Fields of Goldfish

Helloit'sbeenawhileI'dliketoinviteyoutotakeajourneywithmeWillyoucome?

Excellent. So the other day I was eating quesadilla bought in a newfangled establishment known as a "restaurant". Quesadillas are packaged in hexagon shapes, and then cut up into pieces. A piece of quesadilla looks like this:

As you can see from its triangular shape, it is delicious. Here is a photograph of me eating a quesadilla:

Obviously I have eaten quesadillas before, that's why I have a photograph of myself immersed in that very activity. That's also how I know that they have bits of chopped up vegistible in them. For example:

Admittedly, the second photograph is of a chicken trying to masquerade as a vegetable. I included it because chicken is another option you may like to include in your quesadilla. You can also have onions or a cheese.

Anyway, when I was in the restaurant the other night, eating my quesadilla, including all the ingredients noted above, my evening was ruined by the appearance of a rogue assassin passing itself off as an onion. Never have I ever tasted anything so violent. It slashed my tongue to ribbons, embedded itself in the wounds then sewed them up with threads of onion taste so that I couldn't get rid of the flavour for THREE DAYS.

So I think the message we should all take away from this is, "FUCK OFF ONIONS."

...kinda feel mean towards the onion now...I guess he can stay...

Sigh. "Onion, you're so inappropriate! It appears you can't be trusted, be gone!"

And that's how I banished onions.

The End.

Spare A Thought

This morning I woke feeling distressed. It may just have been because it was so darn hot last night and my mouth was glued together with dehydration and I'd been haunted by repetitive dreams about not being where I need to be at the correct time and I was a little bit hungover. But I think it was really down to the fact that the only thought rushing through my mind was that everybody always forgets about chicken breasts. I felt terrible.



So I decided to declare this Sunday the day of BREAST. It's not really going to be so much different to any other Sunday, other than the extra 'B(ee)' I've tagged onto the ol' day of REST saying. You geddit? I don't.

I've been wondering lately if maybe I should give vegetarianism another go. But then I decided that it's probably okay to eat things like beef and pork, just as long as the meat isn't coming from baby animals, because big animals have had their time, right? They've seen the sunrise, they've felt the rain spatter on their thick skin, they've endured the sting of a wasp on the end of their milk-sweetened teat. Plus I was reading an article about the lambing season and nearly started to cry for all those bleating balls of delight I've eaten in the past. Verdict: I'm giving up lamb.

Other than this, peanut butter is rocking my world once again. Is there really anything finer than sleeping late on the weekend before rolling into the kitchen to indulge in a slice of toast smeared with that crunchy delight? I really do not believe there is.


*exit stage trapdoor*