My muse is still off somewhere, maybe on vacation; or maybe giving unprotected blowjobs in a dark alley for twenty bucks, five bucks if you just want to watch. Whatever she’s up to, she sure isn’t hanging out around me, which would be a lot more distressing if she hadn’t left the key to her liquor cabinet and her massive porn collection.
You might be wondering why I’m posting anything, if I’m working without my muse. There are two reasons for this: the first is to taunt and insult my muse in hopes that she’ll return—if not to keep her reputation from being further tarnished, then at least to keep me from killing her puppy (hear that, muse? eighteen hours, and counting down).
The second reason is to tell you about this sandwich I ate tonight.
I was screwing around on the internet the other day, using the sometimes-useful, usually-annoying Stumble Upon, and I happened across this recipe.
At first glance, it just looks like a regular sandwich, right? Because I was bored, I scrolled down, and discovered that the lady uses a lot of butter while making this sandwich. I mean, a lot of butter. I chuckled to myself, thinking about how this has got to be one of the most unhealthy sandwiches ever made, and I scroll back to the top of the page. As I’m scrolling, my princess walks by, notices the picture, and says, “That looks really good.”
“The chick uses like two tons of butter to make it.”
“We should make that sometime,” my princess says. See, she can say things like that because she has a great body. She’s slim and hot and sexy. When she puts on a pair of boxer shorts, she looks like she should be the leading lady in some movie about cute little chicks who like to have pillow fights. As opposed to when I put on boxer shorts, and it looks like an episode of Cops. You know, where the fat drunk guy opens the door, and they slam him to the ground, and he just starts crying? Yeah.
Point being, she can look at that particular sandwich and think, “I bet that tastes good. I would like to have one.” I look at that sandwich and think, “I wonder if my fat ass would drop dead of a heart attack halfway through eating that thing.”
In case you haven’t noticed, I have pretty much zero self-control, so we made the sandwich tonight. And it really is incredible. As it should be, really—the recipe calls for an entire stick of butter. She tries to be all cool about it by using words like “tablespoon” and “quarter-stick,” but when you get right down to it, you finish making this sandwich, you’re down a stick of butter. In all fairness, it makes like four sandwiches, I guess. But to reiterate: an entire stick of butter.
I added green peppers along with the onions, and topped everything off with pepper jack cheese. The lady writing the recipe repeatedly mentions the treadmill.
I don’t know if it’s worth all that, but I know it’s definitely worth the chest pains.