At the back of the hill

Warning: May contain traces of soy, wheat, lecithin and tree nuts. That you are here
strongly suggests that you are either omnivorous, or a glutton.
And that you might like cheese-doodles.
Please form a caseophilic line to the right. Thank you.

Thursday, June 07, 2018


And gluten-phobic vegetarian foodie white women are a monumental pain in the sphincter. Airy-faerie. My apartment mate wishes that they'd shut the hell up. No, I shall not mention where or when this was, as the oppressive persons in question might actually know how to read.
They are not as nice as monkeys.

I'm beginning to think that most white women don't know diddly about food, and seldom visit the kitchen except for more yoghurt.
Or soyghurt, if they're vegan.

"We've been coming here a long time!"

Bitches, bitches, bitches, bitches. My apartment mate asked me if there really was a particular ("white) way to hold a strawberry.
How the heck should I know? I may appear 'white", but underneath my pale dermoid exterior I am a scaly green space alien. I only look this way because it's easier. I can move around on this planet without anyone wondering how to skin me and wear me. My apartment mate ('Chinese American') has to constantly worry about white bitches with crazy tendencies.

Or at least, that's the impression I get.

I, personally, don't know any gluten-phobics. When I worked part-time at an Indian restaurant, the number of weird-ass white folks with food hang-ups who came through the door was frightening. It seemed like every white-ass modahfo was "special". This one couldn't eat dairy, that one couldn't touch bread, she over there would (she said) bloat up if even in the same room as citrus, and that person over there was allergic to chilies, cilantro, and cumin.

So you'll naturally understand that I have an extremely low regard for people with self-assumed dietary needs. Unless you're carrying around medication and hypodermic needles, or a note from your doctor -- NOT the holistic snake oil salesman who soothes your fragile ego or the chiropractor who reaches deep into your wallet while stroking your sense of uniqueness, you little flower you -- I will assume you to be neurotic, in need of drugs.
Or, exceptionally, a savage beating.

Right now I'm thinking about a bacon-cheese burger on a crusty toasted bun, with a thick salsa of chilies, cilantro, and cumin, with a bit of lime juice to make it sloppy.

By the way, I've been told that gigolos are delicious.
That may be a crazy white woman thing.
But I do not know.

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