Ramblings about Food and Kate Bush

My appetite has slowly shriveled down. I couldn't finish a burger and fries the other day. Tonight, I couldn't finish a measly two-entree dinner at Panda Express. When I was younger, I once ate 1/3 of a turkey, three kinds of potatoes, trimmings, and a half of a pie. It's like a scene right out of the Simpsons, where Homer is distressed that he can't eat anymore and says something to the effect of, "I see food, but I'm not hungry. What's wrong with me, Marge?" It's probably all for the best, though. My Lucky Charms ass aint getting anymore charming, so it's only right that I don't eat like a pig.

The thing is, I should eat better food, home cooked food, but I hate cooking. After so many years of my youth were spent in front of a grill and fryer, I despise food preparation. The thing is, I'm a master at cooking short-order style breakfast and lunch. Beans on toast: check. Vindaloo was something of a specialty of mine, as well. Now, every time I cook it's pure drudgery.

I need some of that magic Wonka gum. I don't even mind turning into a giant blueberry. At least, then, I wouldn't have to cook.

This brings me to older women, I mean elderly, they are the ticket. Damn, they can cook, but I don't know if I can keep up with them, now that I've become a little bird now (thanks, Antony and the Johnsons). What I mean is, they demand that you eat it all, and these women don't know how to cook for anyone other than the seven kids and that fat-assed husband they had, or just themselves. Case in point: Joyce, the one responsible for the turkey dinner mentioned earlier. She had seven kids and liked to cook. I helped Joyce out with a few things and she'd always want to cook me dinner in return. The thing is, she would cook this massive dinner for seven people who weren't there. I'd feel bad, real bad, if I couldn't eat till I passed the appetizer. Think about that one for a bit.

(The lady who tried to kill me, with food: Joyce and I after the infamous turkey dinner. My colon couldn't take anymore)

Then, there's that old Mexican lady I visit from time to time. Well, at least at her restaurant (actually her sister's) I pay her for the food, but she gets so upset if I don't eat there all the time. I think I've settled my women troubles: date women 20 or more years older than myself. Hey, Sophia Loren is in that group. However, I think I would rather go for the artsy domestic goddess, a little younger, though: Kate Bush. Hell, she's written a song about her flippin' washing machine, why not one about me eating her scrummy Yorkshire pudds The Boy With the Bush in His Eyes. Oh, I know what you guys were thinking. Get your minds out of the gutter...so mine can float on by. But, beyond the fact that she's married already, I figure that in time she'll come to her senses and, well...maybe not. Anyways, she is an older hottie in my book, though, and her wack song "Wuthering Heights" can make me weep like a sissy girl. Is that so wrong?

Where was I? Yes, I can't eat much anymore, but I'll level out, I'm sure. I'm slowly but surely getting svelter. I don't like to cook. Most of all, I want these things to come into my life: Kate, Bush, bangers and mash. I don't think this too much to ask for.