What's in YOUR gullet?

Shock you all as this might, I must confess that I do not always have the most sophisticated taste in cuisine.

Don't get me wrong - there's nothing I like better than delicately gorging on sushi (even though someone won't allow me to wear my Towelie t-shirt to the sushi bar), or letting a wondrous filet mignon melt in my mouth like a priest on a choirboy. But that doesn't necessarily preclude my occasional (and by occasional, I mean frequent) shameful visits to such lowbrow establishments as McDonald's or Taco "might as well just smear it on your thighs now" Bell.

When I first noticed a local KFC/Long John Silver's, I proclaimed my delight. Jess laughed and said, "And I was just thinking, there's not enough Immodium in the world for that..."

I have eliminated a lot of deep-fried fast food from my diet, but there are times when one must indulge in the truly awful. Yesterday, my bank pissed me off in a major way. I mean muttering to myself, slamming my hand on the steering wheel, lookin' like a crazy person in traffic pissed off. There's this thing in my brain that makes me crave food that I know is terrible for me, and will make me feel sick later, whenever I am this pissed off. Maybe it's a passive/aggressive suicide attempt, I dunno.

Be that as it may, my first stop after the bank was Long John Silver's, where I surrendered to the greasy fish planks and breaded testicles hush puppies. My gut felt awful afterward, and my palate felt more violated than a broken stop sign. But a lot of my fuming anger had dissipated, drowned in the fat, and I was once more fit for semi-propah society.

Later on, as Jess and I were browsing the bargain section at Barnes and Noble - and let me just say, B&N beats the holy livin' shit outta Border's any day of the week - I mentioned that I'd had a little aggression therapy at Long John Silver's earlier.

Jess: I can live with the fact that you like that stuff, but I never want to watch you eat it.
Me: So if I'm outta sight with my greasy food, I'm safe.
Jess: Yeah, otherwise I would feel compelled to slap it out of your hands.
Me: You'd slap the fish outta my hands?
Jess: Yes, I would.
Me: Can I quote you on that?
Jess: Absolutely.

So if you happen to see me in Long Johns Silver's, or KFC, Pizza Hut, or anywhere else with grease drippin' off my chin? No paparazzi, please!

In other somewhat food-related news, I don't think there's been enough barfing around this blog lately. It's high time we fixed that, isn't it?

Sunday morning when I woke up, I stumbled into the kitchen to grab a bowl of cereal, and as I was walking into the front room to eat, this adorable face greeted me:



I greeted the adorable face with an affable, "Hi, Hermione!"

Adorable face looked up at me, emitted a belch that would put legions of frat boys to shame, and then vomited an enormous helping of half-digested kibble at my feet. Put off my cereal, at least temporarily, I noticed upon closer inspection (with a paper towel in my hand) that this kibble came with a prize: one plastic bunny eye.

And no, you fuckers, I didn't get pictures of that, either.