The best part about a minimalistic dressing is that you can eat with your hands. I really do think that salads, more than any other food type, ought to be eaten with hands. And not just daintily picked up and popped into your mouth but full proper dig hands into the bowl and feel the cold leafy leaves and the firm juicy tomatoes and the creamy chunks of feta or mozzarella.
Went and saw me Big Hero 6 and haveta say it was pretty effin nice. The first half was definitely far better than the second, but would recommend it. Especially that drunk part.
Couple next to us consisted of two fatties, with male fatty saying that he had always been a a big fan of animation and he would always tell female fatty to come for the films but female fatty would say “Oooo I am not going for kiddy cartoons.” And female fatty was saying that a lot of these animations are now actually directed at adults and this is where male fatty butted in and said that this is exactly what he had been saying all along.
There was a big bar of some dark dark chocolate in the fridge. Well, there still is some dark dark chocolate but it is more like half a bar. Or a quarter.
That whole butterfly effect shit really fucks with your mind at times. Like what if the dark chocolate piece fell on the floor and some ants came and then the ants carried it to their queen. And the queen is like “hhmmmmm dark chocolate, bring me more my slaves!” and then more queens hear of this. And suddenly dark chocolate becomes the new thing in the ant world and all the ant world is like “must.find.chocolate.” And then these massive ant armies start invading all the factories and shit.
And dark chocolate prices just go shooting through the roof.
Until, well until, who knows what stopped it. But it did. One day, no more ants came to the factories. And no more dark chocolate was hidden under the Arctic belt.
No one would ever know what or why this happened. And why it stopped.
Ooooo. I guess that is the best part about secrets right? They are kind of like these tiny tiny books that are written only for you. Given only to you. Pages that only you can touch and feel and read.
You have to love secrets. You really do. Unless you don’t know them. Then you can hate them.
Chalo yaar. It is party sharty time.
I thought MIA was dead. She ain’t bitches.
Beetches. Dance beetches. Dance.