crash and broil.

Apparently my system wasn't quite ready for that health kick idea thing that I mentioned a few posts back. My pesky substance abuse issues came out of almost nowhere to rear their knobby little ugly unpleasant heads again, and this time the lucky winning substance was.........

It seems I'd fallen victim to a wicked pork jones. I dug the uncooked pork shoulder out of the freezer (leftover from last month's jerk-a-thon), I braised that baby and finished with a hoisin glaze...dug in, and.....uh...nothing. It was fine, but I was left unsatisfied. I still felt the heavy hand of a pork jones resting uncomfortably on my own (uncooked) shoulder. WTF.

I eventually turned to the internets for distraction, but matters were not improved by photos like these (good and accurate quote from the Comments section on this page: "You could make a plate of shit look appetizing."), and before I had any idea what happened I was in the tenacious grip of a nascent Hot Dog Binge. Fuck! It wasn't a pork jones at all, it was a total barnyard slaughter refuse meat sausage jones!

LOL (and I mean that in a tone of voice you cannot hear, but I assure you that it is completely, crushingly ironic and emotionless, possibly the utter opposite of laughter). I have not had a hot dog or any sausage in some time, excluding the, ahem, France trip, so this started out as a "treat". But the hotdogs I was using here were very small, about the size of my index finger. So a "binge" on these babies was kind of like a binge on, I don't know, say....falafel balls. They're 50 calories each (the index finger hotdogs)!

Anyway, my point is, the other reason that this turned nutritionally ugly and grim was that, while nothing fancy, they were really great hot dogs: yeasty bun, ketchup, mustard, pickles, onions. And thankfully, just in time really, they just about matched my crazed wiener junkie mind's hot dog...but you know, about 1/6th the size (yes, I just talked about the diminuitive size of my wiener, and called myself a wiener junkie, LOL again)...

I'd waited for my man. And he turned out to be made of chicken separator meat, among other things.

Number eaten in past two days? 10.

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UPDATE: I just realized that all this trauma could've been brought on by the Lemmy Kilminster arrangement I've shaved my lush facial hair growth into:

























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