Thursday, January 5, 2012

puh-puh-puh-party

Have you ever slow cooked a rump roast in a dutch oven? Well, after the holiday debauchery, the smelt and sweat coming off my body at night basically turned my bed into a crock pot. Reptiles warming their cold bodies on my heat rock shoulders would have melted and slid down over my back bacon like pads of butter. The perspiration my liver shoved out of my body, like some heathen play-doh not fun factory , soaked thru countless, unknowing t-shirts. A quicker picker upper massacre that would have made the brawny towel guy trade in his flannel for a sun dress. The sweltering temperature and moisture in my bedroom could have inspired a thousand Tennessee Williams plays. I was awoken in the middle of the night by some one calling out "Stella!" on the street below my window. The harsh and unforgiving swampland much like Florida's everglades, would have swallowed airplane crashes whole, the bodies never to be recovered. Basically, it was totes gross.

Dude-even my neck was drenched! What the shit is that about?  My body must have looked like those pod people from "Invasion of the Body Snatchers". Not to mention the weakened, stumbling brain cells scratching the air with their sad, T. Rex arms, re-enacting "Return of the Living Dead" and ironically moaning for "brains."

Oh yeah-and the farts. Sweet Jesus, the farts. Each one coming out hotter than the last, stoking countless cans of Coors coals, smelling like someone rolled a turd in butt-hair and fired it up like a doobie. Farts that smell so vile, you briefly forget you think they're hilarious. To quote the dude, "this is a bummer, man." Anyhoo, that's how you slow cook a rump roast in a dutch oven. Puh-puh-puh-party.














   

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