THE PLASTIC PARADISE

My apartment mate is addicted to reality shows featuring rich big-breasted women eating, fighting, and drinking. Because she's Cantonese American, this is not part of her life. She's fascinated. What utter and delicious trash!
These tramps are so vicious! Like ferocious wild animals!

[She also discusses it with her ex-boyfriend on the phone. Surprise, outrage, wry amusement, and utter disbelief.]

I myself am not so enthralled, as in the past I have very often had to work with such creatures -- the country is full of the type, or those who would aspire to that status -- and I know the men who date them.

Of course not all of them have huge breasts.
But gigantic hooters are within reach.
Everyone can have them now.

The rest of the world is not nearly so obsessed with ungainly jugs as the United States, and the same can be said about bacon-cheese flavour on everything, often with Jalapeño chips or barbecue sauce.
All of this is uniquely American.


Big breasts. Bacon. Cheese. Jalapeño chips. Barbecue sauce. Bourbon.


This week I had just two of those. Bacon, cheese.


I think I'm missing something.


On the other hand: black pepper porkchops and rice. Spicy peanut sauce shrimp. Noodles. Toasted French bread. Sliced smoked ham. Fresh chilies. Pork patty. Shrimp dumplings. Pork dumplings. Chive dumplings.
Fried taro croquette. Cookies. A plethora of cookies, in fact.
Did you know we Dutch invented cookies?

In any scheme of things, cookies are better than huge bazooms.
Except covered with bacon, cheese, and Jalapeño chips.
Then maybe the giant troll-dugs are useful.
But I'm just guessing.



Just add tasteful drizzles of barbecue sauce and ranch dressing.




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