An inquisitive spirit! You are excellent at pulling things apart and seeing what makes them tick. Great discoveries lie in your future! The people close to you are lucky, but not because you’re brilliant – because you’re very loving.
reminder that my teeth and jaws are so strong that i can effortlessly crush a medium-thick bar of alloy 2024 aluminum and absorb the resulting shrapnel into my throat without serious health problems
me: not only is it incredibly silly for me to even consider purchasing the $6 bubble tea sold at the tea shop on campus due to its expensive stupidity and presumptive inherent moral rot, it ALSO makes me sick to drink it! it is expensive and it causes me physical pain. i have no reason to even consider purchasing it
every wretched ounce of desire my body possesses: want bite spheres in sugar liquid
Dan and I bought a thing called “long ziti” from the local Weird Bargain Store, largely as a joke, but…. I have never had a more unsettling pasta experience in my life. They wouldn’t bend enough to cook from top to bottom simultaneously, and while they were cooking boiling water kept spouting out from the tops of them out of the pot, like a boiling pipe organ.
Then they were so long and floppy and hoselike that we couldn’t pick them up with anything other than tongs, and then they were so long and unwieldy that it was basically impossible to sauce them without them all slithering out of the bowl like wet snakes. They then proceeded to cool down almost completely within the the seconds it took to walk to the living room.
Eating them was like eating a bowl full half melted drinking straws.
Bringing back Long Ziti for another round because it’s just too funny
real life creepypasta
The figs we ate wrapped in bacon.
The gelato we consumed lustily:
coconut milk, clove, fresh pear.
How we’d dump hot espresso on it,
just watch it melt, licking our spoons
clean. The potatoes fried in duck fat,
the salt we’d suck off our fingers,
the eggs we’d watch get beaten
’til they were a dizzying bright yellow,
how their edges crisped in the pan.
The pink salt blossom of prosciutto
we pulled apart with our hands, melting
on our eager tongues. The green herbs
with goat cheese, the aged brie paired
with a small pot of strawberry jam,
the final sour cherry we kept politely
pushing onto each other’s plate, saying,
No, you. But it’s so good. No, it’s yours.
How I finally put an end to it, plucked it
from the plate, and stuck it in my mouth.
How good it tasted: so sweet and so tart.
How good it felt: to want something and
pretend you don’t, and to get it anyway.
must a sport be entertaining to watch? 