GHOSTS IN THE SHRUBBERY

Should have bought some sweet sausages. Or ground meat. Or even bean curd. Nope. At present I am swimming in vegetables, because I had quite forgotten that there was still plenty of green stuff in the crisper.
My doctor will probably be pleased if I eat all of it.
There is no meat in the house.

Abelone sauce, condensed chicken stock, chili paste.
Various creative combinations.
Garlic. Ginger.

[Plus several kinds of shrimp paste and curry flavourings.]


No meat.



Even in San Francisco, it is hard to go shopping after work. Especially if one abjures Trader Joe's, because one does not wish to deal with migrants from the rest of the country. Contrary to what a recent article wishes to suggest (How San Francisco Broke America's Heart), it isn't San Francisco that blows, it's all the people from elsewhere in the country, who already had their place in the sun, coming here and buggering up the joint.

We broke your heart?

Oh come on, you fudgers gave us Reagan, Bush, and Trump. Your people keep voting for those devil-worshippers Mitch McConnell and Lindsay Graham. You are Alabama. And Georgia. And Missouri. Y'all suck.

Stop sending us your yuppies and homeless people!



Our new city mottoes:

"Expect delays", and "bathroom for customers only".
Along with "welcome to SF, now go home".

These waters are shark-infested.



One could go out for Thai or Vietnamese, or Pizza with Pineapple.
Or even some pineapple and bacon fried rice.
With a side of pork chops.

Add sambal.



Avoid the tall grasses and undergrowth here. Besides ticks, bugs, snakes, spiders, and scorpions, ada hantu di rumput rumput dan daun dawuh.
Those aren't just sleeping drug addicts, you dig?




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