Having just thrown a barbecue with no provisions for the vegetable-only eaters, I found myself with a delightful surplus of food that at one point, lived. Oh, there's nothing better than eating things that used to eat things. The barbecue had a grand spread of giant freakin' handmade burgers seasoned with Basil, Rosemary, Garlic, Westchester Sauce, salt & pepper, and a little bit of lemon; chunks of a flank steak marinated overnight in a incredible spice mix I've been using all summer; Chicken Legs with fresh Dill, Rosemary, Thyme and Lemon; and other chunks of steak marinated with the same spice rub mentioned above (plus Anise. Yeah. Anise. Like black licorice. It's my secret ingredient. Ended up pretty good too. You should try it one day). The latter chunks of steak were set aside for shish-kabobs in combination with fucking vegetables, but other than that, it was all red meat. Exept for the chicken, of course, which only the girls ate.
I had a few leftovers from the carnage. Not much, but enough to keep me eating like a goddamn MAN for a day or two. I've had three burgers in the past two days, and maybe a pound or two of steak. I ate one whole steak for dinner myself tonight. And you know what? I didn't have anything else. Yeah. Just steak. Bloody steak. Juicy and red. And I had a glass of whiskey, too. That's all i've been drinking. Whiskey and animal blood. And then I called up all the girls I know who have really big tits, and we made love for hours. Loudly. For HOURS. The neighbors, they complained, but I pushed them down the stairs and made their children cry. Then I made love to their wives. They'll know better for next time.
I put some football games on, took my shirt off, and turned on my remote controlled air-conditioner. I belched so loud the walls shook. My meat & whiskey diet has got hair growing on my legs faster than I can shave it off. I shave it off with a rusty, broken razor. Occassionally I have some beer with my whiskey and red meat. I've got so much testosterone the next day, I ride 38mph up the Manhattan Bridge on the way to work. Then I punch out a cop, piss in his gas tank, and pants him. The NYPD knows that there isn't anything it can do about me.
Sunday, August 20, 2006
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