaching tool!
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HEY YOU! Have you entered the Jamie Oliver giveaway yet?
I wussed out on my own event last week, because I wasn't sufficiently Abilified. I'm now partway through the introductory phase of Abilification and that, coupled with tranqs - I'm not an addict but goddamn, Valium is some good shit - means feeling good enough to take on these black bean and vidalia quesadillas with green SALSA DE LA MUERTE.
Thank god I like milk. Do you think this salsa is a joke? Because IT IS NOT and it will cut you. No, really. It's like a laser, it'll slice right through ...
Unless take-out General Tso's chicken counts. Probably not. It doesn't meet the "hot as we can stand it" criterion anyway, at least the way Market Boy Chinese makes it.
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I just looked up from the computer to glance at the TV and check out the current stage of the Tour de France, which is actually in Spain today. As if that weren't strange enough, smack in the middle of the shot I'm confronted by a structure shaped like a 90-foot wang. EXACTLY like a 90-foot wang. Thanks for that extended shot from the helicopter, Tour producers.
I will use the memory of this completely non-genitalia-related meal to erase Spain's horrifyingly penile architecture from the valuable brain space it's now occupying, space that's in high demand for much-needed self-deprecation efforts and ...
I mean, this didn't taste like chicken. It tasted like lamb, which is what it was. I mean that there's something slightly unsatisfying about a Wednesday Night Smackdown. Like, it should be slightly exciting and unorthodox because it's not a Thursday, but it tastes like chicken. Like alligator meat. Or what I imagine alligator meat would taste like.
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