|b l o g|
I've had a discussion today with a girl who's never eaten ketchup. ('I like ketchup crisps! Never actually tried ketchup, though!') She's from Glasgow. Her name is Lucy. I know she's telling the truth.
But I'm completely incredulous.
I would become a bigamist for such women.
I can't recall anyone ever having asked for an erikkennedy.com wallpaper. Nevertheless, I accidentally made one, in five common sizes. If only it were good:
1920 × 1200
1600 × 1200
1280 × 800
1024 × 768
320 × 480
(Note haircut and the fact that I've been outdoors recently.)
(Note that, whether fists or lips are coming my way, I'm ready. I'll take them.)
(Also note that I don't actually emit light; I'm just very pale.)
I've always feared that I would sick up a raw egg if I drank one, or worse, that I wouldn't be able to swallow it at all, and that, shamed, I would be cast out by my people, doomed to wander the lands and seas of the world alone. Like a wanker.
It turns out that I was making something of nothing, as I usually do. I feel a fool.
A prairie oyster, a cocktail of an egg, Worcestershire sauce, pepper sauce, black pepper, and salt, is extremely invigorating after a late evening, as well as being generally more appetising than a plain glass of raw egg. I prepared one today.
I'm pleased to report to the uninitiated that this cocktail is delicious, worthy of the finest eateries and clinics. Heavenly mouthfeel. Terrific moisture release. So good I had two more.
The cocktail presented.
The glass, its contents having been drunk.
If you think I've done things the soft way by gussying my egg up, do get in touch with me, so we can have a duel.