No this is not a sloppy post about post-hippy music. It is about the morning’s bounty in toast form. Breakfast, bitches.
Towering stack of crunchy bread slathered with all manner of sugary muck stabbed with a two foot long ice pick then eaten with a cartoonish gulp like a drunken Fred Flintstone. Toast. Peanut butter and honey and bacon toast sandwiches as your Granny picks the ticks out of your hair while the Pekinese licks out your toe jam. Pine cone sap jam wadded up into baseball sized clumps melted down into buckets with ripped hunks of bread toasted by a Zippo lighter dunked in the sap jelly awesome. Little houses made of toast that are crushed by children then eaten by beagles. Toast discs flying across the room in a domestic dispute over egg yolks and body hair. Political manifestos burned into the sides of toast then passed out at Tupperware parties that start the revolution to overthrow a lot of governments.
Fucking toast, man.
1 response so far ↓
doktrix // July 29, 2009 at 4:56 pm |
i just want to say that i am so glad this blog is not about post-hippy music. it’s about as perverse as the toe-jam licking pekinese.