You know how to cook. I’m jealous.
You can do wondrous things to your ingredients.
I am insanely jealous. I tried to cook once.
I tried to mix unmixable things into cupcake batter
Love, tears, hate, and starvation. Want to know what I learned?
Cooking is an art. Much like photography is an art.
Ok, I’ll be serious, I promise. S’il vous plait, un moment monsieur.
Let me just put on my lens-less, thin-framed silver spectacles
And let me tie my hair back while pretending to look ingenious
I’ll teach you a thing or three about my erroneous experiences
Ethanol is probably going to kill us both.
You see,
The solubility of hatred is irreversible, and the concentration of love
Root mean squared, when coming into contact with starvation,
Spontaneously combusts, with saturated tears giving the whole mess
A rather salty and bitter, unpleasant taste
…Do I ever know what the fuck I’m saying?
But you, you! You could’ve told me all that.
You knew that the only way to mix all of my love and tears
(With just a dash of hate and a hint of starvation)
Is to concentrate it all, much like orange juice.
Stick that shit in a blender and let the gears grind away on maximum blend
(Or whatever highest setting your Sharper Image blender comes with)
Recommended: serve with garnish, a martini on the side.
Once you’ve got a thick, flaky sea green concoction,
You broil it. You take a flame thrower and put my emotions
Though high pressure, high heat. Intense pressure, intense heat.
(I read somewhere that the carbon in peanut butter turns into diamonds)
I look skeptical, but you smirk. Poofy chef hat in hand, you bow.
Bon appetit mademoiselle!
