one? for chicken... over-night:
   olive oil, salt, pepper,
    paprika, cumin, cayenne pepper,
garlic, fresh parsley, beer...

sounds good enough...

two? for pork... read-on-the-go:
olive oil, garlic, brown sugar,
   honey, soy sauce, worcestershire sauce,
ketchup, ginger, cinnamon,
     cayenne pepper...

why would i eat out?
   to peacock like a parisian
   artefact of the 20th century
literary scene?
    ponces... ******* ponces!
   cook your own!
          whenever i think about
eating in public places
sitting down, with a waiter,
and it's summer,
   i start to get itchy,
  like a 1000 moquito bites
per second, while donning
a tux...
        while i should be a lazy
aussie at the barbie,
  in t-shirt, slippers and shorts...

if the night-clubs are closing
the restaurants are next...
  we're catching up to the rich,
and what do the rich do?
  sulk at home: noo oon luvs moi!

what ****** me off about
    corporate media?
  the blatant disregard for
what's happening in a certain
part of the world...
    europeans ignoring europeans...
thank god!
   thank god they didn't catch
up on the reproductive program
in poland...
   it's a post-****-pseudo programme,
the irish in england sound
like intellectual frankenstein
monsters: uh huh huh huh he...
   vey názi...
       always the ******* paddies...

what happens when you ignore
people?
     they dig trenches...
   they dig graves and carve out
cities in caves (of the psyche...
yes, metaphor) -
  the philosopher's stone was
the zenith of metaphor...
  
   anyway...
i was walking home last night
with a hobgolbin (beer)
and peered into the saddest sight
i could only imagine as
eating alone in front of a television...

friday... take-out night...
   the father lying on the sofa
watching television,
the little boy? alone at the table
with a fast-food meal (k.f.c.) -
eating alone...
              if the english are not
the instigators of solipsism,
that rotten form of championed
individualism, i don't know
what ethnicity is...
            i am going to guess
that iceland doesn't have this problem...

what is a date-night in iceland?
  this instrument to check whether
we're 3rd cousins...
               the english?
  the supposed gentlemen of the world?
and here's the edenic and confusion...
qua stasis, not qua flux
         of danish existentialism...
******* are undecided...
   ******* couldn't even deep-fry
a mars bar, the picts had to do it
down the shady alley in glasgow...

marx didn't invent socialism,
neither did engels...
   socialism is england's ******* child...
socialism is the brain-dead child
of england...
                as observed by yiddish
and by german...
                     evidently if
this ****** of an idea failed,
   then the "proper" athletic child
of england that's capitalism
   has started to have its fingers broken,
then its legs...
                    now it's in a wheelchair...
     and has had its tongue cut off...
and looks anything but a famous
physicist, who partied good
on an island...
                       what does
stephen hawking and john paul II
have in common?
                  a lack of respect
for retirement:
           rat-zin-ger rat-zin-ger! ** **!