As another Lame Cherry exclusive in matter anti matter.
Today it was cold here, like started around 13 below and hovered around zero. On this kind of day to sort of regulate the house heat, I bake. Today it was baking rye bread.
I am disappointed in my rye bread as it is delicious, when rye bread is supposed to sour stuff. You know like on Reubens which I simply love, but eating nitrite corned beef makes me feel like I swallow a flaming sword, so tonight we had a kind of old black forest ham that I forgot was in the freezer with Swiss cheese, and now my intestines are saying "What did you do to me".
I just received this nice note. Thank you to sender for all they did.
I appreciate what you share with us in your blog. God Bless! K.L.
In reading that, I am rather embarrassed as while God receives all credit, nothing could come from me that would be that important as I am just the radio broadcasting.
In the sandwich I have a sort of low cal grilling of bread, in if you are careful, you can kind of toast it without butter. It is a dry toast, but if you do not pay attention, you will get like tonight burned bread. The chefs call it caramelized, but it tastes like burnt shit to me.
I have always hated "toast" as my dad always called cinders toast. I always told him, "dad, toast is toast colored not black". He came from a home though of bread on a cook stove and not electric toasters so most things were black.
Lord God, his mother was one of the worst cooks on the planet. Her favorite phrase was, "Stuff it down your throat and eat it".
Her daughter was no better in she made Thanksgiving turkey one year. She turned up the oven to 500 degrees to sear the bird. Turned it black as Toby's ass, then cooked it. Thing is that woman brought that turkey over to us black, and Mom had to make gravy out of that black shit. Any normal person would have been so embarrassed they never would have showed up with that, but not her.
Grampa told her once she was the worst cook ever. That hurt her feelings, but it never moved her to not using the turkey as an incendiary device.
That is the aunt who is loaded in money and is dying of cancer. She has been doing that for some time, but have not heard the good news.
I wonder about people who live their whole lives and you can't think of anything good about them except their dying. Seems like a waste of space, but I guess not everyone can raise two dysfunctional children in being the most wonderful woman on the planet who once had a spaghetti dinner for chickens in all she dumped over the fence. Those chickens swore off Italian after that. Used to run every time that Joe Feeney was heard on Lawrence Welk singing soprano.
Here is Joe.
Come to think of it, can not leave the Viking out, as I have sets of comforting breasts in the Aldridge Sisters. Lawrence Welk liked red heads with big knockers.
Man these two could still take all the oaring you could give them while wearing a Viking helmet and make them horns droop too.
He kept his large comforting breasts safe, as he always put the hot large breasted girls with gay twins or something no woman would want like the Otwell Twins.
Probably had a mother who had the hots for the Everly brothers, and forced the boys to sing, telling them how great the were, and Lawrence auditioned them and said, "Wunnerful wunnerful, they won't be dairy cowin' them nice Aldridge sisters."
I don't want to leave the girls out in comforting breasts, at least the ones who do not have gay dwarf twin fantasies. Here is your treat, the yummy Jimmy Roberts. Lawrence Welk in reruns always says the women all needed to use two tampons to soak up all the nectar before Jimmy performed. I caution those what comes next that Jimmy was the Niagara Falls of wet nethers.
Yes that is Jimmy, complete with his NFL shoulder pads. Granted they are corner back pads, but Jimmy put out for the women in having them shoulders that all them women dreamed of. No skinny Beatle boys shoulders when Jimmy was around, as he was the real crooner with the physic of a lady's man.
For those who have never heard Jimmy Roberts sing..........the closest I can come to the sound of a hub cap screeching as it is pried off the wheel rim, amplified by cheap speakers with the bass turned up, all coming through a nose the size of an aardvark.
I had better stop as I do not want any of the feminine readers catching cold from being wet or all the lezbos turning straight over Jimmy Roberts as Ivanka Kushner will have no friends in prison.