Earlier today, in celebration of my return, I promised you pizza. And so I deliver, darlings. (Note: a certain Geisha may want to substitute black beans for the chicken.)
I thought I’d throw you all a curve ball, darlings — a deliciously sweet and just spicy enough to make your lips tingle a bit — curve ball. I mean, what kind of dilettante would I be if I didn’t dabble in a bit of cooking and sports metaphors?
When I’m recovering from a night of — well, debauchery is not an entirely accurate term — I mean my clothes remained on the entire evening, and there were no illicit substances involved — so let’s say overindulgence. Yes. So let’s back up, because that sentence was just terribly constructed, darlings, and the backspace key on my laptop is hooked up to a 500 volt (is that a lot? I don’t know) battery, and it gives me mildly painful shocks whenever I touch it, so let’s just press on, shall we? Onward, ho! (Please, no overused who you callin’ ho? routine…
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