thoughts

i've thought about you. here, in the water, with the constant fizzing of carbon filled oxygen pumping into my crystalline chamber driving me slowly into a state or insanity, or deliciousness. that's right. i understand what is going on and i know that i am delicious. hell, i'm scrumptious, and that word isn't even used much anymore, so i'm wise and well-read also. damn. maybe you'd like to to put me in a bisque. what the hell is a bisque? yes, we all know you are very fancy and cultured, but it's cream and seafood. people in new england call it a chowder, but i guess there is someone out there right now saying, "what the fuck is a chowder?" i'm sure that one of you will smother me in butter. smother. maybe it's the hunter instinct in your species to feel as if you've killed your meal, but i've never understood the allure of food that is smothered in a sauce or with cheese. smothering means killing. raise your fork to the sky and grunt and get it over with. whatever you do, try to eat me at a local restaurant. don't cheapen our relationship by going to red lobster. you're only going there with the hopes that they'll open an olive garden next year. that is so wrong. ok. good.