In the spirit of The Reduced Shakespear, cephiedvariable condenses Les Miserables:
Bishop: "Bask in my Godly glow." Valjean: "We'll see how Godly you are when I murder you in your sleep." Bishop: "... what if I murder YOU in YOUR sleep." Valjean: "... are you coming on to me?" *Valjean steals stuff* Police: "Hey! You! Did you STEAL this stuff." Valjean: "Ummm..." Bishop: "He did not steal this silver, it was a gift from my heart to this poor soul." Valjean: "... you ARE coming on to me...
An old issue of Food and Wine magazine tries to convince me that I should spend $10 on special sea salt for my oven-roasted potatoes! And sick fuck that I am, I'm totally believing them. WHY AM I NOT EATING TEN DOLLAR SEA SALT? Why have I never eaten a meal that cost more than $14? (And I had a coupon for ten bucks off that one!) Why does this magazine make me want to hump kitchen appliances, probably while the ten dollar sea salt watches and jerks off?
Horrible good cheer and delicious meat wine stuffed into the 115-lb body of a giddy gastronome. Fun-loving gadabout, quasi-philosopher, and many other things that have hyphens. Music is my religion and alcohol my fuel. Bawdy, depraved, hypocritical, profligate, rakish and reckless; a self-gratifying sybarite. I also love butterflies. They're beautiful.